Six Years of Devotion Divorcing My Billionaire Sweetheart

This is the sixth year of my marriage to Ethan Miller.

While I was curled up in bed, cold sweat dripping from a severe stomach ache, the phone number that had been ignoring my calls sent a text. [Sorry, Mrs. Miller.

The boss is making me some hot lemonginger tea right now, so he’s too busy to answer. Is there something you need?] Later, I walked away without once looking back.

I moved out of our home and handed him the divorce papers.

But that oncearrogant man stood there with bloodshot eyes, begging me. "Ivy, can we please start over?" When I received that text, I was curled into a tight ball on our bed.

My stomach was twisting in agonizing waves. I stared at the screen for a second, then flipped the phone over and buried my face back into the duvet.

I knew exactly who sent that message. It was his young assistant, Chloe Bennett. This wasn’t the first time.

Ethan had always hated other people touching his personal things, but he made exception after exception for Chloe. When I stayed up late waiting for him to come home.

Chloe would send me photos of him passed out drunk, telling me he was too wasted to talk to me. When I was stuck outside in a sudden heavy rainstorm.

She would answer his phone while he was driving, apologetically telling me in her innocent voice that she was being followed lately, and Ethan was too worried to leave her, so he had to drive her home first.

And now, on this night when I was in excruciating pain, my husband was with another woman, brewing tea for her. I pressed my hand hard against my throbbing stomach.

It felt incredibly bitter, almost laughable. A tear slipped from the corner of my eye and vanished into the sheets. Ethan didn’t come home until three in the morning.

The sharp pain in my stomach had subsided to a dull ache. Listening to the sound of the shower running in the bathroom, I couldn’t fall asleep.

When he finally crawled into bed, smelling of fresh water and damp air, he wrapped his arms around me from behind. I instinctively struggled against his embrace.

His grip tightened, his voice deep and raspy. "Still awake?" I pulled away, turning to face him. My voice was flat. "I called you tonight.

You didn't answer." The air in the room froze for a second. In the pitch black, I couldn’t see Ethan’s face. I only heard him say, "I had a business dinner tonight.

I probably didn't hear it." I didn’t say anything. I just reached for my phone, unlocked it, and held the screen up to show him the text.

He took the phone, glanced at it, and let out a soft laugh. "Ah, Chloe must have sent that. She drank on my behalf at the dinner tonight.

I took her home, and since she wasn't feeling well, I made her some ginger tea." Ethan sighed.

He pulled me back into his chest, his voice gentle with a hint of amusement. "Are you jealous?" I remained silent. The room was dead quiet.

Sensing my lack of response, he let go of me, sat up, and switched on the bedside lamp. In the dim, yellow light, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

His expression turned to one of utter disappointment. "Ivy, do you really have to make things difficult for Chloe?" "I’ve told you, she’s highly competent.

I can’t just fire her for no reason. Besides, if I fire her, who’s going to handle her workload? You?" Oh. I understood what Ethan was trying to say.

A woman who dedicated her entire life to being his perfect wife was worth less than a useful employee. Or maybe he just thought there was no conflict here.

The texts that felt like blatant provocations to me were just an innocent young girl being playful in his eyes.

He probably thought Chloe was completely guiltless, and that I was just a bitter, malicious wife attacking her. I used to scream. I used to throw tantrums.

I even ended up in tears, begging him to fire Chloe. But all I got in return was his impatient sigh: "Stop acting crazy, Ivy. Go look in the mirror.

You look like a hysterical shrew." Then, he would leave the house and not return for two weeks.

In the end, unable to bear the suffocating loneliness of this massive house, I would always be the first to cave. I would pack him a nice lunch and drive to his office to apologize.

On those nights, after we made up, he would stroke my damp hair and whisper, "Be good, Ivy. Don't fight with me, okay?" My mind snapped back to the present.

I looked at the man I had loved for ten years, feeling nothing but a profound sense of absurdity.

There was a time when he would tell his endless line of pursuers, "Sorry, my girlfriend gets jealous easily." Then he would look back at me, teasingly winking with eyes full of adoration.

Back then, he was just a passionate boy, and I was still young. I turned around, facing away from him.

As if by doing so, I could escape the ugly reality of what time had done to us.

Actually, Ethan had forgotten so much. When we first started the business, I was the one who stayed up all night with him.

I was the one who went to those corporate dinners and drank for him. Once, I drank so much I got a stomach ulcer and bled. In the ambulance, his eyes were red from crying.

He squeezed my hand and promised, "Ivy, I swear I’m going to give you a good life." The day we secured our first major investment, he picked me up and spun me around in circles.

We were too excited to sleep all night, talking about our future. Because of that investment, the company took off.

On our third wedding anniversary, we went to the most expensive restaurant in the city. It was a place we could only dream of when we were broke.

Back then, he had pointed at the distant skyline and said, "When we make it, we’re going to celebrate our anniversary there!" I had snuggled into his chest, kissing his cheek. "I don’t care about any of that.

As long as I'm with you." And he did it. At that dinner, he pulled a ring box from his pocket.

The diamond was huge, far more intricate and brilliant than the simple band we married with. "Ivy, I couldn't give you the dream wedding back then.

Now, I can finally make it up to you." He looked just like the boy who cried during our vows—his eyes were red, staring at me with pure devotion.

I had cried too, stretching out my hand. I let him take off the old plain band and slide the new diamond ring onto my finger. We had known each other since childhood.

We were high school sweethearts. He asked me out after graduation, and proposed right after college. Everything was supposed to be perfect. I thought we would grow old together.

But I forgot that hearts change. Even the most intense love has an expiration date. The next morning, Ethan and I got up at the same time.

Once we were dressed, I stood in front of him, smoothly adjusting his tie. "I'll go to the office with you today," I said quietly, my hands never stopping.