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After 11 Years of Love, He Filed for Divorce Novel Cover

After 11 Years of Love, He Filed for Divorce

After eleven years of marriage, Vincent Dent suddenly demands a divorce to give another woman a proper title. The dissolution is finalized the very next day, and Vincent quickly vanishes from his ex-wife's life, parading his new lover across social media. However, he underestimates the source of his success. Resolving to teach him a lesson, she completely withdraws her vital backing from his business, leaving him to face the corporate world entirely on his own.
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Chapter 2

Back then, I thought of Vincent as my sworn brother. He used to pester me daily to help him with math, insisting that we should go to the same university.

Eventually, I did as he wished and ended up at the same college as him.

He became the campus heartthrob at Arora University and turned into my biggest obstacle in love.

No matter how attractive or outgoing I was, and despite having countless friends, no guy ever approached me, let alone confessed his feelings.

On graduation day, Vincent took me to the university's science museum.

He had his friends in the student council turn off all the lights in the building, leaving only a breathtaking view of the universe illuminated just for us.

He held my hand, and I could feel his palms sweating.

"Mia, will you marry me? I swear on my life that I'll always treat you well."

At that moment, I didn't hesitate.

But now, facing Vincent, I refuse without a second thought.

"Mr. Dent, that's my business, so you don't need to worry about it. I'll handle it."

My overly polite and distant tone made Vincent's brows furrow in confusion.

After a brief silence in the car, he asked, half-smiling, "So, how do you plan to explain this to your parents?"

When I remained silent, he scoffed, saying, "Mia, don't tell me you're having second thoughts."

Only then did I finally tear my gaze away from my phone and look at him.

"Huh? Can you please focus on driving and not get distracted? As for the reason, I've already said I'll handle it."

I didn't want to spend the first day of being single with my ex-husband in a potential car crash.

As he heard my obvious indifference, Vincent's grip on the steering wheel tightened.

Suddenly, the car's Bluetooth connected, and a sweet, lovey-dovey song started playing.

Vincent, ignoring my presence, answered the call.

A young woman's tender, sweet voice filled the car.

She was whining about her exhausting day, mentioning that she still had to work at a coffee shop that night and was starving.

Vincent glanced at me and, seeing my unchanged expression, smiled and said, "I know you're hungry, so I'll go get your favorite food right away."

After their lovey-dovey exchange, the call ended. Without needing Vincent to say anything, I pointed to the intersection ahead.

"Just drop me off at the next corner."

The car stopped by the side of the road. I hurriedly got out and left, not bothering to hide my urgency.

Only after the car was out of sight did I clutch my abdomen, drenched in cold sweat, feeling as if I might collapse onto the pavement.

Two months ago, Vincent had called me saying he'd forgotten an important document.

I rushed to his office with the file.

On the way, a speeding truck overturned and crushed me after an emergency brake.

Though I survived, my left leg was shattered due to the impact.

In the agony of the pain and fear of potential lasting damage, I called Vincent countless times.

However, his phone was always off.

Later, I found out he had flown to Paris because the girl he was with had never seen French pigeons.

He spent an entire week there with her.

Fearing for my parents' worry, I didn't tell them. It was my friend Emilia Clarke who helped me through the surgery and recovery.

At that moment, I decided I was done with that useless man.

I had just finished a simple lunch alone at home and was slowly tidying up when Emilia's message came through: [Mia, you haven't even officially divorced Vincent yet, and he's already out celebrating with his new girlfriend. How shameless can he be!]

Along with her message was a photo of Vincent dining with a younger woman at a couple's restaurant.

It was the same place I had once suggested to Vincent, only to be turned down with an excuse.

A wave of nausea hit me suddenly.

In that instant, something clicked in my mind.

The next day, I went to the hospital early in the morning.

Staring at my blood test results, the doctor said, "Congratulations, Ms. Miller. According to the results, you're 13 weeks pregnant—three months along."

I remained silent for a moment.

"Please schedule me for an abortion."