My Husband Divorced Me Seven Times for His First Love—Then Told Me to Make Their Bed

I shoved the heavy oak door open before the latch could fully click shut. The sudden gust of wind blew rain into the foyer, snapping Chloe out of her trance.

She held the vellum bank statement inches from her face, her lips parting as she tried to sound out the terrifying string of zeros printed next to my name.

I crossed the Persian rug in three strides and snatched the paper right out of her manicured fingers.

"Hey!" Chloe yelped, stumbling back against the console table. "What is that?"

"Keep your hands off my property," I warned, folding the heavy paper and shoving it deep into my coat pocket.

"There were nine zeros on that page," Chloe said, her voice wavering between confusion and accusation. "Julian's corporate accounts don't even have that much liquid cash. What kind of fraud are you running?"

"Julian couldn't afford this account if he sold his soul," I told her.

"You forged this," Chloe accused, her pitch rising. "You printed this out to make yourself feel important. You are a broke, unemployed housewife."

"Believe whatever helps you sleep tonight," I said.

"I'm telling him," she threatened, pointing a trembling finger at my chest. "The second he gets back from the airport, I am telling him you embezzled company funds."

"Go ahead. Tell him." I adjusted the strap of my tote bag, letting the weight of my brass lockbox settle against my hip. "But if you ever dig through my personal belongings again, I will make sure you spend the rest of your life paying for it."

Chloe let out a harsh laugh, though her eyes darted nervously to my pocket. "You are bluffing. You don't have a dime."

"Enjoy the house, Chloe. I left the cleaning supplies under the sink."

I turned my back on her sputtering protests and walked out the door for the final time.

The storm had intensified. Cold rain lashed against my cheeks. I walked down the brick steps, ignoring the puddles soaking through my flats.

I expected the street to be empty, save for the flickering streetlamps.

Instead, a convoy of four matte-black Maybachs sat idling along the curb. Their engines hummed with a low, powerful vibration that I could feel through the soles of my shoes. These weren't rental cars. They bore the discreet silver crest of my family's private security firm on their license plates.

The rear door of the lead car swung open.

A man stepped onto the wet asphalt. Caleb Vanguard.

He wore a bespoke charcoal suit that cut a sharp, imposing silhouette against the dreary night. He popped open a massive black umbrella and walked toward me with long, measured strides. Caleb wasn't just a driver. He was a financial tycoon in his own right, a man who shattered corporate rivals before his morning coffee and had pledged his loyalty to my family years ago. Yet here he was, acting as my personal escort.

Caleb stopped two feet away. His sharp gray eyes scanned my damp clothes, my bare ring finger, and the heavy tote bag slung over my shoulder. Beneath his polished exterior, a dangerous anger simmered in his gaze—not directed at me, but at the house behind me.

"You stood out here in the freezing rain, Miss Serena," Caleb said, his deep voice easily cutting through the howling wind.

"I just finished the paperwork, Caleb," I told him.

"Seven years," he murmured, his jaw tight with suppressed fury. "The family has waited long enough."

He reached out and gently took the heavy tote bag from my grasp. The moment the weight left my shoulder, I felt a strange sense of gravity return to my life. Caleb bowed from the waist, a gesture of absolute respect, positioning the umbrella so the rain no longer hit my face.

"Your father requested we bring you straight to the estate," Caleb said, straightening up. "The board of directors is already assembling for your formal introduction tomorrow."

"Let's go, then."

Before Caleb could turn around, headlights cut through the darkness, blinding me for a split second.

A silver Porsche swerved into the driveway, its tires screeching against the wet pavement. Julian. He must have realized Chloe took a private car and rushed straight back from the airport to meet her.

The driver's side door flew open. Julian stepped out, his tailored jacket instantly soaked by the downpour. He opened his mouth, likely to yell at me for standing in the driveway, but the words died in his throat.

He expected to find me huddled on the porch, crying over the locked door. He expected to easily manipulate me into staying in the guest room.

Instead, he saw the convoy.

Julian's eyes darted from the armored cars to Caleb's custom suit, then finally to me. I stood perfectly dry beneath Caleb's umbrella, my cheap clothes contrasting wildly with the billionaire holding my bag. The sheer impossibility of the scene short-circuited his brain.

Julian's hand went slack.

His silver car keys slipped from his fingers. They hit a muddy puddle near his tire with a loud splash, sinking into the grime.

"Serena?" Julian called out, his voice cracking over the sound of the rain. He ignored his fallen keys and took a hesitant step forward. "What is going on here? Who is this man?"

"My ride," I said, keeping my tone perfectly flat.

"Your ride?" Julian scoffed, though his voice shook. "You don't know anyone who drives a Maybach. Did you drain our joint savings to rent a fleet for the night?"

"There were no joint savings, Julian," I reminded him. "You made sure of that with the prenup."

"Then how are you paying for this?" he demanded, taking another step toward us. "Tell this driver to back off right now. Are you throwing another tantrum? Because it's pathetic."

"Not everything in the world revolves around you and Chloe," I said.

"I am your husband!" Julian shouted, pointing a finger at my chest.

Caleb smoothly stepped between us, blocking Julian's path. "Step back, sir."

"Get out of my way," Julian snarled, trying to shove Caleb aside.

Caleb didn't budge an inch. "You signed the divorce papers twenty minutes ago. You have no legal or personal claim to this woman."

Julian glared at Caleb, his eyes narrowing as he tried to place the familiar face. "Who the hell are you to tell me what I can and cannot do on my own property?"

"I am the man who will ruin you if you take one more step toward her," Caleb replied, his tone chillingly calm.

"Serena!" Julian yelled, looking past Caleb's shoulder. "Stop playing these games. Get inside the house right now. Chloe is waiting for me, and I don't have time for your theatrics."

"Chloe is waiting for you," I agreed. "So go to her. I am done playing house."

"Get in the car, Miss Serena," Caleb said softly, opening the heavy rear door of the Maybach. "I will handle this."

I placed my hand on the leather seat and ducked inside the warm, luxurious cabin. The scent of expensive leather and cedar filled my lungs, erasing the damp smell of Julian's driveway forever.

Julian lost his mind.

"You are not leaving!" he roared.

He sprinted across the wet grass, shoving past Caleb with a desperate burst of adrenaline.

He lunged into the open doorway of the Maybach and clamped his hand around my wrist like a steel vice, his eyes completely bloodshot.