AFTER MY DIVORCE, I HAD A SON FOR A COLD BILLIONAIRE

CLAIRE

The ballroom glittered beneath a thousand chandeliers, each prism scattering shards of light across the vaulted ceiling like fractured stars. Camera flashes exploded in staccato bursts, mingling with the clink of crystal glasses and the low murmur of investors, reporters, and scientists exchanging polished pleasantries.

I smoothed the folds of my deep emerald gown for what felt like the hundredth time, fingertips trembling despite my effort to still them. My heart was a drumbeat inside my chest, each thud louder than the last, threatening to pound right out of me. I forced my lips into a smile that felt like a mask, but my pulse gave me away.

Tonight was supposed to be salvation. The launch of the product Jason and I had bled for: Aetheria. Every sleepless night, every painstaking prototype, every argument that had left me raw but determined—it all led to this moment.

But the truth was, Aetheria had begun long before Jason. Long before boardrooms, clinical trials, and carefully rehearsed speeches. It had begun the day I buried my mother—the day leukemia claimed her, leaving me hollow and furious at the helplessness of medicine. I hadn’t been able to save her, but I could save someone. That promise had driven every experiment, every failed formula, every tear‑stained night hunched over notebooks and samples.

Then Jason appeared. Charming, brilliant, persuasive Jason. He told me we could build something bigger together. That I didn’t have to carry it alone.

He convinced me to transfer everything to him, promising he would carry the prototype while I focused on starting a family.

Children were supposed to come. Instead came miscarriages, failed IVF treatments—silent months and test results that cut like glass. Still, I trusted him. Trusted us.

And tonight, finally, that trust was supposed to mean something. Tonight, the world would see what we had built.

Jason stepped up to the podium, a flawless figure in a black tailored suit, white shirt, and perfectly knotted tie. His posture radiated composure, his expression serene, every movement calculated. Pride swelled inside me, hot and desperate.

Finally. Everyone will know.

“For years,” Jason began, his voice smooth and deliberate, “we’ve worked tirelessly on this project. Late nights… weekends spent in the lab… sacrifices most will never understand. Sleepless nights, heated arguments, moments of doubt—yet we pushed forward, driven by a single purpose: to make a difference. To give hope where hope seemed lost.”

Yes. That was our journey. My journey. Every failed experiment, every stubborn correction—it had been me.

Jason paused, letting the tension bloom, then smiled faintly. “And through all of this, one person’s vision turned an idea into reality. One person’s relentless drive made the impossible possible.”

My pulse quickened. This is it. My moment.

“The woman who took a dream born of tragedy and nurtured it, pushed it forward, and refused to let obstacles stand in her way…”

I straightened, breath catching in my throat.

“…Sasha Williams.”

---

Time froze. My champagne glass trembled in my hand, liquid sloshing against the rim. My heart plummeted to my stomach, a sickening free fall.

No. No, I didn’t hear that right.

Murmurs rippled instantly through the crowd:

> “Wait… isn’t Sasha her stepsister?”

“She didn’t even work on this, did she?”

“Unbelievable. I thought the wife was the brains.”

The whispers stabbed like daggers. My ears rang, my vision tunneling around Jason’s face.

Sasha glided up to the podium as though she had been born for the stage. Her red gown shimmered with every step, clinging perfectly to her frame. Her hair tumbled in polished waves, her smile radiant—smug.

She took the microphone with a perfectly practiced poise. “I want to thank Jason for believing in me, for guiding me, and for supporting me through this journey. To the investors, the scientists, everyone who made tonight possible—thank you. Your trust means everything.”

The applause that followed felt like knives scraping my skin.

I stared at Jason, searching his face for some sign of correction, some indication this was a cruel mistake. But his eyes were cold, deliberate. He knew exactly what he was doing.

And then he did worse.

“And now,” Jason said, cutting through the noise, “I have other news.” His gaze swept across the room before settling on me like a sharpened blade. “Clara and I parted ways months ago. The truth is—our marriage ended the day I realized my future didn’t lie with failure, but with brilliance. With Sasha.”

The ballroom erupted into whispers:

> “Divorce?”

“When? How?”

“Five years, just gone like that?”

“No children, no legacy. It makes sense.”

My chest caved inward. My hands shook so violently I nearly dropped the glass. Divorce? We weren’t divorced. I had never signed papers. He had never spoken of it.

Jason’s smirk deepened, feeding on my devastation.

“And tonight,” he continued smoothly, “I step into the next chapter of my life with the woman who embodies everything this company stands for.”

He turned, dropped to one knee, and the ballroom gasped as though choreographed.

Cameras flashed, immortalizing the moment in ruthless clarity.

“Sasha Williams,” Jason said, unwavering, “will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

Sasha’s smile widened, tears sparkling in her eyes. “Yes.”

The room erupted—cheers, applause, journalists scribbling, investors rising to their feet in ovation.

My humiliation became their entertainment.

---

My legs buckled. My vision blurred. The sound of my own heartbeat roared in my ears, louder than the crowd, louder than Jason’s voice, louder than everything.

Five years of sacrifice, five years of blood and grief, five years of empty womb and empty promises—all stripped from me in one public stroke.

And across the ballroom, my stepmother’s smirk gleamed like polished steel.

That was when I understood.

This wasn’t chance. This was design. A conspiracy. Jason. Sasha. Her mother. Together, they hadn’t just stolen my dream. They had stolen my name, my dignity, my future.

The world tilted and just then the polished floor rushed up to meet me.

Cold marble slammed against my palms, the impact jolting pain through my bones as my knees buckled beneath me. My champagne glass slipped from my trembling hand, shattering in a spray of jagged crystal across the ballroom floor. The sound was sharp, violent, and impossibly loud in my ears, as though it announced my collapse to the world.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Conversations stilled, then erupted again, harsher and uglier.

I tried to push myself up, but my body refused to obey. My arms trembled beneath my weight, my breath rasping shallow and desperate. Heat rushed to my face, but the rest of me felt cold, as though every drop of blood was abandoning me out of shame. My vision blurred, figures stretching and breaking apart beneath the cruel light of the chandeliers.

And then I heard them. Clearer than the pounding of my heart. Clearer than the ringing in my ears. The voices:

> “She’s fainting. How dramatic.”

“I always knew Sasha had the strength. Not her.”

“Pathetic. Five years wasted, and she has nothing left.”

“No children. No legacy. No company. No wonder he left her.”

Each sentence cut into me, sharp as broken glass. They weren’t whispers anymore—they were daggers, hurled without mercy, each one finding its mark. My humiliation was no longer private. It was a spectacle. My downfall had become their entertainment.

I tried to steady myself, but the room tilted violently, the chandeliers breaking into blinding shards of light. My lungs refused to expand, every breath shallow and burning. My fingers clawed against the polished floor, but there was nothing to hold on to, nothing to stop the spiral.

Through the haze, I saw Jason’s smirk—calm, deliberate, triumphant. Beside him, Sasha’s radiant smile gleamed under the lights as though she had just claimed her crown. And beyond them, my stepmother’s eyes glimmered with satisfaction, watching me crumble exactly as they had planned.

The sound of applause, laughter, and mocking voices clashed together, deafening, drowning me whole. My humiliation was complete. My name, my work, my marriage, my dignity—every piece of me was stripped bare beneath their gaze.

And then the darkness closed in.