I Found A New Wife On The Day Of My Divorce

Chapter 2: The Door Closes

"Get your trash out of my hallway, Xavier. The cleaning crew is coming, and I don’t want them touching your filth."

Sarah’s voice cut through the air like a jagged blade. She stood at the top of the marble staircase, her arms crossed, watching me toss the last of my belongings—mostly worn-out t-shirts and faded jeans—into a black industrial trash bag. Three years of marriage, and my entire life fit into a plastic sack that cost ten cents.

"I’m moving as fast as I can, Sarah," I replied, my voice devoid of the warmth I used to offer her. I didn’t look up. I was too busy realizing that the very marble she was standing on was imported from an Italian quarry I had acquired during a hostile takeover four years ago. 

"Not fast enough," Bradley Thorne sneered, stepping out from the master bedroom. He was wearing my silk robe—the one Sarah told me was too 'luxurious' for a delivery boy to wear. He adjusted the belt with a smug grin. "The Ferrari is idling out front, and your rusted bucket of bolts is blocking the driveway. Move it, or I’ll have it towed to the scrap yard where it belongs."

My hands tightened around the plastic bag. The "rusted bucket" was a decoy, a car designed to look like a mid-range sedan but equipped with an engine that could outrun a police interceptor. 

"My car will be gone in five minutes," I said, slinging the heavy bag over my shoulder. "Along with everything else you think you own."

"What’s that supposed to mean?" Sarah snapped, her heels clicking as she descended the stairs. "I earned this house. I worked eighteen-hour days at the Miller Group while you played house and drove your little delivery routes. You didn't contribute a single cent to this lifestyle."

I stopped at the front door and finally looked her in the eye. "You really believe that, don't you? You think the Miller Group’s sudden surge in contracts three years ago was just luck? You think the anonymous investor who saved your father from bankruptcy was a guardian angel?"

Bradley laughed, a loud, obnoxious sound that echoed through the foyer. "Oh, here we go! The delivery boy thinks he’s a secret tycoon. Sarah, your ex has finally lost his mind. Maybe the exhaust fumes from his moped finally rotted his brain."

He walked down the stairs and stood inches from my face. He smelled like expensive cologne and desperation. "Look at your shoes, Xavier. Those are twenty-dollar supermarket sneakers. I’m wearing custom-made loafers that cost more than your annual salary. You aren't a secret anything. You’re a loser who got lucky enough to marry up, and now the ride is over."

"Xavier, just go," Sarah sighed, looking at me with a mixture of pity and disgust. "You’re embarrassing yourself. Go back to your studio apartment and your cheap beer. Leave the big leagues to men like Bradley."

I didn't argue. There was no point in speaking to people who were blind by choice. I stepped out onto the porch, the heavy trash bag thumping against my leg. The humid night air hit me, but for the first time in three years, I felt like I could breathe.

I walked down the driveway toward my sedan. Behind me, I could hear Bradley and Sarah laughing. They were standing in the open doorway, framed by the light of a chandelier I had secretly paid for, mocking the way I walked.

"Hey, Xavier!" Bradley shouted. "Don't forget to check the mailbox on your way out! There might be a coupon for a free burger there. It’s probably the only way you’ll eat tonight!"

I reached my car, but I didn't get in. I stood there, staring at the digital watch on my wrist. 

3... 2... 1...

The silence of the suburban street was shattered by a low, rhythmic thrumming that vibrated in my chest. From around the corner, a blinding set of LED headlights swept across the neighborhood. Then another. And another.

A fleet of six pitch-black Rolls-Royce Cullinans, their chrome accents glinting under the streetlights, turned into the cul-de-sac. They moved with military precision, gliding silently until they lined the curb in front of the Miller residence. The neighborhood was quiet, but I could see the flickers of curtains moving as neighbors peered out at the sudden display of extreme wealth.

The laughter from the porch stopped abruptly.

"What... what is this?" Sarah’s voice was high-pitched, filled with sudden anxiety. 

The door of the lead Cullinan opened. Marcus stepped out, his silver-grey suit perfectly tailored, his face a mask of professional stoicism. He ignored the shocked couple on the porch and walked straight toward me. 

As he approached, he didn't just nod. He came to a complete halt and bowed his head so low it was a sign of absolute fealty.

"Chairman Knight," Marcus said, his voice loud enough to carry to the porch. "The convoy is prepared. Your penthouse at the Sovereign Heights is ready, and the tailor is waiting for your final fitting."

I dropped the trash bag on the asphalt. "Thank you, Marcus. Did you bring the documents?"

"Of course, Sir."

One of the guards from the second vehicle stepped forward, carrying a briefcase. He popped it open, revealing a sleek, encrypted tablet. 

I looked back at the porch. Sarah had walked down the first two steps, her hand gripping the railing so hard her knuckles were white. Bradley looked like he had seen a ghost, his mouth hanging open as he stared at the line of million-dollar vehicles.

"Xavier?" Sarah whispered, her voice trembling. "Who... who are these people?"

I didn't answer her. I didn't even acknowledge her existence. I took the tablet from Marcus and swiped my thumb across the biometric scanner.

"Sir," Marcus said, leaning in slightly. "A matter of urgent business. A small tech firm under our subsidiary, Blue-Chip Logistics, just received a pitch for a long-term partnership. It’s the Miller Group. Sarah Miller is listed as the lead negotiator. They are desperate for this deal to stay afloat through the quarter."

I stared at the screen. I saw Sarah’s name, her professional headshot, and the projected revenue she was begging my company for. 

"Do they need this deal?" I asked, my voice cold and detached.

"Without it, their stock will plummet by forty percent by Monday morning," Marcus replied. "The Board is waiting for your signature to approve the partnership. They think it’s a solid move."

I looked at Sarah. She was staring at me, her eyes wide with a dawning, horrific realization. She saw the way the men in suits stood at attention for me. She saw the power in my stance. 

I turned back to the tablet. My finger hovered over the 'Reject' button.

"Marcus," I said, a slow, predatory smile spreading across my face. "The woman I just divorced thinks she can use my resources to fund her new life with another man. She wants a deal?"

I looked at Sarah, who was now frozen on the driveway, and then back at the screen.

"Reject the proposal. And Marcus? Tell our legal team to begin the immediate recall of all 'anonymous' private loans tied to the Miller Group. I want them in the red by midnight."

"Understood, Sir. And the reaction?"

"Let her watch," I said, stepping into the back of the Rolls-Royce. "I want to hear the sound of her world collapsing from here."

As the door closed, I saw Sarah take a frantic step forward, her phone already ringing in her hand with what I knew would be the first of many bankruptcy alerts.