AFTER THE DIVORCE, EX-HUSBAND SHOCK THE WORLD

CHAPTER THREE: ASHES AND EMBERS

The days blurred into nights inside the compound.

Gibson’s body was a battlefield, fractured ribs, torn muscles, blood still dried along his skin. Yet he refused to stay down. Pain was nothing compared to humiliation.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Deborah’s sneer, heard Clara’s scream, felt the guards’ fists breaking him apart. And so, he rose. Again. And again.

Marcus watched him train in silence. Gibson pushed his broken body beyond limits, sweat dripping, fists pounding against the reinforced bag until his knuckles split. Every strike was a memory of betrayal. Every grunt was a vow.

“You’ll break yourself before you break them,” Marcus said finally.

“I’ve already been broken,” Gibson shot back, his chest heaving. “Now I rebuild. Stronger. Smarter. Untouchable.”

Marcus’s eyes glinted with approval. “Good. Because your war isn’t won with fists. It’s won with patience, and precision.”

That evening, Marcus led Gibson into the heart of the compound, a room pulsing with glowing monitors and streams of data. Stocks, corporate acquisitions, digital maps of city power structures.

“This,” Marcus said, “is where wars are truly fought.”

One of the analysts, a young man with sharp glasses, turned. “Sir, you’ll want to see this.” He tapped a screen. A graph spiked violently downward.

Gibson’s eyes narrowed. It was Greenwood Empire’s logistics division, their arteries of distribution. The company had been bleeding quietly for weeks. And now, the wound was widening.

Marcus smirked. “Your companies are the lifeblood of theirs. They don’t even realize how dependent they are on you. A single delay in Ridge Empire’s shipments, and Greenwood loses millions by sunrise.”

Gibson leaned closer, his voice low. “Don’t destroy them yet. Not fast. I want them to feel it. Slowly. Bleeding drop by drop, until they realize their empire is crumbling and have no idea why.”

His reflection on the screen was almost unrecognizable, no longer the gentle husband, but a man forged in fire. Meanwhile, across the city, Deborah Greenwood sipped wine in the penthouse boardroom of her family’s skyscraper. Her father, Richard Greenwood, slammed the table with his fist.

“Logistics is failing again?!” His voice thundered across the room. “This is the third delay this month. Contracts are slipping through our fingers. What the hell is going on?”

Deborah straightened her back, masking her unease with practiced arrogance. “It’s nothing but a temporary glitch. We have backups.”

Richard’s eyes were sharp, piercing through her lies. “You think I don’t see it? Our ‘backups’ depend on Ridge Empire’s network. Without them, Greenwood collapses.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping. “And you let Gibson walk out. You humiliated him, and now he’s gone. Pray he never comes back.”

Deborah stiffened, her fingers tightening around the stem of her glass. She forced a smile. “He’s not coming back.”

But somewhere, deep in her chest, a shadow of doubt flickered. Back in the compound, Gibson stood before a mirror, his face marked with bruises, his body scarred. He touched the glass, staring into his own eyes.

“You were a fool,” he whispered to himself. “Blinded by love. Soft.”

His fists clenched, knuckles whitening. “Never again.”

Behind him, Marcus stepped into the room, carrying a thin folder. He placed it on the table. “Your first move.”

Inside were documents, offshore accounts, shell companies, secret contracts. Proof that Greenwood Empire had been cutting deals with corrupt partners. Enough to scandalize their public image if it ever surfaced.

“Leak this?” Marcus asked.

Gibson shook his head. “Not yet. Deborah will feel secure before I rip the floor from under her. Let the world believe Greenwood stands tall… until I decide to burn it.”

Marcus studied him for a long moment, then nodded. “And Clara?”

Gibson’s expression softened for the first time in days. Pain flickered in his eyes. “She’s the only reason I don’t end this overnight. I’ll get her back. But first… I’ll make Deborah beg to hand her over.”

The room fell silent, heavy with the promise of storms to come. That night, Gibson stood on the balcony of the compound, looking out at the city skyline glowing in the distance. Once, this city had been his home, his comfort. Now, it was his battlefield.

He closed his eyes, hearing Clara’s voice echo in the silence. “Daddy, why didn’t you come for me?”

His heart twisted, but his resolve sharpened like steel. “I’m coming, Clara,” he whispered into the night. “But I won’t just come for you, I’ll bring the whole world down with me.”

Lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating his silhouette, a man reborn not from mercy, but from vengeance. The fire had begun.