I Found A New Wife On The Day Of My Divorce

Chapter 3: The King Returns

My cheap, polyester delivery uniform hit the marble floor of the penthouse with a pathetic thud. For three years, that itchy fabric had been my skin, a constant reminder of the vow of humility I’d taken. No more. I stepped over it without a backward glance, the weight of the "delivery boy" persona sliding off my shoulders and dissolving into the shadows of the fifty-million-dollar view.

"The tailored pieces arrived an hour ago, Chairman," Marcus said, his voice echoing through the glass-walled dressing room. He stood at the entrance, a silent sentinel of my true life. "I took the liberty of selecting the midnight-blue charcoal wool. It matches the cold front moving into the city tonight."

"Perfect," I replied. My fingers, once calloused from steering a moped through city traffic, now brushed against the $20,000 bespoke suit hanging on the rack. The silk lining felt like armor. As I pulled the trousers on and adjusted the cuffs of my Egyptian cotton shirt, I watched the transition in the mirror. The man looking back wasn't the guy who begged Sarah for an extra hour of sleep; he was Xavier Knight, the man who decided which skyscrapers rose and which fell.

The transformation was complete when I fastened the Patek Philippe around my wrist. The ticking was steady, unlike my heart, which had finally gone cold. 

"They have no idea, do they?" I asked, checking the knot on my silk tie.

"The Millers?" Marcus scoffed, holding out my jacket. "They are currently celebrating at a mid-tier steakhouse. Bradley Thorne just posted a photo of your divorce papers on his social media with the caption: "Trash cleared. Real business begins."

My jaw tightened, but I didn't let the anger break my composure. A king doesn't get angry at a jester; he simply removes the stage. "Let him have his moment, Marcus. It’s the most expensive post he’ll ever make. What’s the status of the Miller Group?"

"The situation is deteriorating faster than expected," Marcus said, handing me a crystal glass of aged scotch. "They’ve lost three major shipping contracts in the last hour. Sarah’s father is currently in an emergency board meeting. They are realizing that without the 'anonymous' subsidies we were funneling through their accounts, they are bleeding dry."

I took a sip of the amber liquid, the burn grounding me. "They need a miracle."

"They need a hundred-million-dollar lifeline," Marcus corrected. "They’ve already sent out a blind distress signal to every major venture capital firm in the tri-state area. Of course, all roads lead back to us. They are begging for an audience with 'The Knight Group.'"

The Knight Group. My empire. The very name that Sarah used to mock as a "coincidence" because we shared the last name. She used to laugh and say, "Maybe if you were one of those Knights, I wouldn’t have to work so hard.” 

My phone vibrated on the glass dresser. I picked it up, expecting a business alert. Instead, a text from Sarah flashed across the screen.

“"Sarah"”: Don't bother coming back for your toothbrush or those hideous sneakers. Bradley threw them in the gutter where they belong. Don't contact me again, Xavier. We’re in a different league now.”

A slow, dangerous smile spread across my face. I didn't reply. There was no need to waste words on a ghost.

"Marcus," I said, setting the glass down. "Schedule a meeting with the Miller Group for tomorrow morning. Don't use my name. Tell them the Chairman’s proxy will meet them to discuss the investment."

"And if they ask for terms?"

"Tell them the terms are simple," I said, walking toward the floor-to-ceiling window that looked over the glowing veins of the city. "Total acquisition. I want Sarah to sign over the very company she thinks defines her, just like she signed those divorce papers tonight."

I watched a black hawk helicopter bank over the bay, its lights flickering in the dark. The city was mine. The wealth was mine. The power had always been mine. I had just been waiting for the right moment to remind the world why you never bet against a Knight.

"Chairman," Marcus interrupted, his tone shifting. "One more thing. Seraphina Vance has been trying to reach you. She heard the trial ended. She’s hosting the Gala tomorrow night and wants to know if you'll be making your debut by her side."

Seraphina. The woman who had built her own kingdom while I was playing house. She was the polar opposite of Sarah—someone who saw the board clearly.

"Tell Seraphina I'll be there," I said. "And tell her to bring her best photographers. I want the moment the Millers realize who I am to be captured in high definition."

My phone rang again. Another message from Sarah: “Bradley just bought me the emerald necklace from the Van de Waal collection. What did you get me for our anniversary again? Oh, right. Nothing. Goodbye, loser." 

I looked at the message, then at the tablet Marcus was holding. The tablet showed a real-time feed of the Miller Group’s bank accounts hitting zero. With a single tap, I authorized the "Predatory Buyout" order.

I pulled my phone out and typed my first—and last—response to her. 

“I didn't get you a gift, Sarah. I got you a lesson. Look out your window. The lights on your office building are about to go out." 

I hit send and watched. Five seconds later, the distant "M" logo on the Miller Group headquarters three blocks away flickered and died, plunging the building into total darkness. My smile widened as I felt the first true jolt of satisfaction. The game hadn't just begun; it was already over.