CEO's Revenge- She Begged After the Divorce

The rain pounded down on Alex Chen's shoulders as he remained still outside …Le Bernardin, the most prestigious French restaurant in Manhattan. Water trickled from his dark hair, collecting at his feet while he held tightly onto a small bakery box with Emma's beloved chocolate truffle cake inside. Golden light poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows onto the sidewalk, casting light on the scene that left his blood running cold.

There she was…his spouse of three   years…bending over a candlelit table, her perfectly groomed fingers gliding down another man’s chest. Her laugh, which once made his heart race, now struck his ears like pieces of shattered glass. The unfamiliar man embodied everything Alex seemed not to: impeccably styled, dressed in attire that likely exceeded Alex's monthly earnings, and gazing at Emma with the insatiable desire of a predator who had already captured his target.

Alex's hold became firmer on the damp cake box. Today marked their third wedding anniversary. He departed work ahead of schedule, used his final hundred dollars on her preferred dessert, and hurried through the city in the pouring rain—all to astonish the woman who couldn't recall the day they made their vows.

How appropriate, he reflected with disdain.. Even the weather knows what kind of day this is going to be.

The memory of this morning crashed over him like a second wave of cold rain. Emma's mother, Patricia Winters, sat in their kitchen like a vulture in fashionable attire, her lips tightened in constant disapproval while Alex prepared breakfast.

"Truly, Emma," Patricia had mocked, not caring to speak quietly, "I can't grasp why you maintain this... assistance here." He can hardly manage to provide you with the lifestyle you deserve.. My friend Margaret's daughter married a Fortune 500 CEO last month. Now that's what I call a real man."

Emma hadn't defended him. She never did. Instead, she'd scrolled through her phone with practiced indifference, occasionally humming in agreement with her mother's barbs. When Alex had gently mentioned their anniversary dinner plans, Emma had waved him off dismissively.

"I'm busy tonight. Handle whatever you need to handle yourself."

Then there was Emma's younger brother, Marcus, who'd swagger into their apartment like he owned the place, demanding money for his latest "investment opportunity"—usually code for gambling debts or some get-rich-quick scheme that would inevitably collapse.

"Come on, Alex," Marcus had said that very morning, sprawling across their couch in his expensive sneakers that Alex's money had probably bought. "Just twenty grand this time. I've got a sure thing in crypto. You want Emma to be proud of her family, don't you?"

Twenty thousand dollars. Alex made forty-five thousand a year as a junior financial analyst. But somehow, he always found a way to give Marcus what he wanted, liquidating his savings, taking on extra freelance work, anything to keep Emma from looking at him with that particular brand of cold disappointment that had become all too familiar.

He'd been invisible in his own home, a ghost haunting the edges of Emma's real life. The most difficult aspect wasn't the money or the lack of respect—it was his belief that it was just a temporary situation. That when Emma's family embraced him, when his career skyrocketed, when they became parents, everything would transform.

As he stood in the rain, observing his wife's hand glide up another man's arm, Alex understood how gullible he had been.

The door of the restaurant swung open, and warm air blended with the aroma of fine wine and French dishes flowed outside. Alex entered, water gathering beneath him on the immaculate marble flooring. The maître d' scanned him from head to toe with barely concealed revulsion.

"Sir, I'm afraid we need—"

"I'm only here to see my wife," Alex said softly, his tone holding a firmness that even he didn't expect.

He strolled through the dining area, beside tables occupied by Manhattan's high society, all gazing at the drenched man in the ready-made suit. Murmurs trailed behind him, yet Alex noticed none of it. His attention was intensely fixated on the table in the corner where Emma was presently offering strawberries to her friend.

She glanced up as his shadow cast over their table, and for a brief instant, guilt flashed on her face. Then it solidified into irritation.

"Alex?" What are you doing in this place? "You’re making me feel ashamed." Her voice held the cutting tone of a woman who had been discovered yet chose not to feel embarrassed.

Her companion…..a man in his forties with silver hair and a confidence stemming from inherited wealth…..reclined in his chair, smiling with amusement. "Emma, sweetheart, is this the assistance you mentioned to me?" "Who is responsible for your expenses?"

Emma's cheeks turned red, but not out of embarrassment. "Please, Richard." Alex, you must go. "At this moment."

"Emmie." Alex placed the wet cake box on the table that was in between them. "Today marks our anniversary."

Richard chuckled, a noise similar to shattering glass. "Celebration of years together?" "Emma, darling, you didn't mention you were still playing house with the charity project."

"I'm not involved in any game," Emma retorted, though her frustration was aimed at Alex, not Richard. "Alex, we have to discuss something." "However, not in this place, not in this manner."

"No," Alex replied, and the word sounded more forceful than he had meant. "I believe this place is ideal." "I believe this is the ideal moment."

Emma's gaze became more focused. "You're causing a spectacle."

"Am I?" Alex scanned the restaurant, observing the many inquisitive faces feigning indifference to their table. "I believed I was simply delivering a cake to my wife for our anniversary." "I believed I was being the supportive partner I've aimed to be for three years."

"Good husband?" Emma's voice rose. "Alex, be realistic. You can barely afford this marriage. I've been carrying us both, and frankly, I'm tired of it."

The words hit him like physical blows, but Alex kept his expression steady. "Carrying us? Emma, I've given you everything. Every bonus, every raise, every dollar I've earned has gone into making you happy."

"And that’s insufficient!" The mask faltered, and after months, Emma displayed genuine feeling for the first time. "It has always fallen short." I require more than what you can provide me. "I am worthy of more."

Richard set a possessive hand on Emma's arm. "She is worthy of a man who can truly support her." "Not a person who frequents discount retailers and drives a Honda."

Alex sensed a fracture within him—not his heart, which had been splintering for months—but something more profound. The final thread of optimism he had been holding onto, the ultimate illusion that this union could be salvaged.

"You're correct," he stated softly.

Emma blinked, obviously anticipating him to resist, to plead, to beseech as he routinely did.

"You are completely correct, Emma." "You are worthy of better." Alex dug into his jacket pocket and retrieved a folded paper. "That’s the reason I got these ready this afternoon."

Dissolution documents. Emma's eyes grew large as he laid them on the table, moving Richard's wine glass to create space.

"I don't desire anything," Alex persisted, his tone unsettlingly tranquil. "Retain the apartment, the vehicle, the jewelry, everything." Think of it as compensation for three years of acting classes—since you really made me believe you genuinely cared about me.

"Alex, you can't possibly mean that—"

"Put your signature on them, Emma." He took a pen and placed it next to the papers. "At this moment, in this place." "Let’s formalize this."

Richard laughed nervously. "Well, this is certainly dramatic. Emma, perhaps we should—"

"No." Emma's voice was cold again, the momentary vulnerability gone. "You know what, Alex? Fine. You want to do this here? Let's do this here."

She grabbed the pen and started to sign with quick, furious movements. "Here." Are you content at this moment? Three years of matrimony, done. "Just like that."

"Just like that," Alex concurred, taking the documents and adding his signature with meticulous attention. "I would contend that it has actually been finished for a much longer time."

He tucked the papers and stashed them back into his coat. The restaurant became utterly silent, all discussions ceased to observe the spectacle.

"Farewell, Emma," Alex remarked, pivoting to depart.

"Hold on." Her voice wavered a bit. "Is that all?" "Are you really just going to leave?"

Alex halted, glancing back at her one final time. She appeared diminutive all of a sudden, more uncertain. For an instant, he glimpsed the woman he loved—the vibrant, driven girl who appeared so full of potential.

"What more is there to mention?" he inquired. "You have made your decision." "We are aware that you created it some time ago."

He moved toward the exit, leaving the cake untouched on the table behind him. Upon arriving at the door, he caught the sound of Richard's voice, condescending and harsh: "That was simpler than I thought." "Don’t fret, sweetheart, you’re in a much better spot without burdens like that."

Alex took a step back into the rain, retrieving his phone with steady hands. The contact remained untouched for three years: *Father - Only Respond in Case of Emergency.*

This evening was deemed an emergency.

The phone rang twice before a known voice picked up. "Alex."

"Greetings, Dad." Alex's voice remained calm and conclusive. "I'm prepared to return home."

An extended silence. "Then: 'I will send the vehicle.'"

Alex concluded the call and glanced back through the restaurant window one final time. Emma was laughing once more, her fleeting doubt vanished, as Richard's arm encircled her shoulders while he murmured something that prompted her to giggle.

She was unaware of what she had just discarded.

Yet she would.