I Found A New Wife On The Day Of My Divorce

Chapter 11: The Desperate Plea

I watched from the floor-to-ceiling windows of my executive office as the Miller Group’s stock plummeted into the abyss, a red line on my monitor screaming toward zero. Them—Sarah and her father—were currently stuck in my lobby thirty floors below, blocked by security and begging for a five-minute audience with the man they only knew as "The Chairman." They still didn't know the "Secret Chairman" they were chasing, the one holding the leash to their entire family's survival, was the same man they had forced to sleep on the sofa for three years while calling me a "worthless delivery boy."

The realization that I held their life support in my hands felt like cold justice. My thumb hovered over the intercom, the sleek silver device glinting under the office LED lights. I pressed the button, my voice devoid of emotion, sounding like the steel I had forged my empire from.

"Send them up, Marcus. Let’s see how well they can beg when the world isn't at their feet."

"Right away, Chairman," Marcus replied, his voice laced with a subtle, knowing satisfaction.

I turned my back to the door, staring out at the city skyline. I was no longer the man who washed their cars or fetched their laundry. I was the man who owned the very air they breathed in this district.

The elevator chimed, a sharp, mechanical sound that signaled the arrival of my past. I didn't turn around. I wanted them to feel the weight of the room first—the scent of expensive leather, the silence of absolute power, and the terrifying presence of a man who could end their lineage with a single phone call.

"Please, Chairman!" Sarah’s father, Mr. Miller, burst through the door, his voice cracking with a desperation I had never heard back when he was screaming at me for overcooking his steak. "We are here to sign anything! Just stop the liquidation! My daughter... she’s young, she made mistakes, but our family business is three generations old!"

"My father worked forty years for that company!" Sarah cried out, her voice trembling. "We were told you’re a fair man. Please, just look at our proposal. We’ll give you sixty percent of the shares. We’ll do whatever you want!"

I felt a ghost of a smile tug at the corner of my mouth. “Whatever I want.”

"The shares are already mine," I said, my back still to them. "I bought your debt at ten cents on the dollar this morning. As for your proposal... it’s a suicide note written in expensive ink."

"That voice..." I heard Sarah gasp. I could almost feel her heart rate spiking behind me. "No. It’s impossible. It can’t be."

"Is something wrong, Sarah?" I asked, finally spinning my leather chair around to face them.

The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush the lungs. Sarah’s face went from a pale ivory to a sickly, ghostly white. Her mouth hung open, her eyes wide with a terror so pure it was almost beautiful. Mr. Miller collapsed against the doorframe, his knees buckling as he stared at the "delivery boy" sitting in the most powerful chair in the city.

"Xavier?" she whispered, the name sounding like a curse on her tongue.

"I prefer 'Chairman Knight' in this office," I replied, leaning forward and resting my chin on my laced fingers. I looked at her—really looked at her—and saw the shallow, status-obsessed woman I had wasted three years of my life protecting. "But since you’re here, let’s talk about that 'unconditional surrender' you mentioned."

I slid a single piece of paper across the desk. It wasn't a merger agreement. It was an admission of guilt for the embezzlement of my father’s estate and a full transfer of every personal asset they owned—including the house they lived in.

"You have sixty seconds to sign," I said, glancing at my watch. "Or I call the District Attorney and hand over the evidence of your father’s fraud. My time is expensive, Sarah. Don't waste it."

"Xavier, please... we were family!" Mr. Miller sobbed, reaching for the pen with shaking hands.

"The family you treated like a dog?" I countered, my eyes flashing with a cold, predatory light. "The man you told to eat in the kitchen while Bradley Thorne sat at your table? Sign the paper, Miller. Before I decide that prison is a better fit for you than the street."

Sarah looked at me, tears streaming down her face, her hands trembling as she reached for the document. "You planned this. From the day of the divorce... you knew."

"No, Sarah," I corrected her, my voice dropping to a whisper. "I knew long before the divorce. I was just waiting to see if you had a soul. You proved you didn't. Now, sign."

As the nib of the pen touched the paper, my private line rang. I picked it up, ignoring their pathetic sobbing.

"Chairman," Seraphina’s voice came through, smooth as silk and twice as strong. "The press is waiting downstairs for the announcement of our marriage and the acquisition. Are the 'guests' finished yet?"

"They’re just leaving," I said, watching Sarah’s hand tremble as she scrawled her name, officially making herself a pauper. "They have nothing left to give."

I stood up, signaling Marcus to escort the broken pair out of my sight. But as Sarah reached the door, she turned back, a manic glint of realization in her eyes.

"You think you’ve won, Xavier?" she hissed, her voice dripping with a sudden, toxic spite. "You think Seraphina Vance is with you for love? Check your safe, 'Chairman.' Check the black folder my father gave Bradley six months ago. You aren't the only one who has been keeping secrets for three years."

The door slammed shut. I stood frozen for a heartbeat, my eyes narrowing. I turned to the portrait of my father on the wall, then back to my desk.

"Marcus," I said, my voice low.

"Yes, Chairman?"

"Open the vault. The one in the floorboards. I want to see exactly what Bradley Thorne has been holding over my head."

As Marcus moved to obey, the office lights flickered and died. A single red light began to pulse on my secure laptop—a remote hack. A message scrolled across the screen in bold, white letters:

THE KNIGHT FALLS AT MIDNIGHT. THANKS FOR THE ASSETS, XAVIER.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I looked at the surveillance feed of the lobby. Sarah wasn't crying anymore. She was looking directly into the camera, a cold, triumphant smirk playing on her lips as she adjusted her coat and walked out into the night.

The hunter had just realized he was standing in a much larger trap.