Lahat ng Kabanata ng Dear CEO, I Want a Divorce: Kabanata 41 - Kabanata 50

ELISHA’S POVI couldn’t feel my legs.I stood there, in a familiar yet alien room, surrounded by familiar yet alien faces. “I don’t want to marry anybody,” I said quietly.My voice didn’t even shake. I thought it would. But it came out clear.“This is no longer about your wants, Elisha,” my father said. His tone was patient, but heavy. “We have a legacy to uphold. If we all went around doing whatever we wanted, there would be no empire.”There it was.The word they loved more than anything else.Empire.He said it like it was something noble. Something holy. But it wasn’t. It was a business. A name. A reputation. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t life.It definitely wasn’t mine. Not anymore. I looked at him. My father. The man who once held my hand through every dentist appointment, who used to call me “princess” and bring me a flower on the first day of school every year without fail. I looked at my mother. The woman who sat on the edge of my bed when I had nightmares, who made tea and w

ELISHA’S POVThe moment I stepped back into the hall beside Sylvester, the energy in the room shifted. It was subtle, but it was there—the quiet hush of conversation, the sideways glances, the ripple of realization.This man beside me—this warm, brilliant, sharp-eyed man—was loved by everyone. And more importantly, respected. Not just because he was old, not just because of his success, but because of the way he carried himself. With grace. With thought. With real care for people.Sylvester Möller didn’t hand out affection lightly. So when he entered the room, arm in arm with me, the gossip paused. The doubts wavered. The whispers stopped—at least for now.He didn’t rush. Every step was measured. Every nod to a guest, every polite smile, was deliberate. Behind us, my family followed—Anthony with a clenched jaw, my parents with stiff expressions, and trailing at the very back… Natalie and Yasmin.And suddenly, Natalie was the runt of the litter. She was no longer the glowing center.

ANTHONY’S POVI watched her leaving with Sylvester, moving through the party crowd like she belonged. That had been my plan. Reinstate the balance. Make the family see her place. Show her she needed us. Instead, she had walked away with more respect than I’d given her in months. I clenched my glass, letting the warmth of the cognac seep into my hand. It wasn’t enough.When she had refused me in the pantry—standing so close I could feel her warmth—it had twisted something deep inside me. I tapped my index finger against the glass and knew then I’d crossed an unspoken line. I had to pull her back. But not just for me. For the empire. For the image. I had to make them believe she couldn’t do without me—even though nights alone had given me plenty of time to worry I might not want her back.I had pulled every string I possessed to ensure she had no real options. Calls to old friends, relatives; my assistant even dropped a note to employers hinting that hiring “Elisha Möller” might ups

ELISHA’S POV“You didn’t sign the papers…” I said, barely forcing my voice not to crack.“No.”The word hung in the air like smoke. It was flat. Empty. No anger. No guilt. Just a statement. A choice.I looked down at the papers resting on my lap, the crisp edges digging into my thighs. My fingers stayed frozen, too tight around the corner of the packet. For a moment, I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.He watched me. Quiet. Steady.“Grandad wants us to give this another shot,” he said finally.My eyes flicked up.“And what do you want?” I asked, barely above a whisper.There was a beat of silence. A pause that stretched too long.“I…”He didn’t finish.Of course he didn’t.Anthony would sooner die than admit a want or a need. That’s not how he worked. He took. He owned. He claimed. If something couldn’t be owned, it didn’t matter to him. Not enough to chase. Not enough to keep.He wouldn’t beg. Not even to save a marriage. Especially not one that had already died a hundred small deaths

ELISHA’S POVI stood in front of my full-length mirror, smoothing down the front of my dress. It was simple. A soft dove-gray shade, cinched at the waist, nothing flashy. Conservative neckline. Just enough elegance to look respectable for my father… not enough to attract romantic interest.That was the goal.Ralph Marino had been in our lives longer than I could remember. He and my father had co-founded at least seven businesses together—retail chains, pharmacies, a string of auto shops. Ralph migrated from Italy before I was born and had quickly become part of our family. I’d grown up calling him Uncle.His son, Francesco, was something of a contradiction. He ran his father’s business empire with precision, yet spent every spare minute racing modified cars in Monaco, Paris, or wherever the wind took him. The rumor was he held a few track records under a fake name. None of that impressed me, but at least he wasn’t boring.I adjusted my earrings. My hair was pulled back in a low twist.