Chapter 77
CINDY’S POV
He snatched the papers, his eyes scanning frantically across each line.
“Divorce?! You can’t divorce me, Cindy. You can’t…”
“You’ve been begging for this for years,” I said calmly. “I’m just giving you what you wanted.”
His blurry gaze snagged on the asset division clause, and the color drained from his face so fast I thought he might actually faint.
“Seventy percent!!!! Are you fucking crazy, Cindy?! How could you want seventy percent of the company's shares and properties? This is my father’s legacy…”
“Your father’s legacy was bleeding out until I poured millions in anonymously to keep the lights on,” I said, a wicked grin tugging at my lips.
“You’re welcome, by the way. I’m feeling generous, so I left you thirty percent. The rest is mine.”
His knees buckled. He hit the ground hard, the papers scattering around him like dead leaves.
“Please,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Cindy, please. You’ll ruin me.”
I looked down at him—at the man who had once made me beg for crumbs of affection, now on his knees in front of five hundred people—and felt absolutely nothing.
“You ruined yourself, Henry,” I said, my mind and body devoid of all emotion. “I’m just collecting what’s owed.”
He lunged forward, his fingers clawing at Alaric’s trousers.
“Please, help me talk to her…”
Alaric didn't waste a second. His foot connected with Henry’s stomach in one clean, controlled kick. Henry doubled over, gasping, tears and snot mixing on his face.
“You had three years to be a good spouse to her,” Alaric growled, his eyes burning with fury. “Yet you chose to be garbage instead.”
“I will be a better man, I promise.”
I let out a soft, incredulous scoff that cut straight through his whining.
“Of course you’ll be a better man now that you know I’m Cindy Verilli. But unfortunately for you, I don’t want a man who only loves me once the price tag is visible. So congratulations, Henry. You and your mistress are perfect for each other.”
He crawled forward, grabbing the tail of my dress, his face crumpled and disgustingly pathetic.
“If it’s about Monica, I’ll send her away. I swear. I’ll get rid of her right away.”
“What?!” A shriek sliced through the air.
Monica shot up from her chair so fast it toppled backward.
“What the hell did you just say? You’re throwing me out? Are you insane?”
Henry didn’t even spare her a glance. He was too busy crawling and groveling at my feet, his palms open in pathetic supplication.
“I promise, babe,” he babbled.
“I’ll do anything to make you mine again. Please, Cindy, we can fix this. We can still…”
“There’s nothing to fix,” I snarled, wrenching the silk of my dress from his clutching fingers with one sharp tug.
The sudden force sent him sprawling forward; he lost his balance completely and ate the grass face-first, his cheek scraping the dirt.
He stayed there, sobbing into the grass, while the entire lawn watched in perfect, horrified silence.
Monica stormed over, her face twisted in fury. “You’re really going to toss me aside? I’m carrying your child, you spineless idiot!”
Henry pushed himself up on trembling arms, grass stains smeared across his cheek and one lapel of his tuxedo twisted halfway up his shoulder.
He didn’t spare Monica a single glance. His eyes (red-rimmed, wet, desperate) stayed locked on me like I was the only thing left in the world that could save him.
And that was the moment Monica decided to end the charade herself.
With a sneer of pure disgust, she shoved her hand beneath the hem of her dress and yanked. Layer after layer of padding came out (foam, fabric, a cheap silicone belly) until the “baby bump” landed on the grass with a dull, humiliating thud.
The entire crowd let out a collective, sharp gasp.
Henry’s head finally snapped toward her. His mouth hung open, and his eyes were wide with the slow, sick realization that he’d been played just as hard as he’d played me.
Then she slapped his face so hard his head snapped sideways, leaving a perfect red handprint blooming on his skin.
“You pathetic, limp-dicked loser,” Monica snarled, her voice shrill and ugly now that the sweet façade had shattered.
“You actually thought I’d let something of yours grow inside me? That I wanted to be saddled with your brat?”
She burst into a ridiculous, high-pitched laugh, then lifted his chin with her index finger.
“Oh, my poor, delusional Henry. I was here for the money, nothing else. But now that your darling wife has already bled it dry, there’s no reason for me to stay. So rot in the gutter where you belong, you worthless piece of shit.”
And with that, she stormed off, her heels stabbing the lawn like daggers.
Henry stayed on his knees, staring at the discarded padding, tears falling from his eyes like a broken tap and mixing with snot. He looked so pathetic, like what he was: a man who’d gambled everything and lost it all.
For one split second, something that might have been pity flickered in my chest. I crushed it before it could breathe.
Lydia and Vivian rushed forward immediately, grabbing his arms and attempting to haul him up.
“Get up,” Lydia hissed through clenched teeth.
“You’re embarrassing the family. You’re embarrassing the company.”
“No!” he wailed, fighting them, his fingers clawing at the grass.
“Cindy!!! Monica’s gone! She’s really gone! We can start over! Please!”
I looked down at him—at the man who once made me feel small and worthless, now reduced to a sobbing, kneeling mess in front of the entire world—and felt the last knot in my chest unravel.
“That,” I said quietly, “is your karma, Henry. Deal with it.”
Then I turned my back on him for the last time.
His broken cry chased after me. “Cindy, please… don’t do this to me!”
Lydia and Vivian finally hauled him upright, dragging him away while he sagged between them like a rag doll, tears streaming, his voice cracking on my name over and over.
I didn’t look back once.
When I reached Alaric, he opened his arms without a word. I walked straight into them, buried my face in his shoulder, and let the music and the lights and the rest of the world fade away.
Finally… It’s over.