The CEO's Secretary Resigned with Divorce Papers
“Ms. Wentworth, President Connolly has signed off on your resignation. But… I don’t think he realized it was you. Do you want me to let him know?”
Xanthe kept her gaze on the resignation form in her hands. Shaking her head, she said, “That won’t be necessary.”
“Ms. Wentworth.” The HR representative let out a quiet sigh, as if trying one last time. “He still cares about you, you know. Everyone in this company actually thinks you two will be endgame. Maybe… just think it through?”
A scoff slipped past Xanthe’s lips.
Little did they know, whatever romance was going on between her and the CEO wasn’t just some office gossip—she and Barrington had already been married.
Their relationship had been legal—just kept secret.
But getting married was one thing, and being cared for was another. She learned the difference the hard way three months ago.
A car accident that fractured her spine, and she needed her husband to come to the hospital to sign the surgery consent form.
But she lost count of the times she called him before he picked up the phone. Worse, she waited so long only to hear his impatient tone.
“It’s just a car accident. You’ll be fine. Hang on—I’m still at Vionnet’s birthday dinner.”
Vionnet.
Her best friend.
That was the moment Xanthe realized her husband was cheating on her.
In the end, while she was fighting for her life in the ICU, she had to sign her own consent form.
Just before she was wheeled into surgery, Barrington finally showed up—but with her best friend in his arms.
Apparently, she’d cut her finger on a kitchen knife. For her sake, he pulled the surgeon aside, demanding he take a look at her first.
That brief delay—the minutes they lost—cost Xanthe blood loss.
And she spent the next week in the ICU, not knowing if she’d ever walk again.
That was when she finally woke up to the truth.
‘Some things, when they rot—like marriage—need to be discarded. Now that I’ve recovered, it’s time to walk away.’
She looked up at the HR rep, calm and composed. “People change,” she said softly. “I stood by him through the most difficult three years of his life. That’s enough.”
In all those years, the woman Barrington had loved had always been Vionnet.
Xanthe was just a byproduct of a night gone wrong—three years ago, when Barrington had been drugged and ended up in her bed.
When the scandal couldn’t be avoided, he agreed to marry her—on the condition that no one could ever know.
Now that the woman he loved had returned to Illinois, Xanthe had no intentions of holding onto a guy nobody knew was hers even just in papers.
But before she left, she had one last thing to do. She would give him four parting gifts—each one a celebration of the freedom they would finally have without each other.
——
…
With divorce papers in her bag, Xanthe pushed open the glass door to the CEO’s office.
Inside, Barrington was trimming the stems of a bouquet of white lilies with his sleeves rolled up.
He had never been the romantic type. In fact, he used to mock other guys for giving their girls flowers.
“Pointless things,” he’d said one Valentine’s Day. “Dead in a week.”
In the three years they’d been married, she hadn’t received so much as a single daisy.
And those lilies weren’t hers; it was Vionnet’s favorite.
A few clipped stems dropped into the trash before he finally glanced over. “Back to work already? How’s the recovery?”
He stood up, setting the bouquet in a crystal vase, adjusting a petal, and adding, “About last time… I didn’t mean for things to go that way. Vionnet’s not like you. You know she’s fragile. One little cut, and she’s out cold. Besides, there was only one doctor on call that night.”
“But I knew you’d be fine.” He smiled at her. “You’ve been through worse, right? Grew up with nothing. A minor surgery’s nothing, right?”
Xanthe nearly laughed.
He had no idea—she was the only heir to one of the wealthiest families in the state. The only time she lived a difficult life began the day she married him.
He would’ve known it had she stayed in touch with the family she left just to marry him.
But she let him believe what he wanted. After all, silence always read as agreement to Barrington. For that, to him, she always had such a good temper—perfect for keeping around.
He walked over, smiling and holding out the lilies like a trophy. “Hey, do you think these are beautiful?”
As soon as the flowers came close, a tickle hit her throat. She turned her head, coughed once, then twice—violent, involuntary.
His wife’s allergy was flaring, but the first thing he did was shove her aside.
Her back slammed into the sharp corner of the desk. The stitches on her healing wound tore open, and blood began to seep through her blouse.
While pain blurred her vision, Barrington’s worried eyes were fixed on the lilies.
“You almost ruined them!” he snapped. “Do you have any idea how rare these are? Flown in! Professionally grown!”
Realizing how she couldn’t even compete with flowers even if it cost her health, Xanthe let out a bitter laugh, thinking, ‘I stayed three years with him for this? My god, I must have been blind to love this man!’
She had a severe flower allergy—something he never cared enough to know. And if he cared even the slightest, he’d have known her injuries weren’t fully healed.
She drew in a sharp breath, steadied herself, and pulled out the documents from her bag.
“President Connolly,” she said, holding out the papers. “I need your signature.”
That made him pause. For the first time, his gaze lingered on her.
Something about her seemed different. When it was just the two of them, she’d call him by his name—never “President Connolly.”
“You just got out of the hospital. You should be resting,” he murmured.
Still, he reached for the papers. Just as his fingers brushed the document, his phone rang.
The contact name flashed through the screen, and Xanthe caught a glimpse of it.
[Baby]
He had saved Vionnet’s name as something so sweet while hers had always been formal like her full name.
The contrast said everything.
He answered with a grin, bouquet in one hand, and walked toward the door.
“I won’t be home for dinner. Just head back by yourself after work.”
Xanthe stepped in front of him, flipped to the last page, and shoved a pen into his palm.
“Sign it first.”
Barrington’s brows furrowed. He was always cautious—never signed anything without dissecting every word first.
But just as he was about to scan the document, his phone rang again.
Even with the volume nearly muted, Vionnet’s voice poured out—flirtatious.
“Barry, I’ve been waiting forever! Hurry up and come over now…”
Just like that, for once, the ever-cautious CEO didn’t read a single line. He just flicked his wrist and scribbled his signature.
“There. Happy now? Can I leave?” he said sarcastically.
Looking at his signature, Xanthe barely nodded. “Yeah. You’re free now.”
This time, she did exactly as he wished—she let him go, and gave him back his freedom.
As he left, he tossed over his shoulder, saying, “The office hasn’t been cleaned in months. You’re here now—why don’t you take care of it?”
With that, the heavy slam of the door echoed in her ears.
Barrington’s office had always been off-limits. Not a speck of dust in sight. Only Xanthe ever knew where the spare key was, which drawer housed the wipes, how he liked the edges of papers perfectly aligned.
When she walked to his desk, the photo frame caught her eye.
Vionnet’s smile stared back at her from behind the glass. That frame used to hold Xanthe’s face.
When she turned, her eyes caught the wastebasket by the cabinet. There her photo was—face-down, crumpled at the edges like trash.
Her lips curved, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. It sliced.
There had been a time when she called Vionnet her “bestie.” But for Barrington, her best friend had always been his “favorite person.”
Although Xanthe had always liked Barrington too, she kept her feelings buried for the sake of that friendship… until their college graduation.
That was the time Vionnet vanished outside the state, swept away by some German tycoon and a plane ticket.
That night, Barrington drank so much he didn’t notice when someone at the bar drugged his drink. What happened next was a mistake—just one reckless night between him and his first love’s best friend.
The memories flashed by like a tragic film, blurring Xanthe’s eyes.
She wiped a tear from her cheek with one hand while the other reached for the drawer. Inside lay a photograph, its corners faded with time, and a love letter—crisp and untouched, as if it had never been opened.
For four years, she had loved Barrington so much that she wrote him ninety-nine love letters.
But since Vionnet came back to Illinois six months ago, every time Barrington chose her over his wife, Xanthe struck another match.
The 99th love letter burned at the hospital.
The one in her hand was the last; it was time to let go.
With a box of her belongings in her hand, she walked out of the building and made a call from the car.
“Trevor,” she said calmly, “didn’t you say you liked me? One month from now, once I get the divorce certificate—we’ll get married.”
###Chapter 2
At the TPMichelson & Co.’s shareholders’ meeting, Trevor Michelson finally responded—but only after confirming the call was really from Xanthe.
“Xanthe,” his voice rang out cold and clear, “three years ago, you did everything you could to protect Barrington. You blocked me. You cut off all contact. You even forced me to leave Springfield. And now, all of a sudden, you’ve changed your mind?”
He let out a mocking laugh. “What happened? Things didn’t go your way?”
The room was silent, all the shareholders too scared to breathe too loudly.
After all, in Chicago, two families stood at the top—the Michelsons and the Wentworths.
The whole city knew that Trevor and Xanthe had grown up together. Everyone used to think those childhood sweethearts were the perfect match.
When Xanthe moved to Springfield alone to attend college seven years ago, Trevor followed and expanded his business empire there, too.
But three years ago, he suddenly returned to Chicago. Rumor had it, he came back with a broken heart.
Now, hearing the sneer in his voice, Xanthe replied calmly, “Yeah. Couldn’t tell the difference between a man and an beast.”
That earned a scoff from the other end, the sound sharp and dismissive.
Taking the hint, Xanthe didn’t press further. “Forget it,” she said, her voice still calm. “Pretend I never called.”
She was just about to hang up when his voice cut in—low and commanding.
“Hey! Don’t you dare.”
There was a pause, heavy with tension, before he continued, “Add me back. On everything. And send me your address.”
“One month,” he repeated. “I’m coming to Springfield to bring you back. This time, you don’t get to change your mind.”
The sheer confidence in his voice made Xanthe laugh quietly, almost in disbelief. “Alright.”
Later, in Barrington’s study at home, she placed two documents into the safe—her resignation letter and the divorce papers he both had signed.
She then took out a glass jar filled with ashes—the remains of ninety-nine love letters she’d burned.
Next, she burned the old photos of them together too. Everything in that villa that tied her to him—she would erase it completely.
The flames flickered in her eyes, bright at first, then slowly fading—just like her love for him.
With each handful of ash, another piece of hope disappeared. And when the jar was full, so was her disappointment.
When Barrington came home, he found her in the study. The thick smell of smoke that still clung to the air made him frown.
“What are you burning?”
Xanthe shifted slightly, blocking his view. “Just some old paper,” she replied coldly.
Barrington’s brow furrowed further. He caught a glimpse of scorched fragments—maybe photos—and stepped closer.
But before he could get far, a woman’s soft, teary voice called from the hallway.
Just like that, Barrington turned on his heel and rushed out while Xanthe quickly finished tidying up and followed him out.
The moment she stepped into the hall, she saw him gently cradling Vionnet’s fingertip in his mouth, his eyes full of concern.
“I’m so sorry, Xanthe,” Vionnet said sweetly. “I didn’t mean to bother you this late.”
“But that photo on the wall…” she added quickly, “It’s hung too low. I scratched my finger on the frame. It’s really dangerous.”
Xanthe scoffed inwardly. ‘That wedding photo has been there for years without ever injuring anyone. The very first day she shows up, it just so happens to cut her? Wow.’
The problem wasn’t the photo.
It was the bride in it.
But before she could argue, Barrington cut her off. “She’s right. That photo’s in the way. Xanthe, have someone take it down and move it to the storage room.”
Out of Barrington’s sight, Vionnet shot Xanthe a smug smile—a silent declaration of war.
Xanthe didn’t love Barrington anymore, but that didn’t mean she was going to let Vionnet have a smooth ride either.
“The storage room’s already full,” Xanthe replied, her voice steady. “There’s no space left.”
Her disobedience made Barrington’s jaw tense.
And his entire face hardened when Vionnet, never one to waste a performance, cradled her barely scratched finger like it had been severed and let out a whimper like a pitiful kitten.
“Ouch… Barry… it really hurts.”
That was all it took for Barrington to snap at his wife. “Then burn those damn photos!”
###Chapter 3
Although Xanthe was taken aback, she wasn’t surprised.
Barrington had always had feelings for Vionnet. It wasn’t exactly unexpected that he would go this far for her.
Had it happened before, Xanthe might’ve taken it personally. But now, she simply responded with a calm composure. “Alright.”
After all, she was leaving soon. Whether their wedding photos were burned now or later didn’t make much difference.
For a second, Barrington froze, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. He’d only said those words out of frustration, annoyed she hadn’t given him a way to save face.
‘Wasn’t she the one who used to treasure those things the most? Why’s she suddenly agreeing so easily?’
Without another word, Xanthe called a servant to take down the framed pictures from the wall. They carried them to the garden and burned them until nothing remained.
Vionnet had just returned from Germany and wasn’t ready to move into her own place yet, so Barrington offered her a room in the villa for a while.
Xanthe had agreed, showing no hesitation. “Sure,” she said.
She even told the housekeeper to prepare the guest room next to Barrington’s for Vionnet—then quietly moved her own things into a smaller room downstairs.
As she was packing, Barrington’s voice came from behind her.
“Come on, don’t be so petty. I know you’re just jealous, but Vionnet’s only staying here for a while.”
He lingered by the door, his arms folded. “You hate sleeping alone. Moving downstairs—can you even get a good night’s rest here?”
He hesitated, then softened his tone. “About the photos—I overstepped. If they meant something to you, we can take new ones. When there’s time.”
He stepped closer, reaching to hug her from behind—only for her to slip out of reach.
Turning to face him, she met his gaze. Calm. Clear.
To be fair, Barrington had treated her decently over the past three years. He’d done enough to make her believe—just maybe—they could last.
But every time Vionnet appeared, he never hesitated. He always chose her.
Xanthe loved him. She really did. But what she wanted wasn’t love handed out with conditions or affection that came second to someone else.
“I’m not jealous,” she said calmly. “You’ve been working late a lot lately. Sleeping alone helps me rest better.”
Barrington’s face hardened. He wasn’t used to pushback, not from her. He’d already swallowed his pride—this was supposed to be the part where she softened too.
“Whatever,” he said coldly. “By the way, what was that document you had me signed this afternoon?”
Xanthe replied, “A little gift for our third anniversary. You’ll see soon enough.”
At that, Barrington’s expression eased a touch.
He knew Xanthe minded Vionnet’s presence. But Vionnet had just returned to Illinois, and he was only helping out as a friend. Once her apartment renovations were done in a few months, things would go back to normal. He still intended to live a proper life with Xanthe.
“Alright. It’s late. You should get some rest.”
As she walked past him, he instinctively held out his arms, expecting the usual goodnight hug—but she walked right past him without a glance.
He stared after her, sensing that something about her had changed. He just couldn’t put his finger on what.
At midnight, Xanthe—already asleep—was yanked out of bed and dragged upstairs.
Her shoulder slammed into the wall. The impact stole her breath. Dazed, blinking through the pain, she heard his voice above her—cold and sharp as ice.
“I get that you’re jealous of Vionnet, but drugging her? That’s a line you don’t cross, Xanthe.”
She looked up, her vision swimming.
On the bed, Vionnet was lying and clinging to Barrington’s arms. Her cheeks flushed deep red, and her breath came in gasps.
“I didn’t do it! It wasn’t me!” Xanthe cried out.
No sooner had she spoken than Vionnet began sobbing. “I only drank the milk you gave me… I didn’t have anything else…”
Xanthe’s mind snapped into focus. Her narrowed eyes stared at Vionnet. “You asked for that glass of milk! I drank from it too—why am I fine, then?”
“And what would I even gain from drugging you?” She scoffed. “Vionnet, if you’re going to frame me, at least make it believable!”
She was telling the truth. And she wasn’t going to take the blame.
But as soon as she finished speaking, Vionnet just sobbed even harder. “Forget it. If she says I faked it, then… then maybe I did. I have nothing else to say.”
Xanthe clenched her fists as fury boiled under her skin. It felt like punching water—no resistance, no justice.
That was it for Barrington. His voice rang out again, harsher this time.
“That’s enough, Xanthe. This isn’t the first time you’ve done something like this. You know exactly what happened three years ago.”
His words dropped like a hammer.
“You really think someone with a record like yours deserves trust?”
One sentence. That was all it took to convict her.
She stared at him. “I’ll say it again,” she said in clenched teeth, each word crystal clear. “I did not drug you three years ago.”
Back then, she’d heard Barrington was drinking alone at a bar. Worried something would happen to him, she went after him.
Turns out, someone had already drugged him. Yes, she loved him. Yes, things spiraled. But no, she didn’t plan it all. He never believed her, though.
From that night on, it became a wound that never healed.
“Barry, I can’t help it. Please… help me…” Vionnet groaned, clinging to him as she writhed, her nightgown slipping from her shoulder.
Barrington frowned and pushed her away, only for her to snatch a small knife from the drawer and slash it across her arm.
“I know I’m a burden,” she sobbed. “I should just disappear, so you don’t have to worry about me anymore.”
Blood quickly streamed down her pale arm, staining the sheets deep red.
Barrington clenched his fists, then grabbed the knife from her hand.
“I’ll help you ,” he said.
Chapter 4
Xanthe’s breath hitched. Her eyes locked on Barrington, wide and stunned. She could not wrap her head around the fact that those words had actually come out of his mouth.
But there was no trace of guilt on his face. Instead, the man she once shared a bed with now looked at her like an authority figure giving her a punishment.
“You’ve really disappointed me, Xanthe.” His gaze flicked toward Vionnet, who nestled closer to him. “You drugged her. Whatever happened after that, it’s your fault.”
As Vionnet’s fingers traced slow circles across his chest, her mocking gaze slid to Xanthe.
Xanthe’s knees trembled beneath her. She gripped the edge of the table, forcing herself upright. Her voice came out sarcastic when she spoke.
“You seriously think I drugged her just so you”—she pointed at him with a shaky hand —”could be the cure?”
She took a breath, eyes narrowing. “There are other ways. Any number of ways to detoxify her. But this—”
“Barry,” Vionnet crooned suddenly, her voice soft and broken. Her nails brushed over the bruised skin on her arm, drawing a shallow line. “Just go. Don’t mind me. Let me… deal with it on my own.”
She turned her head ever so slightly, just enough to angle her words toward Xanthe. “And don’t blame her. I’m sure she didn’t mean to drug me. She just loves you so much...”
Something snapped in Xanthe. Even though she had already decided to let Barrington go, she couldn’t allow Vionnet to humiliate her like this in her own home.
“My gosh, Vionnet, do you even have any shame? You’re in my place, clinging to my husband, and now you dare blame me? What happened to the manners you were supposed to have growing up? Your tycoon lover must’ve eaten them, huh?”
Barrington’s hand moved. The moment the words left her mouth, he stood up and slapped her hard across the face.
“Enough, Xanthe. Vionnet hasn’t said a single bad word about you, and yet you keep slandering her! You don’t deserve anyone’s pity!”
He grabbed her wrist. She gasped, stumbling as he dragged her to the doorway. “You like drugging people so much, huh? Then stand here and listen to what happens next!”
He yanked the tie from his neck. Cold metal met her back as he bound her wrists to the doorknob, the knot biting into her skin.
Just before shutting the door, he threw one last line at her.
“You brought this on yourself. Don’t blame me or Vionnet!”
Overnight, the door slammed shut, and she was forced to hear the sound from the other side. A low groan. Then a higher groan. The rhythm was unmistakable. Unrelenting.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Tears streamed silently at first. But as the hours dragged on, the sobs stopped and her eyes dried.
All that remained was a quiet burn in her chest, bitter and corrosive.
Every gasp, every cry from inside became a nail in the coffin of what she’d once called love. ‘This is what happens when you love the wrong guy,’ she told herself over and over.
Suddenly, pain struck deep in her abdomen. Her knees gave out. She slid down until her weight hung from her bound wrists, cold sweat pouring down her back.
Her mouth opened, but her voice barely rose above a whisper.
Compared to the pleasure-filled sounds coming from the room, her faint cries were completely drowned out.
The sounds from inside stretched on, one hour bleeding into the next.
When the door opened, it was already dawn. Barrington stood there, adjusting his sleeve. “Have you learned your lesson?”
It was the first thing out of his mouth. When he didn’t get a response, he looked down—Xanthe was at his feet, unmoving.
He crouched. His hand touched her cheek—burning.
A flicker of panic flashed in his eyes.
He scooped her up and turned toward the car—but before he could take a step, a voice called lazily from the bedroom.
“Barry, you were a bit too rough last night. I think something’s swollen. It’s not something I can exactly ask someone else to help with, you know?”
Hearing no response, she added, “Xanthe used to get fevers all the time back in college. Just sent her to the hospital for some meds. The maid can take care of her.”
She sounded almost bored. “And you know my position. If the maid gossips about this, people will talk. My reputation would be ruined.”
Xanthe’s lashes fluttered. She couldn’t move or speak—but she saw it.
She saw Barrington hesitate.
She saw him turn.
She felt her body lowered into unfamiliar arms… before there was nothing to see but darkness.
When she woke up again, the world was white. Sheets. Lights. And there was a beeping machine at her side.
“Ma’am,” the doctor said, “you’re about three months pregnant. But the baby isn’t stable. You should—”
“Doctor,” Xanthe cut him off, “I don’t want the baby. Schedule the termination of pregnancy.”
The doctor was momentarily stunned, thinking perhaps she was worried about the baby’s health. “Ma’am, it’s just an unstable pregnancy. There’s no medical need to terminate—”
But the next words shut him up instantly.
“My husband cheated on me. We’re already divorced. That’s enough reason for an miscarriage. Please schedule it. Today. Thank you.”
The doctor sighed. Any advice he’d wanted to give died in his throat. “Alright. I’ll arrange it as soon as possible.”
Once he left, Xanthe picked up her phone and sent a message to Trevor.
[A month’s too long. Three days. Come get me in three days.]
Chapter 5
Trevor replied within seconds. [Okay. I’ll come pick you up in three days.]
Seeing him agree, Xanthe finally felt a little more at ease.
Her body had always been weak, and after the miscarriage, she’d stayed in the hospital for another three days to recover.
It wasn’t until the day she was discharged that Barrington finally showed up.
“Hey. I’m sorry. Vionnet’s on her period these past few days, and the cramps have been so bad she can’t even walk. She gets anxious whenever I’m not around,” he explained.
With her back to him, Xanthe continued packing her things and replied flatly, “Mm.”
Sensing her indifference, Barrington stepped forward and hugged her from behind.
“What happened with the drugging last time—yes, it was too much. You went too far, but I’ve been reflecting too. I shouldn’t have lost control like that… But don’t worry, something like that won’t ever happen again,” he promised.
“I get it. You hate Vionnet because you love me, but I swear, there’s really nothing between me and her. We’re just friends. And don’t forget, you’re still my wife. What exactly are you afraid of?”
If Barrington could’ve seen her face just then, he would’ve caught the disdain in her eyes.
‘Friends? You slept together. What kind of friends fuck around?’ she thought bitterly. ‘Would it only count as “something” if Vionnet ends up pregnant?’
But Xanthe no longer cared. In a few days, she’d be gone for good. There was no point arguing over things that didn’t matter anymore.
“What’s in the past is in the past. I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” she said. “Aren’t you here to pick me up? Let’s just go.”
Barrington felt a faint heaviness in his chest—she hadn’t even smiled at him once.
‘Fine,’ he thought. ‘When Vionnet leaves, I’ll surprise Xanthe. We’ll finally start fresh. Whatever she did before, I’ll let it go.’
‘Everything that happened over the past few days had only made one thing clearer—Vionnet’s only a friend to me. What I feel for Xanthe…’ His gaze lingered on his wife. ‘It’s love.’
With that thought, he grabbed her bag and walked her out of the hospital.
Unfortunately, just as they reached the hallway, her attending doctor came walking toward them.
“Ma’am, is this your husband? I thought you said—”
Afraid the doctor would bring up the miscarriage, Xanthe quickly cut in. “Thanks for taking care of me these past few days, doctor. I’m doing much better now, so I won’t keep using public resources.”
With that, she pulled Barrington away, hurrying out of the hospital.
But as soon as she stepped into the villa, Vionnet’s mocking voice rang out.
“Oh, Xanthe, it’s been three years and you haven’t changed a bit!”
Xanthe shot her a glare, clearly warning her to back off. With that, she turned to head upstairs to pack.
But what Vionnet said next made Xanthe stop in her tracks.
“Three years ago, I was the one who drugged you. I was also the one who told you to go to that bar and find him.
“I knew Barry loved me. But after I left, who knew if he’d fall for someone else? I knew you liked him too. So, I figured, why not just set a little trap?
“Barry… He’s a responsible man. If he slept with you, he’d definitely marry you. But with the drugging involved, he’d never truly love you.”
She walked over to Xanthe with a smug look, casually letting one strap of her dress slip down on purpose.
The kiss marks on her chest were hard to miss.
“You looked after him for three years. I appreciate that. But now that I’m back—it’s your turn to leave, Xanthe.”
She smirked.
“You’ve got no family here in Springfield. You can’t afford to cross me. Take my advice: leave while you still can.”
Xanthe’s entire body trembled with rage, as she processed her so-called best friend’s revelation. ‘So it’s all been her plan from the very beginning, huh?’
Without hesitation, Xanthe raised her hand and slapped her across the face.
She looked Vionnet dead in the eye. “As long as I’m still here, you’ll always be the other woman. Push me too far, Vionnet, and none of us will come out of this clean.”
Vionnet was stunned, her head buzzing from the blow. Her eyes narrowed with malice as she raised her hand to strike back—but just then, Barrington returned.
In an instant, her vengeful eyes welled up.
“Xanthe, Barry and I are really just friends! That night was a total misunderstanding! Please! I’m begging you! Don’t tell anyone!”
The next second, she dropped to her knees and started begging for forgiveness, almost kissing the carpet.
Before Xanthe could even react, Barrington rushed over and shoved her aside.
She was still recovering from the abortion, and the sudden push sent her crashing to the floor.
But it was Vionnet he helped up. When he turned to Xanthe, his eyes shot her daggers. “You’re being completely unreasonable, Xanthe! I already explained everything. Why can’t you let it go?”
“If you spread rumors about what happened that night, how do you expect Vionnet to live with the shame?”
Tears brimmed in Xanthe’s eyes. She bit her lip and said, “You didn’t even ask me what really happened, Barrington. Are you seriously going to believe anything she says?”
His fists clenched at his sides. Seeing her so fragile did make him feel uneasy—but in the end, he still chose to take Vionnet’s side.
“I only believe what I see with my own eyes,” he said firmly. “Apologize to Vionnet. And swear you’ll never lay a hand on her again.”
Xanthe let out a cold laugh, her neck stiff with pride. “I did nothing wrong. I’m not apologizing,” she said, her stance unwavering. “You two are the ones in the wrong.”
Whatever guilt Barrington might’ve felt before evaporated in an instant.
He looked down at her from above, his eyes threatening. “No. This time, Xanthe, you will admit you’re wrong.”
He called for the bodyguards. Within seconds, they stepped in and grabbed hold of her.
“If you won’t apologize, I’ll carry out the family punishment. Ninety-nine lashes—you won’t survive them.”
He thought he could force her to give in.
But Xanthe stood her ground.
“I hit her, yeah—because she deserved it. But I never threatened her!” she shouted. “Barrington, if you dare lay a hand on me, even just once—you’re gonna regret it for the rest of your life.”
Chapter 6
Seeing how stubborn and unyielding Xanthe remained, he waved his hand coldly.
“Don’t hold back,” he ordered the bodyguards. “Carry out the family punishment.”
With every lash of the whip, the bodyguard asked her, “Ma’am, do you admit your mistake?”
One blow came after another. By the thirtieth lash, her dress was soaked with blood, but she still hadn’t utter a single word.
At the thirty-third lash, Xanthe could no longer endure it—she collapsed and fainted.
That night, she developed a high fever that wouldn’t go down.
It wasn’t until three days later that she finally woke to the sound of her phone ringing—it was Trevor.
“I’m three hours away,” he said.
Exhausted but determined, Xanthe forced herself to get up and start packing. But in the end, she only brought her ID.
Just then, a call came in from someone at the company—it was Shelly, one of her former trainees.
“Ms. Wentworth,” the young assistant said in an anxious tone, “when are you coming back? President Connolly had Ms. Vasquez take over your position these past few days, and she’s already messed up several deals!”
Her anxiousness came even more obvious as she went on to update her mentor. “Even SMR Group, who’s been working with us for years, just terminated their contract. But it’s like President Connolly’s possessed—he didn’t blame her at all. In fact, when we brought it up, he blew up on us.”
As she listened to the complaints, Xanthe suddenly remembered when she first joined the company as Barrington’s secretary and made a mistake on a deal. He’d been so furious he didn’t speak to her for a whole week.
But that felt like a lifetime ago. Now, she had no interest in looking back.
In a calm tone, she replied, “Shelly, I have nothing to do with the company from now on. You don’t need to report anything to me.”
She had barely ended the call when the company’s shareholders started phoning one after another.
The moment she picked up, they unleashed their anger on her.
“Xanthe, as President Connolly’s secretary, it’s your job to correct him when he’s wrong! What have you even been doing lately? You haven’t shown up to the office, and you let Vionnet—who clearly has no idea what she’s doing—handle company affairs? What kind of secretary are you?”
Those shareholders were always the same—spineless in front of the CEO and quick to take it out on her instead. Whenever something went wrong, they used her as their punching bag.
Back when she still loved Barrington, she had taken all the blame without a word of protest.
But now, she had no intention of playing nice.
“You’re all so dissatisfied with Barrington? Then why don’t you grow a spine and tell him to his face? Pathetic cowards!” she snapped.
With that, she hung up.
The truth was that the only reason things ever ran smoothly for Barrington was because she had been cleaning up his messes behind the scenes all these years.
When the shareholders were upset, she stood in the line of fire.
When the company lost deals, she went begging to her old folks to fix it.
But she never told Barrington—she didn’t want him to feel guilty.
Now, she had let go of him completely—and she was taking back everything that was hers.
From her bag, she pulled out her miscarriage records and locked them into the study’s safe.
Inside it were the divorce papers, her resignation letter, the miscarriage records, and the ashes of ninety-nine love letters.
And one last thing—the villa’s security footage. She copied the clip of Vionnet drugging herself, along with the recording of her revelations from three days ago, and saved it all to a flash drive.
‘Hopefully,’ she thought, ‘he’ll appreciate this little divorce keepsake.’
Downstairs, a car was already honking for her.
At the same time, her phone buzzed nonstop with Barrington’s messages.
[Xanthe, Vionnet messed up a few deals. I need you to handle it. I know you’ve always had issues with my relationship with her, but I’ll explain everything to you tonight when we get home.]
When she didn’t respond, the tone of his messages changed—from pleading to threatening.
[Damn it, Xantie, we’re both adults. Stop being petty, can you? Keep this up and your bonus next month gets cut in half. You’ll apologize in front of the entire board.]
Looking at his messages, Xanthe let out a cold, mocking smile.
Without letting him say one more thing, she blocked every number he used to contact her and deleted his information altogether.
She scrubbed every trace of herself from the villa—completely, cleanly, without hesitation.
