My husband was on his way to the attorney's office with his mistress to finalize our divorce when a car crash turned him into a vegetable. Now, in the sterile hospital room, his mistress was sobbing over his bed, playing the role of the devoted wife far better than I ever did. I scoffed under my breath. "Serves you right." Shut up! I stared at my comatose husband in absolute shock. I could actually hear his inner thoughts. A chill crawled up my spine. Terrified, I instinctively shrank back, bumping right into the chest of the tall, broad-shouldered man standing behind me. 1 Through the thin fabric of his cotton shirt, I could feel the hard, defined lines of his abs. "Nice build," I blurted out before I could stop myself. Rowan cleared his throat, taking a shy step back as a faint flush of pink crept up his pale neck. Rowan was a junior partner at a law firm. I had originally hired him to handle the asset division for my divorce, but after the accident, he had insisted on accompanying me to the hospital. We had only communicated through emails and phone calls before today. Seeing him in person, I realized he perfectly fit the modern ideal of a man, built like a predator but with the gentle, protective demeanor of a golden retriever. Right then, a furious roar echoed in my ears. Joanna! We are not divorced yet! The realization hit me again. I had somehow awakened a telepathic connection, but only with my brain-dead husband. Victor had always been so stingy with his words during our marriage, treating every conversation with me like a chore. Who knew turning into a vegetable would make him so damn noisy. I glanced at Scarlett, who was practically draped over Victor's motionless body, and rolled my eyes. What a hypocrite. The doctor had explained that a blood clot was pressing against Victor's neurological pathways, causing the coma. The good news was that he could wake up. The bad news was the timeline. It could be months, or it could be years. He told us to prepare for the worst. Before leaving the room, the doctor had cast a very knowing look at Scarlett. She was an actress. Back when she was a nobody, Victor's company had spent a fortune to sign her as their brand ambassador. She had just recently snagged a Best Actress award at an indie film festival. The doctor had definitely recognized her. Seeing a famous actress weeping hysterically over another woman's husband painted a very clear picture. Scarlett's sobs hitched in her throat. Catching my stare, she glared at me with venomous eyes. "What are you looking at? If it weren't for that crash, I'd be the legal Mrs. Blackwood right now." She wasn't wrong. Victor had planned to sign the divorce papers with me and immediately drive to city hall to marry Scarlett. Just a few days ago, Scarlett had posted a photo on her Instagram story hinting that her "happily ever after" was coming. The picture showed two hands intertwined, sporting matching diamond engagement bands. It was Victor's hand. There was a tiny, faint mole on his index finger. It was small, but to me, it had been blindingly obvious. 2 Years ago, right out of college, Victor had big dreams for a tech startup but absolutely no capital. Some arrogant venture capitalists had invited him to a dinner party, expecting him to beg. Victor had walked out, claiming he didn't need investors who required their egos stroked with expensive whiskey. His arrogance cost him dearly. Soon enough, his little company couldn't even make payroll. Drunk and defeated, he had collapsed into my arms, asking why no one could see the genius of his business model. Why were there no real visionaries out there? I held him tight and told him they were coming. Not long after, an anonymous angel investor pumped millions into his startup in exchange for thirty percent of the equity. With that lifeline, Victor's company skyrocketed. I stood by him for three grueling years. He hated corporate networking, so I became the one attending the galas, drinking executives under the table until I was numb. On those nights, he would hold me with red-rimmed eyes, swearing to the heavens that he would never betray me. Together, we turned a third-rate startup into a publicly traded empire. But as the money rolled in, the resentment grew. On countless late nights, he would whisper his frustrations into the dark. "Jo, every time I look at the company ledgers, I think about that thirty percent we gave away for just a few million. It makes me sick." He always said it with a laugh, but the undertone of regret and blame was heavy enough to make me feel overwhelmingly guilty. So, after we got married, the moment he uttered the words "let me take care of you," I handed in my resignation. I happily traded my tailored suits for the life of a full-time housewife. I wore my wedding band every single day. Victor, on the other hand, casually tossed his onto his nightstand, claiming it dug into his skin when he typed. That was the cause of our first real screaming match. We were standing under the massive crystal chandelier in our foyer. He was dressed in a bespoke Italian suit, looking every inch the refined billionaire. I was standing there in a stained apron with messy hair, looking like a hysterical maid. He had yanked at his silk tie with a look of pure disgust. "Joanna, let's just cool off, okay? We'll talk later." The roar of his sports car engine echoed through the driveway. He didn't come home for a week. Eventually, I was the one who caved. It wasn't that the ring was uncomfortable. He just didn't want to wear it for me. The ocean took my parents when I was young. I had told Victor time and time again that he was the only family I had left in this world. But his grand promise of forever barely lasted five years. He used to say that if he ever broke my heart, God could strike him down. I just didn't expect karma to work so efficiently. 3 During the crash, Victor had thrown himself over Scarlett to shield her, taking the brunt of the impact. As soon as the doctor's footsteps faded down the hall, Scarlett's tears magically evaporated. She stood up so abruptly that the metal chair scraped violently against the linoleum floor. Trapped in the dark, Victor heard the noise and panicked. Joanna! What happened to Scarlett? Is she okay? Rowan, clearly sensing the toxic atmosphere, mumbled an excuse about checking some paperwork and slipped out of the room. Scarlett grabbed her designer bag and stormed out right after him. Now, it was just me and Victor. When I didn't say a word, Victor's internal voice grew frantic, losing any trace of decency. Joanna, I swear to God, if you dare touch a single hair on her head, I will make your life a living hell! "Really?" I pulled up a chair and sat down, staring at the empty space next to his bed. A sudden urge to mess with him bubbled up in my chest. "How exactly is a vegetable going to make my life hell?" I leaned in closer. "Victor, Scarlett just collapsed. She's lying right here on the floor. But you know what? I don't think I'm going to press the call button. I wonder how long it'll take for her to wake up on her own." His psychic roar nearly shattered my eardrums. You psychotic bitch! You knew she was pregnant, didn't you? I never realized how utterly evil you were, Joanna. You'd actually kill an unborn child! So Scarlett was pregnant. No wonder he had risked his life to play the hero. Something warm and wet slid down my cheek. I honestly thought I was entirely numb to Victor by now, that his words couldn't possibly carve any more pieces out of my heart. "Victor." My voice was ice cold, cutting right through his panicked thoughts. "We had a child once, too. You were the one who killed her." After the wedding, Victor lived at the office. I hated having maids or strangers in the house, so most days, I was completely alone in that massive, echoing mansion. I just wanted a baby to keep me company. Victor had hated the idea. He fed me a million excuses. He was too busy. He didn't have time for a kid. We were still young and needed to enjoy our time together. Eventually, I wore him down. He agreed. But after months of trying, my tests kept coming back negative. I secretly went to a fertility clinic, convinced my body was broken. I drank vile herbal teas and took every supplement on the market. Nothing worked. Then, one afternoon, I found a prescription bottle hidden in his gym bag. That was how I learned Victor had been taking male contraceptives the entire time. He couldn't win the argument with words, so he controlled my body in secret. The betrayal and his deliberate emotional distance pushed me into a deep depression. I threw the bottle at his chest, screaming, begging to know why. "Joanna, I grew up without a father. I know exactly how much that hurts. I refuse to bring a child into this world when I don't have the time to actually be a dad." It was a pathetic, disgusting lie. His father had died. Victor just loved his money more than his family. Three years of dating. Two years of marriage. I was exhausted. The Victor in my memories used to take the subway for an hour across town in the freezing snow just to bring me my favorite strawberry tart. He used to spend half his paycheck to buy me a coat just because I looked at it twice in a catalog. He used to say, "Whatever other girls have, my Jo gets double." Back then, his eyes were full of nothing but pure, unadulterated love. Looking at the man standing in front of me now, I realized I was living with a stranger. I didn't argue. I walked down to the cellar, pulled out his most expensive bottle of vintage Bordeaux, and poured myself a brimming glass. The wine was unbreathed. It tasted bitter and heavy with tannins. As I swallowed the last drop, I looked him dead in the eye. "I don't want a baby anymore. And I don't want you, either. I want a divorce." 4 "Absolutely not." Victor snatched the empty crystal glass from my hand and poured one for himself. Tasting of rich wine and desperation, he kissed me. That was the night our daughter was conceived. When I went into labor, he wasn't there. I lay in the sterile hospital bed, calling his private number over and over. He kept sending me to voicemail. Right as my strength was completely giving out, he finally picked up. "Joanna, I am in the middle of a board meeting." The line went dead. The delivery nurse held my phone, her face flushed with secondhand embarrassment as she tried to comfort me. The birth was brutal. Trembling through the agonizing pain, I signed my own surgical consent forms. Miraculously, my little girl survived. From the moment she was born, she became my entire universe. She was an absolute angel, always giggling, always reaching for me. Victor had no interest in her. He rarely looked at her, yet her very first word was "Dada." Something about hearing that word seemed to awaken a tiny shred of humanity in him. For a few rare, fleeting days, he came home early. He would put her on his shoulders and run around the living room while she squealed with joy. Just a few days before her first birthday, I caught a nasty flu. Terrified of getting her sick, I checked myself into a clinic across town and left her in Victor's care. I never imagined that would be the last time I saw her breathing. The coroner said a sudden, violent spike in fever took her in her sleep. I had cornered Victor in the hallway, gripping the lapels of his suit, screaming until my vocal cords tore. Where the hell was he when she was burning up? He offered absolutely no explanation. He just stood there like a statue, telling me to calm down, looking as detached as if the dead infant were a stranger on the evening news. It took me a long time to uncover the truth. That night, a thunderstorm had rolled through the city. Scarlett had called him, crying that she was scared of the lightning. And just like that, for a woman playing the victim, Victor abandoned his sick, one-year-old daughter. That was the second time I demanded a divorce. Again, he refused. "Victor, is there really any point to this marriage? Just let me go." "Jo, did you forget? You were the one who taught me the golden rule. Only the person holding more than fifty percent of the shares gets the final say." A suffocating, endless darkness swallowed me whole. The blood in my veins turned to ice. It was so, so cold. 5 When our company finally went public, Victor and I held an equal fifty percent of the founder's shares. Over the years, we brought in other board members, diluting our combined stake to exactly sixty-four percent. I remembered smiling at him, shaking my head. "Only the person holding more than fifty percent has absolute authority, Mr. CEO." Victor had pulled me into his arms, kissing the top of my head. "Jo, we're getting married. What's mine is yours." He had insisted on transferring his shares to my name. Eventually, I compromised. I refused to take his equity, but I made him sign a legal contingency. If we ever divorced, I would take back what was rightfully mine. It was supposed to be a fail-safe, a punishment if he ever broke my heart. He had pinned me to the bed that night, swearing he would never give me the chance to use it. "So, you refuse to divorce me," I whispered into the quiet hospital room, "not because you feel guilty about me, and not because you feel guilty about our dead daughter. You're just terrified of losing your precious company." Victor's inner voice fell dead silent. He knew I had finally given up my claim on those shares just to buy my freedom. I just hadn't anticipated he would be so utterly shameless as to schedule his wedding to Scarlett on the exact same day our divorce was supposed to be finalized. Hearing me mention our child, Victor's aggressive thoughts completely deflated. When he finally spoke in my mind, his tone was pathetic and begging. Joanna, I know I failed you. I know I did. But this is the only child I have left. Please, just leave him alone. It was true. The emergency room doctor had mentioned that the steering column had crushed his pelvis during the crash. Victor was permanently sterile. They always say karma is a mirror. Why should a monster like him get to be a father anyway? His thoughts kept rambling, growing more desperate and frantic by the second. I leaned down until my lips were inches from his ear and let out a soft, mocking laugh. "Oh, Victor, what should I do? There's so much blood on the floor. I think it's coming from Scarlett." Joanna, you will burn in hell for this! People like you deserve to rot in hell! "Maybe I will," I whispered. "But your kid is already waiting for me down there. Victor, let's just cool off, okay?" 6 Victor clearly wasn't cooling off. The heart monitors hooked up to him started blaring a piercing alarm. A team of nurses and doctors sprinted into the room. They rushed around him with syringes and paddles. For a moment, I really thought he was going to die. But after stabilizing him, the lead doctor turned to me with wide eyes, explaining that the massive spike in blood pressure had somehow shifted the clot. He was going to wake up in a few days. What a resilient cockroach. Even before his eyes could open, his consciousness was fully awake, hurling mental obscenities at me. He screamed in his mind that marrying me was the biggest mistake of his miserable life. I almost laughed. I leaned over him one last time, keeping my voice sweet and low. "Do you really think Scarlett loves you? The second the doctor said you might be a vegetable for years, your little soulmate packed up her designer bags and bolted. She's probably already swiping for her next sugar daddy." Hearing that, Victor completely snapped. He started mentally screaming for a divorce immediately. In the past, I was the desperate one, giving up everything just to escape. Now, the tables had turned. I was setting the terms. "I want half of your shares." Impossible. Don't even dream about it. It's my empire. "Then we stay married." You... Ten percent. That's my final offer. Don't push your luck. If his eyes were open, I knew exactly what his face would look like. Jaw clenched, veins popping, utterly disgusted. "Half. It was always mine to begin with." Fifteen. "Half." Twenty. His mental voice was practically vibrating with rage, signaling he had reached his absolute limit. "Deal. Have your lawyer call mine the second they discharge you." I didn't waste another breath on him. I picked up my purse and walked out into the sunlight. I just didn't expect him to move so fast. Barely two days later, his legal team reached out. Standing on the steps of the courthouse with my fresh divorce decree in hand, I glanced behind him. He was completely alone. Now that he was awake, the telepathic connection had vanished. I couldn't hear a thing. "What, no double celebration today? Did Scarlett really find herself a new sponsor?" I was only mocking him, but Victor's face instantly turned the color of bruised plums. He spat out something about me minding my own business and limped to his waiting town car. Turns out, my joke was a prophecy. Scarlett had indeed found a new billionaire backer. And surprisingly, it was someone I knew very well. 7 Following the reallocation of my new shares, the company called an emergency Board of Directors meeting. Victor arrogantly took the massive leather chair at the head of the mahogany table, assuming it belonged to the largest shareholder. The seat to his right was conspicuously empty. His executive assistant nervously announced that the mysterious angel investor, who still held thirty percent of the company, was finally making an appearance today. At the exact moment the clock struck the hour, the heavy oak doors swung open. A man and a woman walked in arm-in-arm. My jaw nearly dropped. Scarlett was clinging to Rowan's bicep. She whispered something in his ear, and they both let out a soft laugh. "Scarlett!" Victor's voice cracked like a whip, cutting her laughter short. She froze, staring at him in absolute terror. "V-Victor? You're out of the hospital?" Her voice trembled violently. A bead of cold sweat rolled down her perfectly powdered temple. I watched her desperately try to yank her arm away from Rowan, but his grip was ironclad. Rowan leaned down, his lips brushing her ear, looking like the picture of an intimate lover. "Babe, you okay?" Victor looked absolutely murderous. His glare could have melted glass. The sheer absurdity of the love triangle was too much. I let out a sharp laugh, which earned me a vicious glare from my ex-husband. Victor stood up, violently grabbing Scarlett's wrist and yanking her behind his back. He turned his venom on Rowan. "I don't care who you are, you are trespassing. Get the hell out of my boardroom." He picked up the intercom to call security. "Take a breath, Mr. Blackwood. I have every right to be at this meeting." Rowan waved a hand dismissively. So Rowan was the phantom investor. While everyone else at the table was suffocating in Tom Ford suits, Rowan was wearing a crisp white t-shirt and vintage denim, looking like a harmless college frat boy. Victor slammed the phone down, barking at the guards to stand down. As he moved to sit back in the CEO's chair, Rowan stepped right in his path. "Actually, Victor, your seat is over there." Rowan offered a polite smile, pointing a long finger toward a chair near the middle of the table. With his other hand, he grabbed the back of the CEO's chair and casually sat down in it. Leaning back, Rowan gestured to the secretary. "Alright, let's get this show on the road." I watched Victor's face transition from red to purple, finally settling on a sickly, furious gray. He looked like a chameleon having a stroke. But with the entire board watching, he forced his rage down. "I currently hold thirty-four percent of this company. I believe that makes me the majority, Mr. Gallagher." Victor smiled, though his eyes were completely dead. Rowan didn't even look at him. Instead, he waved Scarlett over with a bright, charming smile. "Come here, babe. Why don't you explain the math to your ex-boyfriend." Rowan emphasized the word ex heavily. The entire room held its breath, eyes darting between the three of them. The secretary leaned down and whispered in my ear that this was better than reality TV. Scarlett looked like she was going to throw up. Trembling like a leaf, she stuttered out a confession. She had gifted half of her personal five percent equity to Rowan. "That makes thirty-five percent." Rowan grinned, mimicking Victor's soulless smile perfectly. "Looks like I beat you by one percent. My apologies." Victor stared at Scarlett, the color draining completely from his face. Scarlett grabbed her stomach, rolled her eyes to the back of her head, and dramatically fainted onto the carpet. Honestly, the Best Actress award must have been bought by Victor. That was a terrible performance. The board meeting was effectively adjourned, but the executives left the room fighting back smiles. Victor was the only one who looked like he was attending a funeral. Once the room cleared, I pulled out my phone and opened a chat window. Great acting today. Proceed to phase two. Almost instantly, a sticker of a golden retriever wagging its tail popped up on my screen. 8 According to the secretary's frantic gossip, Scarlett's ambulance had been intercepted by paparazzi on the way to the ER. Desperate to protect her image, Victor had forced his driver to lose the tabloid cars on the freeway, driving recklessly for hours. The stress nearly caused Scarlett to miscarry. Victor had thrown an absolute tantrum. He even hired some thugs to jump the lead photographer in an alley. Desperate to legitimize his relationship and the child, he was planning an exclusive magazine interview to announce their engagement. I couldn't let him control the narrative. I had to pass the torch on my own terms. I drafted a beautifully devastating post on Twitter and Instagram. I painted a tragic, poetic picture of a man so deeply in love with Miss Scarlett that he abandoned his dying daughter during a thunderstorm just to comfort her. I praised Miss Scarlett's immense bravery for getting pregnant so quickly to heal his grieving heart. I called myself a bitter, wicked woman who was standing in the way of true love, and publicly announced that I was stepping aside to let their beautiful romance blossom. To ensure nobody thought I was making it up, I attached pristine, high-resolution scans of our divorce decree and Scarlett's ultrasound report. The dates were impossible to misinterpret. By midnight, the internet exploded. Victor's reputation was incinerated. Scarlett was canceled globally. The stress sent her back to the hospital, and this time, the baby didn't make it. At the same time, I reached out to the beaten paparazzi photographer and covered his medical bills. During our chat, he let it slip that the guys who jumped him were wearing boots issued by Victor's corporate security team. I smiled. Victor was practically handing me the nails for his own coffin. While the internet was still out for blood, I helped the photographer file a police report, gifting Victor a beautiful fifteen-day stay in the county jail for assault. On the day of his release, Scarlett was waiting for him at the gates. I tipped off the tabloids. The photographer was a true professional. That evening, a new hashtag trended at number one. #ToxicSoulmates. The comments were entirely people praying that Victor and Scarlett would stay together forever so they couldn't ruin anyone else's lives. Because of the massive PR nightmare, the company's stock took a nosedive. Millions in market cap vanished overnight. Several international clients pulled their contracts. As the acting CEO, Victor was forced to eat the losses. Desperate for liquidity, he sold his penthouse and his fleet of sports cars just to plug the bleeding holes in the corporate accounts. Stripped of his cash flow, he rented a dingy two-bedroom apartment near the financial district. It was a massive fall from grace, but at least Scarlett was still playing the loyal girlfriend. "You really think she's staying out of love?" The photographer sneered over coffee, sliding his phone across the table to me. "Her agency dropped her and slapped her with a breach of contract suit. She literally has nowhere else to go." On the screen, a grainy video showed Scarlett in a cheap apron, screaming at Victor in a cramped kitchen. Victor threw a coffee mug at the wall and slammed the door behind him. His new apartment was a walk-up in a bad neighborhood. Stomping down the dark stairwell, he missed a step and face-planted on the concrete, chipping his front tooth and ripping his cheap dress shirt. The rest of the footage was repetitive. Victor getting blackout drunk, coming home, and engaging in screaming matches with Scarlett. The photographer mentioned that Victor was spending every night at dive bars and cheap steakhouses, drinking cheap whiskey and begging lower-tier suppliers for contracts like a desperate dog. I pushed the phone back across the table, losing interest. I told him to keep a tail on them. Victor was holding out longer than I anticipated. I thought he would have started liquidating his shares by now. He needed a harder push. I opened the chat window with Rowan and typed a quick message. Go comfort your girlfriend. She's probably missing you.
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