Untouchable ex-wife of the ruthless billionaire CEO

Lillian, this is not about love. It comes down to obligation. Her father spoke with a hard, relentless quality. Edward Ashford was a man fashioned from stone, his presence an immobile force in the upper society of New York. His slicked back salt-and-pepper hair, his perfect tailored suit, a picture of control and expectation. Lillian's emerald-green eyes flicked up to meet his sight. And what about satisfaction? A scorn. A contemptuous sweep of his hand. You have wasted too much time believing in illogical dreams. Married to Damon Blackwood guarantees our legacy. Only that counts. Blackwood, Damon Just the name caused her to shiver involuntarily. Everyone in the city knew him, the cold, merciless billionaire who used iron fists to build his empire. Their participation had been planned for years, whispered in elite social circles, but he had never once acknowledged her presence. just a contract; nothing more. No flowers, no proposals, no softly worded pledges. Just a legal agreemen

She turned to check the time. 2:47 a.m. Damon hadn't arrived back at home. She felt a stinging pang in her chest, but she pushed herself to consciously breath gently. It was not novel. Like last night, he had spent many evenings away. But tonight, after everything, the whispers, the looks, the humiliation, his absence felt different. It came across as a statement. On the nightstand, her phone buzzed, its vibration breaking through the quiet. She reached for it with doubtful fingers. one note from Vanessa. Look at Seraphina's post. dread knotted low in her gut. Her pulse pounding against her ribs, her hands became sweaty as she swiped open the app. The screen loaded slowly, but when it did, each breath she had left left one sharp exhale. Her most recent piece was a darkly lit, closely close picture. A woman's bare back against silk sheets, a masculine hand resting possessively on her hip. Lillian's blood ran cold. The caption beside it said: Tonight will live in memory. Her f

Sliding the neat white page across the table, the attorney stated, "This is the final document." Legal bindingness of the divorce follows from your signature. Lillian fixed her eye on the paper. Her moniker. His title. A marriage reduced to ink on a page. She swallowed, fingers encircling the pen. Vanessa sat next her, still but present, her presence grounding. Lillian was staring, waiting, observing her best buddy. She had practiced this one thousand times in her mind. She had fantasised about being free, triumphant, relieved. She only felt, though, painful hollowness. Her fingers shook just once, then she steadied them. She would not jump right away. She cherished him. He had not loved her at all. The truth is that. She let the pen drop to the page. Davenport, Lillian. Not Ashford, though. NOT Blackwood. Just Lillian. Her chest became like a stone, the finality of it sinking in there. She put the pen down. Vanessa stretched across to cover Lillian's hand with hers. "I

"Damon, the media's asking about Lillian, said, entering his office with an unreadable expression," his assistant Ethan stated. "They need assurance the divorce is official. They are wondering where she has disappeared to. Damon looked at him, eyelids closing. "Where she's gone??" He laughed and slanted back in his chair. Though his voice was icy, there was strain under. She left. They only need to know that. Ethan slowed down. "Do you want me to write a statement?" Damon watched the glass of whisky on his desk, the amber liquid whirling in slow, methodical circles, his fingers tapping against the armrest. He felt no need for a declaration. Not had to justify anything to anybody. She had departed; he had not given a damn. Still, he felt something chew at him—an anxiety he couldn't identify. Her absence seems to have tipped the equilibrium in his life. Not at all It's meaningless, Damon murmured, his voice far away. He grabbed his phone, swirled through a few emails, then waved Et

McAllister?" asks where. His voice broke across the whispering officials. The room quieted down. Eyes crossed one another, but nobody spoke. Damon reclined and gently exhaled through his nose. " Someone tell me why my biggest investor just pulled out of a billion-dollar deal without so much as a phone call." Lauren, his assistant, a tall, sharp-faced woman with perfect posture, paused before gliding a manila folder over the table. "Sir, the contract terms were not perfect. Some clauses went missed—" "Overlooked!" His voice cut like a razor across the air. Damon opened the file and quickly went over the papers. The figures faded. One whole section of tax indemnities has been left off. How would one do this? His organisation never made blunders this kind. His business did not stumble. His fingers wrapped around the paper's edge to crease it. "Who let this go on?" The words were slow, under control, but his wrath thickened the air. Nobody spoke. A few cast nervous looks at one anothe