The Firefighter Returns as a Quintillionaire King

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"No." Lisa's voice was firm. She wrapped a protective arm around Ben's shoulders. "You're not going anywhere. You need rest and proper care, and I'm going to make sure you get it."

"But Alex—"

"Alex will understand," Lisa cut him off, though her tone suggested she didn't particularly care whether Alex understood or not. 

She turned to face her husband, her expression hard and unyielding. "Ben will be staying here for a while. However long he needs. And since you're home now, you can help take care of him."

Alex stared at her in disbelief. "You're joking."

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Lisa's eyes were ice-cold. "Ben is a guest in our home. He's been through a terrible ordeal, and we're going to help him recover. That includes you."

"Help him recover?" Alex's voice rose. "You want me to play nursemaid to your lover?"

"He's not my lover!" Lisa's voice cracked like a whip. "And I'm tired of your baseless accusations. This is about basic human decency, something you clearly lack."

"Human decency," Alex repeated slowly. "Coming from the woman who left her husband to burn alive in a fire. That's rich."

Lisa's face flushed with anger. "I didn't leave you to burn! You're being childish and manipulative. I had to make a difficult choice in a crisis situation."

"And you chose him." Alex gestured toward Ben. "You chose him then, and you're choosing him now."

"Because he needs help!" Lisa practically shouted. "Why can't you understand that? Not everything is about you, Alex!"

Ben, still playing the victim, touched his jaw gingerly. "Lisa, maybe we should just go. I can stay at a hotel—"

"You're not staying at a hotel," Lisa said firmly. She grabbed her purse from the counter and took Ben's hand. "Come on. We're going to get that jaw looked at. He might have given you a concussion."

"A concussion?" Alex let out a harsh laugh. "From one punch? God, he's even more pathetic than I thought."

"Shut up, Alex." Lisa's voice was pure venom. "Just shut up."

She started leading Ben toward the door, but paused at the threshold. 

Without turning around, she said coldly, "I'm taking Ben to the hospital for a checkup. While we're gone, I want you to prepare the guest room properly. Clean sheets, fresh towels, make sure everything is comfortable. Ben will be staying here for at least a few weeks."

"The hell he will."

Lisa turned then, her eyes blazing. "This is my apartment too. Half of everything here is mine, including the right to invite guests. If you have a problem with that, you can leave."

With that, she walked out, Ben following behind her like a wounded puppy. The door slammed shut, leaving Alex alone in the apartment that suddenly felt nothing like home.

For a long moment, Alex just stood there, supported by his single crutch, staring at the closed door. 

Then something inside him snapped—not with anger, but with clarity.

He was done.

Alex hobbled to the desk in the corner of the living room and opened his laptop. 

His fingers moved across the keyboard with purpose, searching for a document template he'd never thought he'd need.

Divorce Agreement.

He filled it out methodically, his hands steady despite the chaos in his heart. 

Names, date of marriage, division of assets. He kept it simple—she could have the apartment, the furniture, everything.

 He didn't want any of it anymore. These things were tainted now, reminders of a life that had been built on lies.

When the document was complete, Alex hit print. The machine whirred to life, spitting out page after page. He signed his name at the bottom with a pen they'd received as a wedding gift—another bitter irony.

Then he went to the bedroom—their bedroom—and grabbed a duffel bag from the closet. 

He threw in clothes, toiletries, a few personal items. Photos of Lisa went into the trash. His firefighter certification, some books, his father's watch—these went into the bag.

It took less than thirty minutes to pack up three years of his life.

Alex took one last look around the apartment. The couch where they'd watched movies together. 

The kitchen where he'd cooked her dinner every Friday night. The balcony where he'd proposed on a rainy evening.

All of it meant nothing now.

He placed the divorce papers on the kitchen counter, weighing them down with Lisa's coffee mug. 

Then he picked up his duffel bag, grabbed his crutches, and walked out the door.

He didn't look back.