Divorced The Billionaire, Married His Boss

Chandler Gentry gripped the stem of her champagne flute. The condensation from the chilled glass slipped down the crystal, pooling in her palm like cold sweat. The muscles in her hand ached from how tightly she held it, but she needed the physical pain to ground her. The grand ballroom of the Waldorf Astoria was suffocating. The air was thick with the smell of expensive perfume, roasted meats, and the heavy, invisible weight of Manhattan's corporate elite. Her chest felt tight, her lungs struggling to pull in enough oxygen.

She stood in a dim corner near a towering floral arrangement, invisible to the crowd. She rose onto her tiptoes, straining her neck to scan the sea of tailored tuxedos and designer gowns, searching for Avery. A waiter carrying a heavy silver tray of hors d'oeuvres bumped hard into her shoulder. Chandler stumbled, her ankle twisting slightly in her four-inch heels. Champagne sloshed over the rim of her glass, splashing onto her wrist. The cold liquid made her shiver.

She steadied herself against the wall. When she looked up, the heavy double doors of the ballroom swung open. Avery Osborn stepped inside. He wore a custom charcoal suit that fit his broad shoulders perfectly. The moment he entered, the ambient noise in the room seemed to shift, heads turning to acknowledge the heir to the Osborn media empire.

Chandler took a step forward, her lips parting to call his name. Then, her feet froze to the carpet. Pinned to Avery's side was Corinne Vance, his stunningly beautiful business partner. Corinne wore a backless emerald gown that clung to her curves.

Corinne leaned in, her red lips brushing against Avery's ear as she whispered something. Avery did not pull away. Instead, he tilted his head closer to hers. The corner of his mouth lifted into a soft, genuine smile-a smile Chandler had not seen directed at her in over a year.

A sharp cramp twisted Chandler's stomach. Bile rose in the back of her throat. Around her, she heard the low murmurs of the guests. "Look at them. The golden couple of Wall Street." "They are perfect together." The words felt like physical blows to her ribs. She could not breathe. She turned away from the ballroom doors, her heels clicking rapidly against the marble floor as she practically ran toward the secluded hallway leading to the restrooms.

The air in the hallway was significantly colder. It hit her flushed face, bringing a harsh clarity to her racing mind. Her hands shook violently as she pulled her phone from her clutch. She opened her messages and typed a text to Avery. When are you done? Can we go home? She hit send. She stared at the screen until it went dark. No reply.

Ten minutes passed. The silence of the hallway was broken by the sound of heavy, deliberate footsteps. Chandler looked up. Avery stood at the end of the corridor, his cold, gray eyes locked onto hers.

Chandler pushed herself off the wall. She walked toward him, her chest heaving with suppressed emotion. She reached out, her fingers brushing the cuff of his suit jacket, desperate for some kind of connection. Avery stepped back smoothly, his movement calculated to avoid her touch without making a scene.

He looked down at his platinum wristwatch, his brow furrowing. "Why are you here, Chandler?" His voice was flat, laced with heavy impatience. "I told you to stay at the apartment. You don't belong at these functions."

The sheer audacity of his words sent a rush of hot blood to her head. "I don't belong?" Her voice cracked, rising in volume. "I am your wife, Avery! You haven't been back to the penthouse in a full week. A week! Where have you been?"

Avery let out a harsh, humorless laugh. He shoved both hands into his trouser pockets, looking down at her with absolute disdain. "I am closing the biggest merger in Osborn history. That is slightly more important than coming home to listen to you whine about feeling neglected."

Chandler's eyes burned. Hot tears threatened to spill, but she blinked them back furiously. "A merger?" She pointed a shaking finger toward the ballroom doors. "You and Corinne looked very cozy out there. You were laughing. You don't look like a man stressed by a merger. You look like a man who forgot he has a wife."

Avery's face darkened instantly. The easy arrogance vanished, replaced by a cold, hard fury. He took a step forward, invading her space, forcing her to tilt her head back. "Keep your voice down," he hissed, his tone venomous. "Do not act like a classless, jealous shrew in public. You are embarrassing yourself."

The disgust in his eyes was a physical strike. Chandler stumbled backward. Her spine hit the cold, hard plaster of the hallway wall. The impact knocked the remaining breath from her lungs. She stared at the man she had loved for seven years, the man she thought had saved her life. He looked at her like she was trash on the bottom of his shoe. The illusion of their marriage shattered completely, the sharp pieces cutting her from the inside out.

Chandler took a deep, ragged breath. She forced the tears down, her jaw locking. "I am done," she said, her voice dropping to a dead, hollow whisper. "I am so sick of living like a ghost in your life. I am done being your dirty little secret."

Avery adjusted his silk tie, completely unbothered by her pain. A cruel smirk played on his lips. "Done? Please. You have nothing without the Osborn name. You are a bastard child your own father doesn't want. If you leave me, you couldn't even afford rent in Manhattan."

He stomped directly on the deepest, most bleeding wound of her identity. The shame of being Joseph Gentry's illegitimate daughter was a weight she carried every day. Her vision went red. She swung her hand up, aiming a hard slap at his arrogant face.

Avery caught her wrist mid-air. His grip was tight, the sudden force enough to make her wince, but beneath his furious facade, a flicker of raw, unexplainable panic danced in his gray eyes. He held her there for a fraction of a second too long, as if terrified she would actually strike him, before he pushed her arm down with a shaky exhale, releasing her.

"If you are going to be this hysterical, Chandler, we should just get a divorce and end this pathetic joke of a marriage."

The air in the hallway stopped moving. Chandler stared at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She searched his face, looking for a twitch of his jaw, a flicker in his eyes-any sign that he was just speaking out of anger, that he didn't mean it. There was nothing. Just cold, hard indifference.

The massive humiliation burning in her chest suddenly transformed into pure, combustible anger. She clenched her jaw so hard her teeth ached. She did not cry. She did not beg. She looked him dead in the eye and gave a single, sharp nod. "Fine. Divorce."

Avery blinked. For a fraction of a second, shock registered on his face. He clearly expected her to break down and apologize. His pride, however, refused to let him backpedal. He let out a dismissive scoff, turning his head away to hide the slight tension in his jaw.

The sharp clack of stilettos echoed in the hallway. Corinne walked around the corner, her emerald dress catching the dim light. "Avery?" she called out, her voice dripping with sweet intimacy. "The board members are asking for you."

Avery's posture relaxed instantly. He turned toward Corinne, his face softening into that same gentle expression Chandler had seen earlier. He walked toward her, completely ignoring Chandler's existence.

Chandler watched their backs as they walked away side by side. The nausea in her stomach violently erupted. She slapped a hand over her mouth, pushed open the heavy wooden door of the women's restroom, and rushed to the nearest sink. She gripped the porcelain edges, her knuckles turning white, and dry-heaved until her throat was raw.

She turned on the faucet, splashing freezing water onto her face. She looked up at the mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot, her makeup slightly smudged, her face pale and drawn. She looked pathetic. She hated it.

She grabbed paper towels, dried her face roughly, and pulled out her phone. Her fingers flew across the screen as she dialed a number.

"Hello?" a sleepy voice answered.

"Mark," Chandler said, her voice hard and steady. "I need you to draft divorce papers. Tonight."

Mark, a divorce lawyer she knew from college, sounded instantly awake. "Chandler? It's ten at night. Are you sure? Do you want to talk about mediation first?"

"No mediation," Chandler snapped, her grip on the phone tightening. "I want it done. Standard terms. I want nothing from him. Just get the papers ready and email them to me immediately."

She hung up before he could argue. She stared at her reflection one last time. Her fingers moved to the back of her neck, fumbling with the clasp of the heavy diamond necklace Avery had given her for their anniversary. She yanked it hard. The clasp broke. The diamonds pooled in her palm, heavy and cold.

Without a second glance, she dropped the necklace into the trash can next to the sink.

Chandler pushed the restroom door open. She walked down the hallway, past the ballroom, and straight out the front doors of the Waldorf Astoria. The crisp, cold autumn wind of Manhattan hit her face, and for the first time in a year, she felt like she could finally breathe.