He Let My Parents Die Just Because I Refused to Divorce Novel – Sebastian Blackwood—my husband, the man who’d been medically declared sterile—had gotten a fertile college girl pregnant. He’d been over the moon. He’d planned to keep it quiet until the baby was born. But I caught him red-handed at St. Brigid Private Clinic. I lost control screaming for an explanation. I demanded an explanation for his betrayal—especially after, the woman who’d been closing nine-figure deals back-to-back for him, the one who’d practically built his empire from the ground up.
He handed me a divorce packet with the same cold detachment he used when he signed off on layoffs. “You weren’t the kind of woman who could give me a child,” he said flatly. “Chloe is already in her second trimester. She needs a husband to take care of her. I’m marrying her. I’m giving her a home.” Then he added, like he was doing me a favor, “Sign it. If you split with me cleanly, you’ll still have a place at Blackwood & Co.” I refused.His retaliation came fast and brutal.
He had me indicted and thrown to Greywatch Penitentiary. He froze every account I had. He sealed off everything I owned.And then—like the final twist of a knife—he had my parents, both of them with heart conditions, strapped into a SkyRift Drop Ride. “Divorce,” he said, voice calm as a judge’s gavel, “and I’ll let them go. Refuse, and you’ll watch them die up there.” I sobbed. I dropped to my knees. I signed the papers with shaking hands and begged him to spare my family.
And the very next heartbeat, my parents still flew out of the ride. I watched with my own eyes as they tore apart in midair—bone and blood and flesh raining down. It splattered across my face.“No—!” I screamed. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day Sebastian had first shoved the divorce papers at me. This time, I slapped the divorce agreement down on his desk—with my resignation letter on top. “As you wish.” The words hadn’t even settled when my husband gave a soft, mocking laugh. “Vivian,” Sebastian said, leaning back in his chair like he owned the world, “I bring up divorce, and you hand me a resignation letter.
You think quitting is some kind of threat? You think I’ll soften up? That I’ll bend because you’re trying to play hardball?” He picked up his pen, signed the divorce agreement without hesitation, then flicked it back toward me like it was trash. “I gave you a chance,” he said. “You didn’t know when to take it. Since you want to make a scene, don’t blame me for finishing it.” He stood, didn’t spare me so much as a glance, and walked out. I stared after him—at that merciless back—and something old and bitter rose in my chest. Five years ago, when Blackwood & Co.
had barely been more than a brand-new name and an idea, it had been me in those smoky deal rooms, negotiating and smiling until my face ached. At the dinners where contracts were sealed over endless drinks, I’d taken glass after glass meant for him—because of Sebastian’s supposed alcohol allergy, and I’d been the one who covered for him. I’d drunk until I threw up blood and landed in a hospital bed with an IV in my arm. And for three years, I hadn’t taken a single day “easy.” I’d ground myself down, delivered numbers no one thought were possible, and dragged the company into an IPO with my own hands.On the night we celebrated going public, he’d held me and cried. “Viv,” he’d said, voice breaking, “I’m… I’m not a real man.
I can’t give you a child. And you still married me. You still fought beside me. You stood by me through the grind and shared every hard-won victory.” Then he’d sworn it, solemn as a vow at an altar. “If I ever wrong you, even a little, may lightning strike me down.” In my last life, that promise had been a noose around my neck. I’d believed that because I’d been good to him—because we’d survived the hard years together—we’d grow old the way people in stories did. Even after I found out he’d cheated.
Even after I learned he’d somehow managed to get another woman pregnant. I still clung to the stupid hope that he’d turn around, that he’d come back. It wasn’t until he sent me to prison for that college girl—until he killed my parents—that I finally woke up. Young love could rot into hatred.A heart could change. I brushed my thumb over the crease in my resignation letter. My gaze stayed calm, flat as still water. Not this time.If he wanted to be heartless, then I would leave him.
I called my parents. “Mom. Dad. I expanded a new overseas market in Alderwyn,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “Will you go ahead and travel first, just to help me look things over? Give me two weeks. I’ll handle a few things here and then I’ll meet you.” They didn’t press me. They simply agreed. After I hung up, I handed the signed divorce agreement to my attorney. Then I went back to Blackwood & Co. to clear out my office. But when I pushed the door open, I stopped cold.
A young woman sat in my chair—five months pregnant, belly round beneath a designer sweater like she was showing off an accessory.“Director Ashford…” my assistant, Megan Reed, followed behind me, her eyes red. She kept her voice low, almost shaking. “Mr. Blackwood gave an order this morning. He said Miss Whitmore is taking your position. She hasn’t even graduated college. And—” “And what?” I asked quietly. Megan gripped my sleeve like she was afraid I’d vanish. “Miss Whitmore said your $300,000 quarterly performance bonus is being reallocated into her name.” My stomach went tight. “And she said the thirty-two senior staff on your team are all being reassigned to Facilities.
For janitorial duties.”My nails cut into my palm. My jaw locked so hard it ached. Grant—one of my oldest leads—had worked seventy-two hours straight to hit a deadline and collapsed in a conference room. He was still in chemo, and he still showed up first every morning because he refused to let anyone else carry his load. Ethan had camped out at an airport for three days and three nights to win an overseas client—won the deal on sheer persistence. He’d just bought a house. He hadn’t even taken his honeymoon, because he’d been glued to his laptop pushing the project forward.
And Noah… Now, because of one woman’s whim, they were being tossed into menial labor like criminals.It was a joke. Then noise rose at the doorway. A pack of college kids poured in laughing—streetwear, sneakers, loud voices, careless confidence. They flopped down in Grant’s and Ethan’s seats like they belonged there. “Yo, this office is insane,” a guy with bleached hair said, sweeping a framed photo off Grant’s desk without even looking. It hit the floor with a sharp crack. “Chloe’s fiancé is a legend,” another one said, grinning. “He’s paying us tens of thousands a month and he’s not even strict about hours. We can come whenever, leave whenever. This is living.”My face went white.
Just days ago, my team had worked three straight months without breathing to land a nine-figure contract. At the celebration dinner, I’d finally worked up the courage to ask Sebastian to approve a modest raise—five thousand each. Not even a fraction of what they deserved. His face had darkened instantly. He’d slammed his glass down hard enough to splash wine. “We’re tight on funds,” he’d snapped. “You all need to be reasonable. Five thousand? You think closing one big deal makes you special? Do you have any idea what labor costs look like?” I’d believed him. I’d told the team to wait—told them we’d earn it later. But now these kids, who probably couldn’t read a quarterly report, were getting salaries my veterans hadn’t even dared to ask for. So this was what he meant by “tight on funds.” Fine.
If he wanted to be cruel to me—whatever. But to the people who’d built his company with their sweat and blood? Did he even have a conscience left to sting? Grant bent down carefully and picked up the frame. The glass had cracked. Inside was a photo of his little girl. “Hey, old man,” the bleached-hair kid said, kicking Grant’s chair. “Hurry up and clear your junk. You’re in the way. We’re trying to set up our rigs.” My hands curled into fists so tight my knuckles burned. I dialed a number I hadn’t called in a long time. When the line connected, my voice came out like ice. “Mr. Kingsley. I accepted your offer to have me come to Alderwyn as president.
But I had two conditions.” I stared at the students—at the way they laughed while ripping open folders, scattering project materials like confetti. I spoke slowly, each word clean and sharp. “First. I’m bringing my entire team. Thirty-two people. Not one less.” “Second. Every one of them needs a $5,000 base salary increase.” The man on the other end laughed—bright, genuinely delighted. “Vivian,” Graham Kingsley said, “I’ll increase each of them by $50,000. Welcome to the Kingsley Consortium.” I reached for Grant, whose face had gone gray with humiliation, and steadied him. Then I gathered everyone who’d been reassigned to Facilities and pulled them into a quiet room. We talked. We decided. After that, I took a few core leads straight to HR and submitted our paperwork. “Ms. Porter,” I said, calm and final, “all thirty-two of us are resigning.” I placed the stack of letters down. “These are our applications.”Elaine Porter—head of HR—shot to her feet, her face draining of color. “Director Ashford, you can’t resign,” she said, voice shaking. “Grant, Ethan—everyone here… you’re essential. Eighty percent of this company’s revenue runs through your department.” “If you quit, I don’t have the jurisdiction to approve it.
I have to ask Mr. Blackwood.” She fumbled for her phone, hands trembling. I didn’t stop her.“No need,” a voice cut in. The office door swung open, and Chloe Whitmore stepped out—hand resting on her belly like it was a crown. She flashed her phone with a smug little shake. “Sebastian said Sales is entirely under my authority now,” she said sweetly. “That includes whether you get to leave.” She tilted her head.“You all want to resign? Fine. Return every bonus the company ever paid you. Then I’ll approve your exit.” My fist tightened so hard my nails bit skin. Sebastian Blackwood… he allowed her to say this? Those bonuses were earned. They were nights without sleep, weekends lost, the years we’d burned away. “Miss Whitmore,” I said, meeting her gaze without blinking, “those bonuses were legal compensation for work performed. You have no right to demand them back.” “I don’t care,” she said, rubbing her stomach with theatrical satisfaction. “You either return the money or you keep working.” Her smile predatory. “Sebastian said I’m the one who calls the shots now. You’d better behave, or I’ll make your resignation a legal nightmare.” I gritted my teeth, pulled out my phone, and called Sebastian. It rang long enough for my heart to start pounding again. When he finally answered, his voice was irritated. “What now?” I opened my mouth—And Chloe snatched my phone out of my hand.
Her voice turned instantly breathy, trembling, tearful. “Sebastian… Vivian said she’s quitting,” she whined. “She won’t listen to me, and she’s trying to intimidate me.” “I know she’s jealous because I’m carrying your baby,” Chloe continued, sniffing. “But she can’t bully me like this. I’m scared.” “Put her on,” Sebastian snapped, his voice suddenly loud. Chloe handed the phone back with a victorious look that made my stomach turn. Her performance was obvious. The smear-job was clumsy. And still, he swallowed it whole. I took the phone. To avoid complications, I forced myself to speak evenly. “Sebastian, I don’t care about you and her. I’m handling my team’s resig—” “Vivian!” he barked, rage crashing through the speaker. “You really can’t stand Chloe and the baby, can you?” “You know this might be the only child I ever have. Are you determined to fight me over it?” My lips pressed together. “I’m not interested in harassing your mistress. Listen carefully—I’m processing resignations. Not just mine. The entire team I—” Chloe leaned in close beside me, voice turning coy. “Sebastian,” she purred, “forget it. Don’t be mad at Vivian. I’m craving that Cajun crawfish place on the edge of town. Let Vivian go pick it up, okay? She can… make up for it.” There was a beat of silence. Then Sebastian’s voice went cold and hard. “You heard her. My fiancée wants crawfish. Go buy it. Now.” The place was far from the tower—four hours round trip, at least. I refused. Sebastian gave a low laugh that held no warmth. “Fine. Don’t go,” he said. “Then I’ll make sure the team you dragged up with you is blacklisted from this entire industry.” His tone dropped, intimate and cruel. “Whether you obey me depends on how you perform.” Then he ended the call. The silence afterward rang in my ears. My throat felt like it had been scraped raw. My chest didn’t even hurt—it was worse than pain. It was numb. Hollow. I knew he wasn’t just indulging Chloe.He was protecting what was inside her. A child.And once… we’d had one too. Back then, the company had been at a make-or-break point. I’d been working until after midnight every night.
One day, I’d collapsed in a meeting and woke up in a hospital bed. Eight weeks pregnant.I’d been so exhausted, my body hadn’t held on. I lost the baby.And because I’d been terrified Sebastian would break, I hadn’t told him the truth. I’d said it was gastritis. I’d swallowed the grief alone. Now, looking at what he’d become—Everything I’d given him felt like a mistake. Chloe stroked her belly proudly and looked at me as if she’d already won. “You saw his attitude,” she said. “He listens to me now. If you agree to buy the crawfish, I’ll approve your resignations immediately.” Her smile widened. “Go through the normal process and it’ll take at least a month. I’m guessing you don’t want to scrub toilets for the next four weeks, do you?” I met her gaze, steady. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll do it.” The people beside me reddened with anger, eyes shining. Grant grabbed my arm. “Director Ashford, don’t go. They’re humiliating you on purpose.” “Yes,” Ethan said, slamming a palm on the desk. “If they want to torment us, whatever—but how could Mr. Blackwood do this to you? It’s disgusting. Don’t bend. We’ll scrub toilets for a month if we have to.” I shook my head.“It’s fine,” I said quietly.“Consider it… the last favor I ever ran for this firm.”