Divorced the CEO After His Mistress Killed My Mom

After Otis Sanchez cheated on me, I wanted revenge.

So over the next six months, I went through no fewer than ten boyfriends.

The same night I ended things with number ten, I asked Otis for a divorce.

"Mrs. Sanchez." He didn't even look up from his phone. "How many times does this make now?"

He finally finished his message and raised his eyes to meet mine.

"What, not satisfied with the latest boyfriend?" A smirk played at his lips. "Must be serious if it's got the unflappable Mrs. Sanchez storming in here to make a scene."

He reached for his jacket, still smiling.

"But I don't have time for this tonight, Mrs. Sanchez. I have plans."

I watched him, still unable to understand. How did men compartmentalize so easily—love in one box, sex in another, neither touching?

"Otis." I stepped into his path, holding up the divorce papers. My voice was calm. "I'm serious this time. Let's set each other free."

1.

"Mrs. Sanchez." His expression remained carelessly indifferent. "I really don't have time to play along with your little drama."

He opened WeChat and waved the screen in front of my face.

"My girl's getting impatient."

"You should understand—" His tone carried a hint of laughter, his features softening in a way I hadn't seen directed at me in years. "She's very hard to coax when she's upset, Mrs. Sanchez."

On the screen was a matching profile picture. A couple's avatar. Hers paired with his.

The chat showed her latest messages:

[How much longer are you going to babysit that old hag?]

[You said she has her own boyfriends anyway. Or what—you decided you like older women now? Finally ready to get back together with your geriatric wife?]

She mocked my age without a shred of shame.

And Otis? He found it adorable. His reply made my stomach turn:

[Someone's jealous over nothing.]

A video call came through.

The sudden ringtone shattered the tension between us. Otis gestured at the screen apologetically. "You see, Mrs. Sanchez? I really am busy."

He answered it right in front of me.

Her voice poured out—syrupy, petulant, dripping with the confidence of a woman who knew she'd already won.

"Otis."

"I'm already outside your gate."

"You have three seconds."

"If you don't come out—"

"We're done!"

I listened to her ultimatum, watched Otis's expression flicker with something like panic before smoothing into indulgent warmth.

"You little tyrant."

"My wife is home, you know," he cooed into the phone. "Aren't you worried she'll hack you to pieces?"

"If she actually hits you, don't come crying to me."

I stood there as he flirted like I was invisible. The girl on the phone laughed, utterly unbothered.

"You won't let that happen."

"You promised you'd protect me!"

I knew what I was supposed to do.

Stay silent. Let him leave. Give him his space. That's what everyone said—as long as you're Mrs. Sanchez, you'll never want for anything. You can keep living like royalty. Your mother in the hospital will get the best care money can buy.

But I was done.

Done pretending. Done swallowing my pride.

I snatched the phone from his hand. His eyes went wide, but before he could react, I spoke directly into it.

"That's right. Mrs. Sanchez is very violent." My voice was ice. "You set one foot through this door, and you'll leave on a stretcher."

The girl's shrieks exploded through the speaker—shameless bitch, how dare you—but I was already hurling the phone at the marble floor. It shattered with a satisfying crack.

Then I threw open the villa's front door.

She was standing right there. Face flushed. Eyes blazing.

My palm connected with her cheek before she could speak.

The slap echoed across the courtyard.

"Do you know what you are?" My tone was sharp enough to cut, but my expression stayed flat—bored, even. "As long as I'm standing here, holding the title of Mrs. Sanchez for even one more second, you're nothing but a homewrecking mistress who isn't fit to be seen in public."

I grabbed a fistful of her hair and slammed her head against the door frame. The impact rang out like a gunshot.

She screamed—raw, unhinged.

"You're insane!"

"OTIS!"

"OTIS! Are you just going to stand there and watch her do this to me?!"