His Three "Do-not-disturb" Rules

"Fine. Divorce."

I cut her off flatly, my expression unchanged.

"But when your company hits a wall, I hope you can keep that same energy about keeping business and personal life separate."

Lesley was practically doubled over laughing. He pulled Vivian close and planted an exaggerated kiss on her forehead.

"Vivian, Ethan's joke is hilarious," he said. "Without him, your company is only going to thrive. What could possibly go wrong?"

Vivian joined in, her laugh sharp and mocking.

"He's never had any self-awareness. The guy can't even face clients anymore," she sneered. "Not like you—ever since you walked into the company, you've brought in one big project after another."

A wave of disappointment washed over me. I reached into the drawer, pulled out the divorce papers I'd prepared long ago, and tossed them onto the desk.

"Then let's sign. Right now."

"You're actually divorcing me?"

Vivian's eyes went wide at the sight of the papers. A derisive laugh escaped her.

"Is this some kind of joke?"

She shot me a smug look, then grabbed a pen and signed.

"Ethan, there's still a thirty-day cooling-off period. If you come crawling back, I might just forgive you."

She turned, linked arms with Lesley, and walked out.

I took the signed divorce papers straight to the courthouse.

To sell the story that my company really had gone under, I decided to play along and check out the address on that flyer.

By nightfall, I was standing in a room full of male models, facing a woman with a sharp waist and an even sharper attitude.

"I'll buy your company for twenty thousand—but you spend the night with me. If I'm satisfied, I'll sign," she said.

I let out a bitter, disbelieving laugh.

Even if Vivian's company went bankrupt tomorrow, it still took me three years to build. It was worth over ten million.

And now she wanted me to sell it for twenty grand—and pay for the privilege?

The insult stung.

I snorted and turned to leave, but Lesley shoved the door open and blocked my path.

"Ethan, how's that deal going? Can't even close a twenty-thousand-dollar sale? Pathetic."

My eyes went cold.

"Does Vivian know you're here?" I asked quietly.

Lesley's eyes gleamed with malice as he shoved me hard.

"Still hiding behind Vivian's name? Keep dreaming."

"She knows, of course," he sneered. "That twenty thousand? That's her valuation. She even suggested we use you as bait to get a better price for the company."

He waved his hand arrogantly. Behind him, his bodyguards moved in and pinned me down. All of this—the muscle, the attitude—was bankrolled by Vivian's money. His audacity had a price tag.

"I'm here to make sure you sign," Lesley growled.

The bodyguards forced my hand toward the papers. I glared at him, fighting with everything I had.

He frowned, stepped closer, and grabbed my chin hard.

"Refuse to sign? Then don't plan on leaving this room."

I met his threat with a cold laugh.

"You're nothing but a lapdog Vivian keeps. How dare you speak to me like this?"

"Ethan, you son of a bitch—"

His hand tightened around my throat, and he slapped me across the face.

"Strip him! Let Lisa inspect the merchandise first," he barked.

The bodyguards tore at my clothes. When I fought back, they kicked me in the stomach—again and again. Pain exploded through my body. I coughed up blood, a wet, rattling sound.

Lesley planted his foot on my back and pressed down harder.

"Ethan, your body's not worth much. Ms. Moore says ten grand—so that's the price for your company. Sign now, or you'll regret it."

Everything blurred. My hands shook as I fumbled for the pen. Gritting my teeth, I muttered, "I'll sign..."

After I signed, Lesley forced me to hand over the company seal and stamped it without even glancing at the papers.

He patted my cheek smugly. "That's more like it."