Sorry, Mr. Stanford, Your Wife Owns You - Chapter 13: Chapter 13
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With a single look from me, my men swiftly dragged Leonard away from my feet.
"Leonard," I said coldly, "I warned you just minutes ago. Divorce me, and you lose everything."
"Your people will lose their jobs too," I added, watching his face pale.
"But you didn't listen. So tell me—what choice do I have now?"
"And if you made a mistake," I continued, my voice sharp, "why should I suffer for it?"
Leonard had already broken down, his sobs raw and desperate. The terror of losing everything—of watching the entire Stanford empire crumble because of his arrogance—consumed him.
He wept uncontrollably, begging me over and over, but it was too late.
By now, the employees in the room had grasped the severity of the situation. The conference room echoed with panicked cries, but none of it mattered to me anymore.
After two years of marriage, I was finally free.
Truthfully, I'd understood the nature of marriage from a young age.
If two people could stand together, they'd endure.
If not, they'd part ways. That was simply how life worked.
A love like my father's—devoted, unwavering, lifelong—was rare. I doubted I'd ever find something like that.
But perhaps because I'd seen what true love looked like, I refused to lose myself in empty emotions. So when the Stanfords proposed marriage, I accepted without hesitation.
Yet in those two years as Leonard's wife… he was never truly a husband, I was never truly a wife, and the house we shared never felt like home.
Divorce, in the end, was liberation.
I didn't linger after leaving the Stanfords. I returned to Metropolia immediately.
When my father learned what had happened, his rage was unstoppable. The first to face his wrath? The Winslows of Lumeport.
Rumor had it his retaliation cost them billions.
Morgan Winslow was forced to publicly sever all ties with Quincy in the papers.
Out of respect for their past loyalty, my father showed mercy—letting them survive, though barely.
But the Stanfords? That was different.
They were the ones who broke their promises. They were the ones who humiliated me.
With the prenup Leonard had signed, my father reclaimed every last asset of the Stanford empire. When Nelson saw the divorce settlement, the shock sent him into a stroke. He survived—barely.
As for Leonard? He lost everything. His downfall was absolute.
I heard he knelt outside my family's estate for a month, begging for forgiveness. But it was pointless.
My father never forgot a grudge. Cross him, and you might still plead for mercy. But hurt me? There was no forgiveness.
Word spread that Leonard was now a broken man, seen wandering among vagrants.
Others claimed Quincy and Anne had resorted to working in seedy bars, selling drinks while enduring humiliation.
But their fates no longer concerned me.
Because right now? I was in San Del Mar, basking in the sun, fishing rod in hand—completely, blissfully at peace.
(The End)
"Leonard," I said coldly, "I warned you just minutes ago. Divorce me, and you lose everything."
"Your people will lose their jobs too," I added, watching his face pale.
"But you didn't listen. So tell me—what choice do I have now?"
"And if you made a mistake," I continued, my voice sharp, "why should I suffer for it?"
Leonard had already broken down, his sobs raw and desperate. The terror of losing everything—of watching the entire Stanford empire crumble because of his arrogance—consumed him.
He wept uncontrollably, begging me over and over, but it was too late.
By now, the employees in the room had grasped the severity of the situation. The conference room echoed with panicked cries, but none of it mattered to me anymore.
After two years of marriage, I was finally free.
Truthfully, I'd understood the nature of marriage from a young age.
If two people could stand together, they'd endure.
If not, they'd part ways. That was simply how life worked.
A love like my father's—devoted, unwavering, lifelong—was rare. I doubted I'd ever find something like that.
But perhaps because I'd seen what true love looked like, I refused to lose myself in empty emotions. So when the Stanfords proposed marriage, I accepted without hesitation.
Yet in those two years as Leonard's wife… he was never truly a husband, I was never truly a wife, and the house we shared never felt like home.
Divorce, in the end, was liberation.
I didn't linger after leaving the Stanfords. I returned to Metropolia immediately.
When my father learned what had happened, his rage was unstoppable. The first to face his wrath? The Winslows of Lumeport.
Rumor had it his retaliation cost them billions.
Morgan Winslow was forced to publicly sever all ties with Quincy in the papers.
Out of respect for their past loyalty, my father showed mercy—letting them survive, though barely.
But the Stanfords? That was different.
They were the ones who broke their promises. They were the ones who humiliated me.
With the prenup Leonard had signed, my father reclaimed every last asset of the Stanford empire. When Nelson saw the divorce settlement, the shock sent him into a stroke. He survived—barely.
As for Leonard? He lost everything. His downfall was absolute.
I heard he knelt outside my family's estate for a month, begging for forgiveness. But it was pointless.
My father never forgot a grudge. Cross him, and you might still plead for mercy. But hurt me? There was no forgiveness.
Word spread that Leonard was now a broken man, seen wandering among vagrants.
Others claimed Quincy and Anne had resorted to working in seedy bars, selling drinks while enduring humiliation.
But their fates no longer concerned me.
Because right now? I was in San Del Mar, basking in the sun, fishing rod in hand—completely, blissfully at peace.
(The End)
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