THE CEO I BUILT DUMPED ME FOR MY SISTER, THEN HIS RIVAL PUT A RING ON ME

The marble bar of the Lockwood Penthouse felt like a block of ice under my fingertips.

Ethan slid a thick manila folder across the polished surface. It stopped exactly one inch from my hands. Next to it, he placed a heavy gold fountain pen.

"Sign it," he instructed. His tone lacked any inflection, completely devoid of the warmth I used to wake up to.

I opened the folder. The top page stared back at me in bold, black font: *Divorce Settlement Agreement*.

At the bottom of the page, the ink on Ethan’s signature had already dried. Next to his name, the date mocked me. October 14th. Today. Our third wedding anniversary.

"You couldn't wait until tomorrow?" I asked, keeping my voice perfectly flat.

"There's no point in dragging this out, Vivian," Ethan replied. He leaned against the kitchen island, crossing his arms over his tailored shirt. "The lawyers finalized it this morning. It's cleaner this way."

"Cleaner." I tasted the word.

A soft rustle of fabric drew my attention to the hallway. Sloane stepped into the kitchen light. She wore a champagne silk robe. My champagne silk robe. The one I bought in Paris on our honeymoon.

She glided up behind my husband and flattened her palm against his chest.

"Is everything okay, babe?" Sloane asked, her gaze flicking to me. She didn't look sorry. She looked victorious.

"We're just finishing up," Ethan murmured, covering her hand with his own.

I looked at the two of them. A perfect picture of domestic bliss, standing in the center of the kitchen I spent six months designing.

I dropped my eyes back to the papers. Clause 4 caught my attention immediately. *Vivian Carter voluntarily waives all joint property.*

"All joint property," I read aloud. I tapped the gold pen against the marble. "That's a bold request, Ethan."

"It's fair," he countered. His jaw set in a hard line. "I built Lockwood Enterprises from the ground up. You know that. I'm leaving you a generous cash settlement. You won't have to worry about rent for a long time."

I let out a sharp laugh. "Rent."

Sloane shifted her weight, pressing closer to his back. "Ethan is being more than reasonable, Vivian. You should just take the money. We want to start our lives."

"Your lives," I repeated. "In my penthouse."

"It's Ethan's penthouse," Sloane shot back.

"I picked out the marble you're leaning on, Sloane. I sourced the lighting fixtures from Italy. I funded the startup capital for his entire company." I kept my posture rigid.

"A small loan," Ethan scoffed. He uncrossed his arms and planted his hands heavily on the counter. "I paid you back years ago with interest. You sit in this ivory tower and plan charity galas while I work eighty hours a week. I close the deals. I schmooze the clients. The company is mine."

"Is that what you told her?" I asked, locking eyes with Sloane.

Ethan’s face flushed red. "Leave Sloane out of this. This is