6

Kendra's palm stung from the impact, the sharp crack echoing across the now-silent executive floor like a gunshot.

Richard staggered back a step, his hand flying to his reddening cheek, eyes wide with shock and fury. For a second, the great Richard Thompson looked small—vulnerable, exposed under the gaze of dozens of his employees.

The silence shattered into chaos. Whispers turned to murmurs, then outright chatter. Phones were discreetly pulled out, fingers tapping furiously. Freya let out a strangled cry, rushing to Richard's side as if Kendra had committed murder.

"You crazy bitch, how dare you hit him?!" Freya hissed, but her voice trembled.

Kendra didn't flinch. She stared at Richard, her chest heaving, the folder of documents still clutched in her other hand like a weapon. "That's for every lie, every betrayal, and every night I spent wondering why I wasn't enough, you don’t get to silent me again."

She turned on her heel, ignoring the way security guards were finally hurrying toward them from the elevators.

Richard roared after her, "You're finished, Kendra! You'll regret this!"

She didn't look back. The elevator doors closed on the scene she'd orchestrated so perfectly, sealing away the gasps and the widening eyes. As the car descended, a strange mix of triumph and exhaustion washed over her. Her hands shook slightly, but she squared her shoulders.

This was only the beginning, she will make him regret betraying her deeply.

By the time she reached the underground parking, her driver was already waiting. She slid into the back seat of the sleek black SUV, the documents safe in her lap.

"Home," she said quietly. The driver nodded without question.

Richard's mansion loomed like a gilded cage as the car pulled up the long driveway. Kendra had barely stepped inside when the storm hit.

Richard's mother, Evelyn Thompson, was waiting in the grand foyer, arms crossed, her perfectly coiffed silver hair gleaming under the crystal chandelier. Beside her stood Richard's sister, Sofia, and his father, Victor, all summoned by frantic calls no doubt.

"What in God's name have you done?" Evelyn's voice sliced through the air like a whip. "Humiliating my son in front of his entire company? After everything we've given you?"

Kendra set her purse down on the marble console table, her movements deliberate. Servants hovered nervously in the background, pretending to dust nonexistent specks.

"Given me?" Kendra echoed, a faint smile touching her lips. She was done cowering. "You mean the scraps from the empire I helped build? Don't deceive yourself, you and your son gave me nothing!"

Sofia stepped forward, her designer heels clicking sharply. "Oh, please. You were nothing but a gold-digging nobody when Richard picked you up. We welcomed you into this family, and this is how you repay us? Parading your dirty laundry for the world to see?"

Victor grunted, nursing a glass of scotch. "Women like you always show their true colors eventually. My son deserves better than some washed-up—"

"Enough." Kendra cut him off, her tone surprisingly cold. The old Kendra would have shrunk back, tears burning in her eyes, desperate for their approval. But today? She felt nothing but a hollow detachment. "I'm not here to fight with any of you, your son doesn't even deserve me and i don't deserve him either. I'm here to end this."

Evelyn's eyes narrowed. "End it? You think you can just walk away after slapping my son? After dragging the Thompson name through the mud? We'll ruin you. Legally, financially..."

"Try it." Kendra met her gaze without blinking. "The documents I have say otherwise. The shares, the investments, the initial capital—it's all traceable. And the prenup? Let's just say my lawyers have been very thorough."

The family erupted again. Insults flew like daggers—gold-digger, ungrateful whore, embarrassment to the family name, a disgrace who never belonged. Sofia even suggested Kendra had faked the affair evidence, that she was mentally unstable and needed "help." Evelyn threatened to have her blacklisted from every social circle in the city.

Kendra stood there, absorbing it all like rain on a windowpane. It rolled off her. The words that once would have shattered her heart now felt distant, almost comical. She had cried enough nights alone in this very house while Richard was with Freya.

Well, not anymore!

When they finally paused for breath, she simply said, "I'm packing my things. The divorce papers are ready. I'll sign them, and then leave."

She turned and walked upstairs to the master bedroom, their voices fading behind her.

In the walk-in closet that had once felt like a dream, she pulled out her largest suitcase. Designer clothes she barely wore, jewelry Richard had given her as guilt gifts—most of it she left behind.

She only took the essentials: comfortable outfits, a few sentimental photos from before the empire, her laptop, and the small safe box containing her original investment records.

Her phone buzzed incessantly—Richard's texts;

[You can't ruin things like this]

[My company can't go bankrupt, don't do this to me!]

[I promise to make you regret slapping me, you won't go scot free]

[And I'm so happy I chose Freya over a bitch like you, would've felt like a dirt, if I had ever being intimate with you. Cheap whore!]

She ignored them all, zipping the suitcase shut with finality.

Downstairs, the family had gathered in the living room like a tribunal. The divorce papers lay on the antique coffee table, prepared hours ago by Kendra's discreet legal team.

Richard had arrived home in a rage, his cheek still bearing the faint imprint of her hand, Freya trailing behind him like a shadow.

"Sign it," Kendra said, sliding the papers toward him. "And let's be done."

Richard glared, but after a tense standoff and a few more barbs from his family, he snatched a pen and scrawled his signature.

"You'll get nothing," he spat. "I'll make sure of it."

She signed her own name, the ink drying like the end of a chapter. "I already have everything I need. The rest was never mine anyway and besides you have nothing to give me."

Evelyn sneered. "Running away like the coward you are. Pathetic."

Kendra picked up her suitcase. "Call it whatever makes you sleep at night." She looked at each of them one last time—Freya's tear-streaked, triumphant face; Richard's clenched jaw; the family's collective disdain. Then she walked out the front door without another word.

The driver loaded her bag into the car. As they pulled away from the mansion, Kendra didn't look back.

She drove to a luxury suite, one her mother owned, she's tired but the pain wouldn't let her sleep. For days, she stayed indoor, eat and closed her eyes, nothing more.

One night, she sat at the polished bar in a simple black dress, her hair loose for the first time in days. The first drink was a stiff whiskey, burning down her throat. The second followed quickly. By the third, the edges of the world softened into a warm blur.

The bar wasn't crowded. A jazz pianist played softly in the corner. Kendra swirled the amber liquid in her glass, staring at the melting ice.

"To new beginnings," she muttered bitterly to herself, downing the rest.

A deep, smooth voice cut through the haze beside her. "Rough night?"

She turned slowly to see, her gaze landed on a tall man, broad-shouldered, with dark hair and piercing green eyes that held a quiet intensity.

He wore a tailored shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms, and carried the kind of effortless confidence that didn't scream for attention.

"Something like that," Kendra replied, her words slightly slurred but her smile genuine for the first time that day.

He slid onto the stool next to her, signaling the bartender for another round.

"My name is Knox." he introduced himself.

Kendra said nothing, just staring at him, desires burning in her eyes.

"You look dangerously beautiful, want to have fun and forget about everything?"