She Secretly Left Before He Came Home With His Ex

“Hello. I want to file for divorce with my husband Myron Lestrange. I’d like to proceed with a compulsory execution.”

Savina Nichols handed over their marriage certificate and both ID cards.

The clerk glanced at the documents and hesitated, clarifying, “Savina Nichols? Are you that woman who was diagnosed with a mental disorder a month ago and accused a doctor of malpractice?”

At once, Savina’s hand clenched into a tight fist. Her head snapped up, her eyes blazing as she glared at the woman.

The clerk quickly lowered her head, lips pressed together in embarrassment, before reminding her in a formal tone.

“Ma’am, you were only granted permanent residency here in America because of your marriage to Mr. Lestrange. If you divorce him, you’ll be deported by the end of the month.”

Savina’s grip tightened around the marriage certificate. A bitter laugh escaped her lips, and she replied confidently, “I know. But don’t worry, the embassy won’t have to deport me by then. I’ll leave on my own.”

Three months ago, her son with Myron had been diagnosed with kidney failure. A transplant was the only way to save the kid.

However, on the day of the operation, just as the surgery began and their son lay cut open on the table, the attending surgeon suddenly walked out of the operating room.

The doctor had said, “I’m sorry, but performing such a basic operation would only lower my professional standards. I won’t do it.”

Because of her sudden withdrawal, the boy’s life hung by a thread. He survived but only to live paralyzed, bedridden for the rest of his days.

Afterward, Savina sued Helene Hester. But just when victory was within reach, Myron locked her inside their home.

Standing over her, he coldly said, “I’ve already withdrawn the lawsuit. Record a public apology. In return, I’ll find the best doctors to treat our son.”

“If you refuse,” he warned, “I’ll release proof of your mental illness. And that means you’ll never see your son again.”

Savina couldn’t understand. They were supposedly a family. How could Myron side with an outsider and even use their own child to threaten her?

Holding back her pain, she lifted her head and argued, “She’s the reason my son’s paralyzed! She deserves to go to jail!”

Myron frowned in impatience. The next thing she knew, he had already uploaded her so-called “psychiatric report” online.

In a blink of an eye, public opinion turned against her. Everyone was cursing her, wondering why someone like her hadn’t died yet.

Once upon a time, if anyone dared insult her, Myron would be furious on her behalf.

But now, he stood beside her enemy, helping to destroy her.

“Are you going to apologize or not?” he pressed.

Savina’s nails dug into her palm until blood dripped onto the white carpet, staining it scarlet.

“Myron,” she cried, her eyes red, “after seven years together, this is how you treat me?”

For a fleeting second, a shadow of conflict flickered across his gaze. But then his face hardened again.

He pulled out their son’s photo and warned, “I’ll give you one last chance, Savina. If you truly don’t care about your son anymore, go ahead—keep being stubborn.”

In the next moment, the screen in front of her showed a video of their son—his oxygen tube being unplugged one by one.

In the end, Savina’s voice trembled uncontrollably as she surrendered.

“N-No! Don’t take him away! I’ll do it! I’ll record it!”

Once he had the video of her public apology, Myron just turned to the door, ignoring the turmoil her wife was going through.

Before he could leave her behind, Savina caught his sleeve with both hands, desperately asking, “Myron… who exactly is Helene to you?”

His voice dropped low when he answered, “My first love.”

Suddenly, it was as if lightning had struck Savina. Every drop of blood in her body ran cold.

Only then did she finally understand why he had defended that woman again and again. She wasn’t just anyone; she was the woman he had once cherished the most.

The first time Savina and Myron had met, they were both at their lowest.

Back then, his first love had dumped him just because he was poor and had no sense of direction in life. He was broken then, sinking into despair.

When he was at his worst, Savina was the only one who stayed by his side and helped him go through it.

She believed seven years could warm his cold heart.

Unfortunately, she had overestimated her love and underestimated Myron’s obsession with his ex.

When the truth finally sank in, Savina accepted it without crying or making a scene. She was so calm that it was terrifying.

That was how, later, she tricked him; she stole his ID and came straight to the embassy to file for divorce by force.

Her thoughts drifted back as the clerk returned her documents.

“Ma’am, once the one-month cooling-off period ends, your divorce will be finalized.”

Savina nodded faintly. She glanced once more at the marriage certificate, and then, she sneered and tore it clean in half.

Love that had rotted—and the man who had dirtied it? She completely threw it away like trash.

Just as she stepped out of the embassy, her phone rang. It was someone from her company.

“Savina, Mr. Lestrange has already signed your resignation papers. But I think he doesn’t realize it was you who filed it. Should I inform him?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Savina replied quickly. “When the time comes, he’ll know.”

By the end of the month—when the cooling period expired—he would know everything.

When the hospital incident happened, she’d already wanted a divorce. But Myron refused. He’d told her not to cause trouble, even threatening her using their own child.

“If you insist,” he’d said, “I’ll send our son abroad for treatment.”

If he could be so heartless, then she wouldn’t mind taking her son and leaving Myron behind.

After completing the paperwork, she went back to the company to finalize her handover.

She had been with Myron since his lowest days and had watched him rise from a poor guy to the billionaire CEO he was now.

To ease his workload, she’d turned down lucrative offers from Wall Street executives just to stay by his side as his secretary.

Thinking back on everything now, she couldn’t help but find all those years of devotion hilarious.

She had almost finished packing when Myron suddenly returned.

Seeing her tidying up, his brows furrowed. Still, remembering her recent “unstable” condition, he softened his tone.

“You’ve been a bit off lately. Taking some time off to rest might be good for you.”

Then, casually, he added, “Don’t wait for me after work tonight. I’m picking up Helene.”

For five years, the passenger seat of his car had always been hers. Now, it belonged to another woman.

Staring at the man she had loved for seven years, Savina felt a deep and bitter sorrow.

Clenching her fists, she asked again, “Myron, are you really going to ignore what happened to our son?”

At the mention of their child who had almost died, Myron lowered his gaze. In a low voice, he replied, “What’s done is done, Savina. You can’t just make the living go down with him. That’s not fair.”

At those words, her eyes burned red.

“Fair?” she echoed bitterly. “Was it fair when you spread lies about me being mentally ill just to protect that doctor?”

“Was it fair when you gave up justice for our son—all for your first love?”

“And what about me? I stood by you through the seven hardest years of your life, and you bring your mistress home. Tell me, Myron—was that fair to me?”

Her voice rose higher and higher. Soon, outside the office, staff began to gather, watching.

Suddenly, Myron’s eyes narrowed. Then, he seized her wrist in a painful grip.

“Enough,” he hissed. “You’re at the company. If you want to fight with me, do it at home. Don’t embarrass yourself here.”

The next second, he flung her aside. Savina stumbled and hit the edge of the desk, her forehead cracking against the corner. In an instant, pain flashed white across her vision.

Seeing her fall, Myron instinctively reached to help her. But before he could, Helene came rushing in and threw herself into his arms.

“Oh! Myron! I’m sorry,” she apologized sweetly. “Work’s been crazy lately. I lost my balance.”

His expression softened instantly. “It’s fine,” he soothed her. “I’ll ask the housekeeper to make you some soup tonight to help you recover.”

The two of them flirted openly right in front of Savina.

Biting back the pain, she forced herself to stand, clutching the desk for support, and turned to leave.

But as she passed Helene, the woman suddenly blocked her way with a dazzling smile.

“Hey, I actually came today to give you a banner,” she began. “I’m truly sorry about your child. To make it up to you, I applied for a special research program for him.”

“Our team is studying a new method to help paralyzed children walk again,” she explained. “I’ve already sent Alonzo to the lab. It’s a contribution to medical science.”

“In a way, your son’s quite lucky. I mean,” she added with a deliberate pause, “he’s bringing honor to his mom even in his… condition.”

She smiled even wider. “This banner’s from the hospital. It’s their way of thanking you.”

Before Savina could react, the banner was shoved into her hands.

Her tears spilled uncontrollably. Her child—her precious boy—already paralyzed and broken, had now been turned into a test subject just so that this doctor could complete her “research.”

“Bitch! Give my son back to me!” she snapped, raising her hand to strike Helene.

But before Savina’s palm could fall, Myron caught her wrist midair.

“That’s enough. Helene came here with good intentions, and you return the favor like this?” he snapped in disappointment.

“Savina,” he said, his tone edged with a threat, “keep this up, and you can’t blame me if I divorce you!”

Leaving those words hanging in the air, he turned and walked away with Helene in his arms.

Watching the two, Savina collapsed onto the floor. Her body shook violently as she clutched her chest, sobbing until she nearly passed out.

No one knew how long she stayed like that. At some point, she just pushed herself up from the cold floor, her expression blank.

She managed to find her way to the rooftop and there, she contacted a man from France.

“Dike,” she began, her tone eerily calm. “You promised me once… that if I ever got divorced, you’d marry me, right? You also said you’d propose with a two million gift.”

“Well, one month from now, I’ll be divorced,” she declared. “Are you still keeping that promise?”