Divorced the CEO Who Broke Me Now He Begs on His Knees

To save my dying mother, I took the $500,000 from Aileen Gilbert and broke up with her son.

Julian Gilbert refused to accept it. Right in front of me, he jumped from the fifth floor.

He shattered his leg, lying in a pool of blood, yet still clutched my hand, eyes full of desperate devotion.

"Doris Harding, if I can't marry you, I'd rather die!"

He threatened death to get what he wanted—and he got it.

But on our wedding day, in front of everyone, he swapped my gown and ring for cheap knockoffs from a street stall.

"You love being a gold digger so much? In my eyes, you're just as worthless as this junk!"

After the wedding, women flocked around him. Every one of them showered with luxury cars and jewelry.

But me—Mrs. Gilbert—I needed approval to spend five dollars.

When my mother's condition turned critical, I applied to him for $10,000 for her surgery.

I knelt the entire night. All I got was a hundred-dollar bill and a casual sneer.

"A gold digger like you? That's all you're worth to me."

I clutched that hundred dollars and collapsed sobbing beside my mother's body.

Meanwhile, he was at an auction, releasing sky lanterns for his new lover.

When I woke, I didn't cry or make a scene. I brought him divorce papers.

He just smiled, calm as ever.

"All this drama over ten thousand dollars? Was it really worth it?"

——

I gripped those divorce papers and stumbled toward the CEO's office, hollowed out inside. But his assistant raised a hand to stop me.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Gilbert. Per company policy, you can't enter without an appointment."

I stared at that heavy door and laughed bitterly.

Five years of marriage, and every single time I came here, I was stopped.

Make an appointment. Go home and wait. I could recite the whole tedious process in my sleep.

Three days ago, my mother was dying.

I tried to force my way in like a madwoman, but security guards pinned me to the floor.

My collar was torn open. I clawed at the ground, dragging myself toward his office.

All ten fingernails broke off. I left a trail of blood across the floor.

When Julian found out, he opened the door and looked down at me.

No pity in his eyes. Only cold contempt.

"A gold digger is a gold digger. You'll do anything for money."

"How much do you want this time? Fifty thousand? A hundred thousand? Or the same five hundred thousand as before?"

"You want money? Fine. Show me your sincerity. I could use a guard dog at my door. Kneel here—one dollar per minute."

Naked humiliation. And I couldn't say a word against it.

I could only endure the mocking stares and kneel there like a wretch.

To torment me further, he called his new lover to come over.

Right in front of me, he carried her into his office.

That night, I knelt until dawn.

His lover moaned all night long.

The next morning, he opened the door and casually handed Eve Fox a check for ten million.

Then he turned and tossed me a hundred dollars.

He said that was all I was worth. Then he picked her up and walked away without looking back.

Even as I wept until my lungs gave out, begging him to save my mother, I couldn't get a shred of mercy.

By the time I reached the hospital clutching that hundred dollars, my mother had already stopped breathing.

Her eyes were still open. She died waiting to see my face.

I held her and cried until I blacked out.

The first thing I saw when I woke was a trending headline: Julian Gilbert, lighting sky lanterns at an auction, making a grand romantic gesture.

The media praised his generosity. Even his casual tips to the waitstaff were $50,000.

No one knew that Mrs. Gilbert—his own wife—couldn't scrape together $10,000, and had to watch her mother die right in front of her.

With a heart turned to ash, I called Julian and asked for a divorce.