All Chapters of Dear CEO, I Want a Divorce: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

ANTHONY’S POVBy the third day, I was losing my patience.No sign of Elisha. No word from her either.No sign of that damn dog either.I paced the living room, then the kitchen, then the hallway like a caged animal. The house was too quiet. Too hollow. It felt like someone had pulled out all the furniture, even though everything was exactly where it should be.What the hell was she doing?Throwing a tantrum over a dog? Seriously?She had something bigger than a mutt. She had me. A Möller.And that wasn’t enough?I was about to head upstairs when one of the housemaids appeared near the base of the stairs.“Sir?”“What?” I snapped.She flinched slightly. “It’s just… there are still a few of Miss Natalie’s things in the nursery. We weren’t sure if—”“Then throw them out.”The girl hesitated. “Madam Elisha asked us not to enter the nursery…”I exhaled hard. Loud enough to make her go still.“You people really can’t make a decision without her, can you?”She didn’t respond.I waved her off

ANTHONY’S POVI stood in the aftermath of my rage. The room we once shared was wrecked—broken glass scattered across the Persian rug, an overturned chair near the dresser, crushed flower petals from Eli’s bouquet strewn on the floor. I could still feel the echo of my anger in every splintered frame and snapped stem.What had I hoped to accomplish by smashing everything? Control? Punishment? Revenge? Now the damage was more than physical—it was personal. I sank onto the bed, the sheets rumpled from where I had slept last night, and I felt empty. Cold.I drew in a ragged breath and pulled out my phone to call Zane. I needed someone to tell me it was okay to feel like this. But as I opened the messages, I saw his invitation sitting unanswered:Zane: DRINKS TNITE?I stared at the screen for a second. No "how are you," no "what happened." Just Zane being Zane—always hunting for a distraction, a connection, a girl he hadn't met yet. I knew all he cared about was dropping my name to op

ELISHA’S POVHow could he say that to me?I stared at Anthony, still reeling. His words hadn't just cut—they sliced through everything that held me together. The bile in my throat tasted like shame and rage.It was my own fault.For being soft. For believing that if I stayed kind, stayed composed, I’d earn some basic decency in return. But no—what I got was public humiliation from the man who once held my hand and vowed to be with me, in sickness and in health, till death do us part. Anthony would never speak to Natalie that way. Not even if she tried. He would find a way to justify her, shield her. He did it all the time. Always had.So what was I missing? What part of me had made it so easy for him to spit those words in my face?Did I have to become her to be respected?Fine.“Sounds like projection, Anthony,” I said, my voice steady, controlled. “You’re the one spending all your time with another woman instead of your own wife. Or… ex-wife.”The word snapped like a whip. Ex-wi

ELISHA’S POVAfter we’d wrapped up the lecture, handed out snacks, and helped clean up the folding chairs, Davina led me into a small room tucked behind the community center’s multipurpose hall.It wasn’t anything grand—just a rectangular room with plastic chairs set in rows and a collapsible table at the front. A whiteboard leaned awkwardly on one wall. Parents, students, and a few older women filled the seats. They were talking amongst themselves quietly, waiting for the Q&A panel to begin. I took my seat beside Davina and smiled when a few people waved at me like I was some kind of expert.For the next thirty minutes, I answered questions one by one—on nutrition, genetics, gut health, childhood deficiencies, allergy management, and so on. I was surprised by how confident I felt, like every answer was just waiting to roll off my tongue. I didn’t use technical words or over-explain anything. I kept it simple. Real. Most of them weren’t health professionals—they just wanted to help

ANTHONY’S POVThe pearlescent dress I had ordered from Milan was tailored to her exact measurements. I designed it myself, pulled strings, and expedited shipping from the manufacturer. The fabric was rare. The cut was perfect. Elegant, clean, regal.I had imagined her walking in, wearing it, and for one night—just one—letting the illusion hold. Letting us both pretend.But when she walked into the estate in that green thing… I felt my blood boil.It wasn’t ugly. That was the worst part.It hugged her in all the right places. The neckline draped just enough. The skirt moved with her, flowing softly over her hips as she walked. She looked like someone who knew she looked good. Someone who’d picked her dress with care.Was it really so hard to wear the damn thing I sent?Just one night. One night of peace. Was that too much to ask?Sylvester could feel it, I was sure. He was sharp, even at eighty. I hadn’t told him about the divorce. I hadn’t told him anything. Because deep down, I knew