Divorcing My Cheating Billionaire Husband

The gift box felt heavier in my hands than it should have, wrapped in the navy blue paper David always said reminded him of success.

I'd spent the morning at three different stores finding the perfect pen set—the kind he'd admired in that boutique window last month but claimed was too extravagant.

Today felt different though. His latest project had landed the biggest client in the company's history, and I wanted to celebrate the man who'd built our dreams from nothing.

The elevator hummed softly as it carried me to the fifteenth floor, the same elevator I'd ridden countless times during those early days when David's company was just him, me, and a rented desk in a shared office space.

I'd brought him lunch then too, staying late to help him prepare presentations, my fingers flying across the keyboard while he paced and strategized.

The reception area buzzed with the energy of success. Employees I'd watched David hire over the years nodded respectfully as I passed.

"Mrs. Thompson," his assistant called out, but I was already walking toward his corner office, the one with the mahogany desk we'd chosen together at that estate sale in Pasadena.

I pushed open the door without knocking—a privilege earned through seven years of marriage and partnership.

The gift box slipped from my fingers.

David was bent over his desk, his shirt unbuttoned, his hands gripping the waist of a young woman whose blonde hair spilled across the very papers I'd helped him organize last week.

Sophie—his secretary, barely twenty-five, her skirt hiked up around her hips as she arched against him with a breathless moan.

The sound that escaped my throat was somewhere between a gasp and a sob.

The gift hit the floor with a dull thud, the careful wrapping splitting at the corners.

David's head snapped up, his face flushed but showing no trace of shame or regret.

Sophie turned slowly, a satisfied smirk playing at her lips as she smoothed down her skirt with deliberate slowness.

"Emma." David's voice was flat, almost annoyed, as if I'd interrupted a business meeting. He didn't even bother to button his shirt. "What are you doing here?"

The question hit me like a physical blow. What was I doing here? Celebrating my husband. Bringing him a gift. Acting like the devoted wife I'd been for seven years.

"I... I brought you something." My voice sounded foreign to my own ears, small and broken. "For the Morrison deal. I thought we could—"

"We?" Sophie's laugh was sharp and cutting. She perched on the edge of the desk—our desk—like she owned it. "There's no 'we' anymore, is there, David?"

David straightened his tie with the same casual efficiency he used for everything else. "Emma, you need to understand something. This—" he gestured between himself and Sophie, "—this is what I need now. Someone who understands ambition. Someone who isn't just... old wood."

Old wood.

The words landed like a slap across my face. Seven years of late