The CEO's Dead Ex-Fiancée

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Declan's bare back still bore the fresh red scratches I had just raked across his skin. His phone buzzed against the nightstand, the screen flashing a caller ID: Kitty . I swiped to answer.

Declan, our baby just had kittens! The voice on the other end was so sickly sweet it made my stomach churn.

He's in the shower. Call back later. I hung up, my finger stabbing the screen.

That night, Declan scrambled for his scattered clothes like a madman, shoved his arms into his shirt, and bolted out the door.

And I tore our "home" apart, erasing every trace of my existence.

Then, I boarded a one-way flight out of the country.

Three years later, Declan cornered me on a private beach in the Caribbean.

His bloodshot eyes stayed glued to the mixed-race little boy hugging my leg, a boy who shared the sharp angles of his jaw. His voice was raw, fracturing into a hoarse whisper.

"Tell me is he mine?"

Chapter 1

Declan's stamina was relentless. My eyelids felt like lead. A phone buzzed endlessly on the nightstand. Half-asleep, I swiped to answer.

"Declan, our baby just had kittens!" The sickly sweet voice pierced through my exhaustion.

My temples throbbed. The haze of sleep vanished instantly. I glanced at the screen. The caller ID read: Kitty .

"Declan?" she chirped again.

I drew a slow breath. "He's in the shower. Call back later."

Dead silence. Then, a click.

Declan stepped out of the bathroom, a white towel slung low on his hips. Water droplets slid down the hard ridges of his abs, soaking into the terry cloth. Fresh red scratches marked his skinmy handiwork.

"Why aren't you sleeping?" His gaze dropped to the red marks painting my collarbones. His pupils dilated, the air thickening between us. He leaned in.

I shoved the phone against his bare chest.

His brow furrowed. He snatched the phone, tossed it blindly over his shoulder, and pinned my wrists to the mattress. His hot breath brushed my skin.

"Kitty," I said.

The man burying his face in my neck froze.

"She called. Said your baby had kittens."

The heavy lust drained from Declan's eyes in a split second.

He scrambled off the bed, grabbed his clothes from the floor like a madman, shoved his arms through his shirt, and bolted out the door without a single word.

I sat alone in the penthouse we had decorated together. Watching the door slam shut as he raced toward another woman.

The girl was the daughter of a family friend, a textbook country club socialite shielded from the real world. They connected at a family dinner three months ago.

It took them less than a month to make it official. They even adopted a stray cat together.

She texted him photos of her brunch, Spotify playlists, and random clouds in the sky. He replied to every single one.

He sent her pictures of his dinners, cropping out my wine glass and my hands before hitting send. My text thread with Declan? Work, work, and more work.

The only time he ever called me "wife" was in the middle of the night, whispered into my ear. A dirty word to spice up the sex. But I had hoarded that word like a lifeline for ten damn years.

A dry laugh scraped up my throat. I reached into the nightstand drawer and pulled out Declan's pack of Marlboros. I lit one.

The harsh smoke burned my unused lungs. I coughed until my ribs ached and my vision blurred with unshed tears.

My phone vibrated. A text from my coworker, Zoe.

[Margot, did you know Declan got a girlfriend?]

Declan and I were strictly professional at the office. We clashed in boardrooms constantly. Nobody at the company could ever picture the man who dragged me onto his lap behind locked doors and smirked, "I picked you, so I guess I have to spoil you." It would blow their minds.

But today, Declan added that girl to our company Slack channel.

[Hi everyone! I'm Declan's new assistant, Clara. Looking forward to working with you all! ~]

Her profile status? "Declan's Kitty." You didn't need to be a genius to read between the lines.

I had no idea how Declan explained away the phone call I answered. All I knew was that Clara was sending friend requests to every single female employee. Hunting for the voice on the phone.

Zoe sent an eye-roll GIF.

[Work is exhausting enough without playing dodgeball with his paranoid girlfriend.]

A minute later, Clara updated her Instagram Story. A picture of two flutes of vintage champagne clinking together. The caption:

[True ladies respect boundaries. Don't touch other people's phones. Zero class. ??]

Declan liked the post.

I marched to the storage closet, my expression deadened. I pulled out his titanium golf club.

Then, I shattered the penthouse holding all our memories into dust.

I smashed his rare scotch bottles. I ripped through his custom Italian suits. I swept it all into a glittering sea of glass shards.

Only when my boots crunched over the wreckage did a genuine smile finally stretch across my face.

Chapter 2

When the cleaning crew arrived, I was sitting on the only un-smashed sofa, staring at the wall. Not because the sofa was special, but because my bones felt like lead. I was just so fucking tired.

"Miss Margot, are you alright?" the supervisor asked, probably taking in my disheveled state and the absolute war zone around me.

My text thread with Declan hadn't moved in two hours.

I slowly shook my head and offered a genuine, hollow smile. "Throw everything that belongs to me in the trash. Every last piece. Then send the exorbitant cleaning bill to Declan's personal assistant."

Declan and I were college classmates. He grew up as old money, his entire life mapped out by his family. All he had to do was follow the golden brick road. But he was stubborn.

He cut ties with his family to build his own startup from scratch.

I was his very first partner. He provided the capital; I provided the blood, sweat, and tears.

I asked him once why he chose me. There were plenty of sharper minds on campus.

He just spun a Montblanc pen between his fingers, his dark eyes locking onto mine with a genuine smirk. "I like you," he said.

I froze.

"I like that ruthless drive of yours. You refuse to lose."

Back then, my raw, unapologetic ambition was exactly what he admired. Later on, that same ambition became the very thing he feared.

Clara was the exact opposite. She was simple. His ideal wife material was exactly thata clueless, ambition-less little flower who revolved entirely around him.

He was terrifyingly clear-headed about what he needed, and he executed it flawlessly.

Declan and I were cut from the same cloth. We were predators lying in wait, fighting tooth and nail against the world.

Because of that, we mirrored each other perfectly in the cutthroat business world. The endless networking dinners, the ruthless boardroom takedownswe climbed straight to the top together.

The night we made our first million, we got blackout drunk and collapsed onto the mattress, surrounded by stacks of hundred-dollar bills.

Declan rolled his head to the side, looking at me with an intensity I couldn't decipher. "Margot, you're a fucking beast."

I chuckled. "You're not so bad yourself."

The relentless grind eventually caught up with him. The untouchable rich kid fell violently ill with a high fever.

I spent hours running around taking care of him, until he suddenly flipped over, pinning me against the mattress beneath his heavy frame.

I still remember the feverish red flush creeping up his neck, his skin radiating heat like a furnace.

"I like you."

This time, there was no pause. No punchline about my work ethic.

He stopped holding back. The scent of faint tobacco mixed with sharp mint hijacked my senses. He swallowed my breathless gasps whole.

He was so hot. A boiling heat that dragged us both down into the deep end together.

I moved back into my own condo. Over the years, I had gotten too used to luxury.

My body had grown accustomed to his bed, leaving me staring at the ceiling, completely sleepless for the entire night.

The next morning at the office lobby, I ran straight into Declan. I gave him a curt, professional nod.

Declan's brow furrowed heavily.

"Declan!" Clara jogged over, deliberately wedging herself between us. "Hi there, I'm Declan's fiance."

I gave a brief nod. "Hello."

At the sound of my voice, a visible crack fractured her perfect smile. I didn't waste breath on small talk and stepped directly into the elevator.

"Margot, right?" Clara chased after me, slipping through the closing doors with Declan trailing right behind her. "Declan talks about you all the time. He says you're an absolute workaholic."

She smoothed down her pristine skirt. "But a true lady never needs to kill herself working in a man's world. Isn't it better to take your man's black card to Rodeo Drive for a spa day and some haute couture? The dirty work of bringing home the bacon can just be left to Declan."

She turned to him, batting her eyelashes. "Right, Declan?"

Declan ruffled her hair, his gaze melting into a sickening tenderness. "Would I ever dare disagree with you?"

Chapter 3

I didn't even blink at Clara's pathetic provocation. She had clearly recognized my voice from the phone and was desperate to flaunt her affection, marking her territory over Declan right to my face.

"On my turf, you address me as Executive Margot," I stated, my voice dead flat. "If you don't even understand basic corporate hierarchy, I'd be more than happy to have security escort you out of the building right now."

I ignored the reaction of the two people behind me and simply brushed off the spot on my sleeve where Clara's shadow had just crossed.

But my utter indifference clearly struck a nerve with Declan. After dismissing Clara, he stormed straight into my office, letting the heavy glass door slam shut.

My brows knitted together. "Declan. Knocking is basic class."

I emphasized the last two words, biting them off sharply. I was feeding Clara's exact insult right back down his throat.

The corner of his mouth ticked up. He leaned down, planting both hands on the armrests of my chair, trapping me between his arms.

The scent of his cedar cologne swallowed the oxygen in the room.

"Last night, you opened the door for me willingly," he murmured. His dark eyes dragged slowly down the slit of my pencil skirt, loaded with implications.

Smack. I slapped him across the face without a microsecond of hesitation.

A violent red handprint bloomed instantly against his pale jaw. Declan dug his tongue into his cheek, let out a low chuckle, and straightened up. He took the seat directly across my desk.

"I've already had my lawyers transfer the Westside mansion into your name. And that commercial plot you've been eyeing? The permits will be approved soon."

Declan half-lowered his eyelids, his expression stripped of all emotion. "Let's make this a clean break."

He always knew exactly where to strike to shatter my ribs. I was the one who had handed him the knife, and now he was driving it into my gut, twisting the hilt.

Sitting there with his aristocratic arrogance, he looked exactly like my string of so-called stepfathers. Preaching love with one breath, then buying out that same love with cold, hard cash the next.

A lover riding the high of a new obsession, dressing up a cheap game as true romance.

When Clara rushed in carrying a stack of gourmet bento boxes, she walked right into the sight of me emptying my glass of ice water directly into Declan's face.

She shrieked, charging forward, and slapped me across the cheek.

I didn't have a habit of taking hits without returning fire. The only loss I had ever swallowed in my life was falling for Declan.

I raised my hand to strike back, but my wrist was snatched mid-air. Declan's grip was like an iron vise.

He stepped in front of Clara, shielding her completely. His tone was laced with a dark warning. "Margot! This isn't the place for your hysterical episodes!"

I raised my free hand and slapped his face with every ounce of strength I had left.

Looking at the perfectly symmetrical red handprints on Declan's cheeks, a rush of pure, unadulterated satisfaction flooded my veins.

"Without Declan, could a woman like you ever reach this kind of position?" Clara stepped out from behind him, playing the indignant savior.

"You're fired."

"On what grounds?!" Clara tilted her chin up, desperately trying to look authoritative.

"On the grounds that I hold thirty percent of the equity in this company. And on the grounds that you just trespassed into my office and assaulted a C-level executive."

Panic flickered in Clara's eyes. Her gaze darted around, but when she saw Declan standing in silence, refusing to reprimand her, her liquid courage returned. She doubled down on the provocation.

"Declan is the majority shareholder, and I am his fiance! What the hell are you? If anyone is getting the hell out of here, it's you!"

A crowd of employees had already gathered outside the glass walls of my office, whispering. Declan didn't utter a single syllable.

His silence was a deafening endorsement, backing her play.

There was zero point in continuing this pathetic circus.

"Fine. We're done."

I pulled open my drawer and tossed a thick stack of papers onto the desk. "I'm selling my shares to you at current market value. Declan, I owe you absolutely nothing anymore."

The severance agreement hit the mahogany with a sharp slap.

A visible crack fractured Declan's icy composure, his jaw ticking. He clearly hadn't expected me to have the exit papers already drawn up, fully prepared to walk away.

Clara, on the other hand, wore a smug, triumphant smirk. The ones who are favored always act like they're untouchable.

"Who called 911?" Two uniformed officers pushed through the crowd.

I coldly wiped a smear of blood from the corner of my mouth and looked straight at the arriving cops. "Officers, I was the victim of an unprovoked physical assault in my own office. Zane, contact my private legal team immediately. I want to press charges for first-degree assault and file for a Restraining Order against her."

Chapter 4

The ER doctor confirmed a mild concussion. If my legal team unleashed their full arsenal, Clara wouldn't just be facing felony assault charges; she'd be drowning in a multi-million dollar civil lawsuit.

Declan leaned against the peeling wall of the precinct corridor, a condescending smirk playing on his lips. He actually thought I was just using an astronomical lawsuit to force him to bow his head.

Clara was finally panicking, her manicured fingers twisting the hem of Declan's shirt. "Declan, I can't stay in a holding cell overnight. I'm scared."

Declan lowered his voice, coaxing her, promising he would handle everything. Then he turned to me, his tone shifting back to cold business, asking for my price to drop the charges.

When the billionaire black card gets pulled out, I'm not one to play the stubborn martyr.

The moment we stepped out of the precinct, Declan grabbed my arm and dragged me into the shadows of the alley. "You really threw away all your dignity just to squeeze cash out of me."

I hooked my finger into his silk tie and yanked hard. He was forced to dip his head, bringing his eyes level with mine. "You stepped on my face to elevate your new pet. You should have calculated the cost."

Instead of getting angry, Declan chuckled darkly. His large hand slid to the small of my back, jerking my hips flush against his. "Dial back that temper of yours, Margot. What man could possibly stand you?"

I shoved him away in sheer disgust and strode toward the parking lot.

Declan followed right on my heels, his voice casual but carrying through the night air. "You know how my mother is. Her health has been declining these past two years, and Clara fits her exact criteria for a daughter-in-law."

I ignored him. I reached for my car door, but Declan slammed his palm against the window, trapping me. "Margot. I can give you absolutely anything you wantexcept marriage."

"Get the hell out of my way." I shoved his arm off, slammed the door shut, and hit the gas.

In the rearview mirror, he stood under the dim streetlights with his hands shoved in his pockets, his expression swallowed by the shadows.

Back at the hospital, I had deliberately spun myself in circles in the bathroom stall and gagged myself to fake the severe concussion symptoms. I successfully disgusted Declan and Clara, but the hangover from the act left me completely drained.

The second I got home, I collapsed onto the bed and blacked out.

The next morning, I woke up to my phone ringing.

"Margot, you haven't come home for dinner in ages." It was my mother.

I checked my calendar and agreed to drop by.

A strange man opened the door. "Margot, this is Winston," my mother introduced him.

Winston wrapped his arms around my mother, assuring her that he would be there for her from now on and she wouldn't have to face things alone.

"Right. The whole world is out to get you, and you're the ultimate victim," I sneered coldly. I didn't waste another second on their sickening display of affection. I turned on my heel and walked right out the door.

Chapter 5

"After everything you bled for that company, are you really just going to walk away?" Zoe asked.

I had mentored Zoe from day one. My departure hit her hard.

I rested my chin in my hand and took a slow sip of sake. Walk away? Ten years of tangled history. I used to fantasize about our future too.

But the moment I became an option in a multiple-choice question, the game was already over. Spilled water can't be gathered back. Cutting my losses and walking out was the only move left on the board.

Seeing the absolute finality in my eyes, Zoe shifted to venting. To pacify Clara, Declan had created a phantom executive title just for her.

And Clara was running rampant with paranoia. She interrogated every single unmarried female employee, instituted unhinged performance reviews, and even banned women from wearing makeup or skirts to the office.

Her insanity even bled into client meetings. The company had already hemorrhaged several major accounts.

That actually surprised me. Declan, who was normally so utterly ruthless and calculated in business, was allowing this circus.

Maybe the Declan I knew was just a mirage. Or maybe his blind favoritism for Clara was the one exception to his rules. Either way, it wasn't my problem anymore.

The day I left the city, a cold drizzle washed over the tarmac.

My mother was too busy bonding with her new stepson to care. She rattled off a few obligatory warnings over the phone before hanging up in a rush.

Right before I boarded the plane, Bennett called. He was Declan's childhood best friend, and we had crossed paths enough times to be on speaking terms. I had no idea how he found out I was leaving the country.

"Margot, there's no need to run away overseas," Bennett said over the line.

"I'm putting together a gathering tonight. Declan will be there. Just come clear the air, and everyone can still be friends."

Inside the dimly lit VIP booth at the club, Bennett gripped his phone, his expression turning grim.

On the other end of the line, I had already cut the call