After Leaving My Ex-husband, I Married a Billionaire CEO

A passerby stood watching me for a while. When he saw I could still manage a few words, he shook his head and walked away.

I curled up on the side of the road alone, my stomach churning, the cold wind cutting through me until I couldn't stop shaking.

I didn't know how long I stayed there before the worst of the alcohol finally loosened its grip.

But the fever had already set in.

My phone was dead, my whole body burning. I had no choice but to drag myself to my best friend's apartment nearby and knock on her door.

The moment she saw the state I was in, her eyes went red with fury.

“Your wife is collapsed on the side of the road and he can't be bothered to come get you?”

“What research paper could possibly matter more than his own wife?”

But back then, all I did was smile bitterly and make excuses for Karl.

“His current project is really important.”

“He couldn't get away……it's understandable.”

When I finally made it home that night, Karl was already asleep.

He hadn't waited up for me.

Hadn't worried at all about whether something had happened to me.

I used to tell myself that was just how he was. Absent-minded. Oblivious.

Ninety percent of his life was research. The remaining ten percent was home.

And I was at least everything within that ten percent.

Now I saw it for what it was: a lie I'd been telling myself.

My heart clenched like a fist had closed around it, squeezing and tearing, until even breathing hurt.

I placed the divorce papers in my bag, numb, and contacted a lawyer.

The wildflower Karl had picked that morning and stuck in the vase on his way out had completely wilted.

I stared at it for a long time. Then I wiped my tears and dropped it in the trash.

From now on, I would never again shrink myself to accommodate Karl Delgado.

I was going to live for myself.

He didn't come home that night.

Early the next morning, the landline rang.

I picked up. An upbeat male voice came through the other end：

“It's that time of year again for the department's couples' travel grant. Should we put Professor Delgado down for two spots like usual?”

I froze. Something cold and formless crept up through my chest.

“……What travel grant?”

The man on the other end seemed caught off guard too.

“Oh, you know, the annual paid vacation the Research Institute arranges for senior researchers? Once a year, so everyone can unwind.”

“Professor Delgado applies for the couples' spot every year, doesn't he? Same this year?”

My grip on the phone tightened, knuckle by knuckle.

Because Karl had told me, clearly, that he never participated in those trips.

He said travel was a waste of time.

I'd clung to his arm once, playful and hopeful, telling him I wanted to see the ocean in Bali, that I wanted us to take a trip abroad together.

I knew how busy he was. I'd even suggested it myself：

“We could just go when the Institute does its couples' travel grant. Wouldn't that work?”

But Karl only frowned.

“What's the point of traveling?”

“I could read two more papers in the time it'd take.”

Now my nails dug deep into my palms, the sting in my nose almost unbearable, and I forced the words out softly：

“Then……where did he go, the past few years?”

The colleague laughed, thinking back：

“Bali, Chiang Mai, and the year before last he went all the way to Iceland.”

“Didn't the professor take you along, Mrs. Delgado?”

Everything went white.

Something detonated inside my skull.

Each word carved into me like a blade twisting between my ribs.

It was never that Karl didn't like traveling.

The person he wanted to travel with had just never been me.

The man on the phone was still talking, cheerful and oblivious：

“Oh, and Mrs. Delgado, tomorrow night is the celebration dinner for the project going to market.”

“The Institute is putting on a faculty family appreciation gala. You have to come!”

“All these years, we really couldn't have done it without the support from families like yours.”

My throat closed. I could barely speak.

“……Okay. I'll be there.”

The moment I hung up, my legs gave out and I sank to the floor.

The tears came all at once, violent and uncontrollable.

Karl applied for the couples' spot every single year.

And I, his wife, had never known.

Who he'd been taking was already obvious.

I picked up my phone with trembling hands.

And found that Karl, who almost never posted on Instagram, had just updated his story.

The photo was a bowl of plain rice porridge.

The caption was a single line：

“After every delicacy in the world, this simple bowl of porridge is still the one I miss most.”

I stared at those words and laughed, hollow and bitter.

The longer I laughed, the harder the tears fell.

For five years, I had taught myself to cook for Karl, inventing new recipes to nourish a body worn down by late nights in the lab.

His stomach was weak, so I spent hours studying meals that would be gentle on it.

He said work exhausted him, so I'd crawl out of bed at midnight to simmer soup.

And none of it mattered. In his eyes, it still couldn't compare to a bowl of plain porridge from Crystal.

Fine.

At least I'd seen the truth before it was too late.

Once he signed those divorce papers, everything between us would be over for good.

That evening, Karl sent me a message.

“Sleeping at the lab tonight. Don't wait up.”

Not a single word about the faculty family appreciation gala.

The next day, I went alone.

Over the years, I'd donated hundreds of thousands of dollars to the Research Institute through my company.

A gala like this was a valuable opportunity for brand visibility.

Even if Karl hadn't told me about it, I would have shown up.

But nothing could have prepared me for what I saw the moment I walked into the banquet hall. Karl was seated in the front row.

And the person beside him was Crystal.

They were sitting close together, tugging at something between them.