Divorcing The Female CEO: Leon's Revenge

4. The Cost of a Throne

Cloudcrest's financial district buzzed louder than usual the morning after the Empire Business Awards. News outlets were ablaze with headlines dissecting Leon Grant’s shocking emergence. The once-forgotten “househusband” had gone from invisible to unstoppable overnight.

“From Ghost to King: Who Is Leon Grant?”

“CEO Selena Hart Snubbed at Gala as Former Husband Steals Spotlight”

“Vanguard Capital’s Founder Emerges from the Shadows , And Topples His Ex’s Empire?”

The entire city had only one question: how had no one seen him coming?

At Starline Corporation Headquarters, Selena Hart stormed into her office, slamming the door behind her.

Her assistant Mia jumped in her seat, clutching a stack of reports. “M–Ms. Hart, I’ve compiled the post-gala press feedback, ”

“Leave it on the desk. And cancel my 9 a.m.,” Selena snapped, tossing her coat onto the chair. Her lipstick was still flawless, but the skin around her eyes was tight with stress.

The office was cold, but not from the air conditioning. It was the silence, the kind that came after a storm but before the ruin.

She sank into her chair and opened her inbox. 37 unread messages.

More cancellations. A senior board member stepped down “to focus on family.” A luxury beauty partner requesting a re-evaluation of their partnership.

Each message was a blow. Selena clicked open a news article, heart thudding.

“Insider Reports Suggest Selena Hart’s Early Funding Was Orchestrated by Vanguard Capital’s Silent Network.”

“Anonymous sources indicate Hart may have been unknowingly propped up by Leon Grant’s empire.”

She clenched her jaw. Unknowingly? No. She had known something was off.

She just didn’t want to admit she’d been nothing more than a face for someone else’s power.

Flashback to Six Years Ago. Selena had sat crying on a park bench after a failed pitch meeting. Her hands shook as she tried to call her last investor.

Leon sat beside her and offered her his phone. “Try mine.”

“Why?”

He grinned. “It has better luck.”

She took it and dialed. Within days, funding appeared. The next investor said yes. Then the next. She never asked where the phone came from.

…

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Selena whispered, staring at her reflection on the black screen of her laptop. “Why did you pretend to be small?”

Her phone buzzed. Unknown Number. She picked it up instinctively.

A deep voice said, “Ms. Hart. We represent the Zenith Foundation. We’ve been reviewing your financial dealings.”

Selena sat up. “I’ve never worked with Zenith, ”

“No, but your secondary investors did. You may have been unknowingly connected to offshore shell accounts. We suggest you seek legal counsel.”

Click. The call ended. Selena sat frozen. Leon was not just taking away her present. He was rewriting her past.

…

Leon stood beside a panoramic window overlooking the city. His phone vibrated.

Jason stepped in, holding a document. “Selena’s company lost another three sponsors,” Jason said. “She’s bleeding faster than we expected. But…”

“But what?” Leon asked without turning.

“We have a problem. Someone’s been digging through old asset transfers, trying to trace the network that links your holdings to hers.”

Leon finally looked at him. “Who?”

“An international player. We don’t know which yet. But they’re not from this city.”

Leon exhaled slowly. “The shadows don’t like noise.”

Jason nodded. “Should I handle it?”

Leon’s eyes hardened. “No. Let them knock. I’ll answer.”

Later That Night, at Selena’s Apartment. Selena poured herself a glass of wine but didn’t drink it. Her phone sat beside her, taunting her with silence.

She opened her messages. Still nothing from Leon. She’d called him twelve times. Texted him once a day. No response.

She opened an old photo album, one from years ago, when they had just moved into their first apartment. The couch had been second-hand. 

The lightbulbs flickered. But she had never laughed harder, and Leon had never looked happier.

They had been poor, but never broken. Now she was wealthy, and she had nothing.

…

In a dim room beneath an exclusive club in Hong Kong, a man in a grey suit reviewed a file filled with photos of Leon Grant. Next to him, a tablet glowed with accounts, transfers, and anonymous shells.

“He broke the rule,” the man murmured.

A voice from the shadows asked, “You want him gone?”

“No,” the man replied. “I want to know why a ghost has a heartbeat.”

…

Back in Cloudcrest, Jason stepped into Leon’s office with a card in hand.

Leon glanced at it. It was black and gold. Embossed with Selena’s initials.

“She’s invited you,” Jason said, “to Starline’s emergency investor roundtable. She says she wants to ‘clear the air.’”

Leon smiled. A cold, perfect smile. “Let’s remind her,” he said, “what air tastes like when you’re drowning.”

…

The next day, Selena stands before a panel of frantic investors in a half-empty boardroom.

Just as one of them demands, “Do you even have the capacity to stabilize this company?”, 

The doors open, and Leon walks in. In silence.

Selena’s voice breaks for the first time in years. “Leon…”

He stops in front of the entire room. Every pair of eyes turn toward him. He drops a file on the table, Starline’s original founding documents.

With his name as co-founder. “Let’s talk,” he says.