Divorce Behind a Fake Pregnancy

The conference room fell silent as I placed my leather portfolio on the polished mahogany table. Twelve pairs of eyes followed my movements—some curious, others wary. Lee sat at the far end, his posture rigid, jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle twitching beneath his skin.

"Thank you all for coming on such short notice," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. The divorce papers Marcus had prepared sat in my bag, unsigned but ready. First, there was this.

"Elisabeth, while I appreciate your enthusiasm," Lee began, his tone condescending, "calling an emergency board meeting without consulting the CEO is highly irregular."

I met his gaze directly. "Actually, as the majority shareholder, it's well within my rights."

The silence that followed was deafening. Lee's expression shifted from dismissive to confused. "What are you talking about?"

Marcus Chen, seated to my right, slid copies of the shareholder documentation across the table. "Mrs. Silva—or rather, Ms. Bennett—holds fifty-one percent of company shares. A fact that seems to have been... overlooked in recent years."

Lee's face drained of color as he scanned the documents. "This is impossible. We restructured three years ago."

"The restructuring affected operational control, not ownership," I said, remembering how I'd signed those papers without question, trusting Lee implicitly. "Something you neglected to mention."

Director Wilson cleared his throat. "What exactly is the purpose of this meeting, Elisabeth?"

I straightened my shoulders. "I'm exercising my right as majority shareholder to remove Lee Silva from his position as CEO, effective immediately."

The room erupted. Lee slammed his palm against the table. "You can't do this!"

"I already have." I nodded to Marcus, who distributed the prepared resolutions. "The board will vote to confirm, but as majority shareholder, the outcome is predetermined."

Lee's shock morphed into something darker. "This is about Saige, isn't it? You're punishing me for something I haven't even done."

"This is about trust," I replied, keeping my voice level despite the tremor in my hands. "And leadership requires trust."

The vote was a formality. Within twenty minutes, Lee Silva was no longer CEO of the company he had built. As board members filed out, murmuring among themselves, Lee remained seated, staring at me with eyes I no longer recognized.

"I never thought you'd be capable of this," he said quietly.

"That makes two of us." I gathered my things, refusing to let him see me falter.

---

My phone chimed with a notification as I entered my hotel room. Against my better judgment, I opened it—another Instagram post from Saige. She stood outside Calloway's, the little French bistro where Lee had proposed, her hand resting on a barely visible bump beneath a fitted dress.

"Special memories at special places. #BabyBump #SecondTrimester"

I threw my phone onto the bed, fighting the urge to scream. Every post was perfectly calculated, featuring locations from my life with Lee. Places that held our most intimate memories, now being rewritten with her presence.

My phone rang—Lee's name flashing on the screen. I almost declined, but something made me answer.

"What do you want?"

"We need to talk." His voice sounded different—less angry, more resigned. "About the house."

"Your lawyer can talk to mine."

"Elisabeth, please." There was a pause. "I'm asking for two months."

"Two months for what?"

"To live in the house. Together. Before the divorce is finalized." When I didn't respond, he continued, "I need time to find somewhere else. The market is terrible right now."

It was a transparent excuse. Lee could afford any property he wanted.

"Why should I agree to that?"

Another pause. "Because despite everything, we were married for ten years. Don't we deserve a better ending than this?"

I closed my eyes, hating myself for the weakness that still pulled at my heart. "Two months. Separate bedrooms. And if I see Saige anywhere near our property, the deal's off."

"Agreed." He sounded almost relieved. "Thank you."

I ended the call, wondering if I'd just made the biggest mistake of my life. But something in his voice—something I couldn't quite identify—had reached past my anger to touch the part of me that still remembered loving him.

Two months. I could survive anything for two months.