Divorce, Then Live Auction Chapter 1

I was the woman every socialite in New York City wanted to be, the wife of the Vance family heir. But my husband, Kim, only had eyes for the one that got away.

The day she returned to the country, he served me with divorce papers. He wanted me to walk away with nothing.

He threatened to bankrupt my entire family if I dared to say a single word.

I signed the papers. Then I turned around and launched a livestream titled: "The Kim Vance Auction: A Fire Sale of Secrets."

[First Item for Bid: An X-rated video proving the ‘platonic friendship’ between him and his beloved Victoria.]

It was snapped up for a hefty price by his rival’s company.

[Second Item for Bid: Hard evidence of bribery and market manipulation.]

A mysterious user from a government domain started tracking the feed.

[Third Item for Bid: The true parentage of his so-called illegitimate half-brother…]

The viewer count broke one hundred million. The Vance Corporation’s stock went into a nosedive.

Kim and his entire family stormed my apartment, kneeling on the floor, begging me to stop.

I smiled brightly for the camera. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for our grand finale:”

“A DNA report proving Kim Vance is not a Vance by blood. The starting bid? The entire Vance Corporation!”

…

Today was our third wedding anniversary.

I’d spent six hours preparing his favorite meal—a five-course dinner, headlined by a duck confit that had taken me all day to perfect.

The table was set with wine, candles, and roses. Everything was perfect.

Except he never came home.

At 10 p.m., a push notification lit up my phone. An entertainment news alert.

#Victoria Lane, Award-Winning Actress, Returns to the US; Whisked Away from Airport in Mystery Limo#

In the photo, I recognized the car instantly: a limited-edition Aston Martin. The license plate was Kim’s birthday.

In that moment, something inside me died.

At 11:30, I heard the lock turn.

Kim was home.

He carried the scent of an unfamiliar perfume, not one of the ones I wore. It was Black Dahlia, Victoria’s signature fragrance.

He didn't even glance at the meticulously set table. He walked straight to me and threw a file in my face. The cold edge of the paper sliced against my cheek, stinging.

“Ava. We’re done.”

I stared at him, at the man I had loved for three years, a lump forming in my throat. “Why?”

He loosened his tie, his eyes filled with a weary annoyance. “Victoria’s back.”

He said it so casually, as if he were merely commenting on the weather.

I took a deep breath and gestured to the elaborate meal. “Kim, we’ve been married for three years. What did any of it mean?”

He finally laughed, a sound dripping with scorn. “Don’t be pathetic, Ava.”

“You were just a fixture my grandfather forced on me. A prop to keep up appearances.”

“And now, I no longer require that prop.”

A prop.

Three years of devotion, of tenderness, of building a life—and in his eyes, I was nothing more than a piece of furniture.

My fists clenched, my nails digging into my palms. “And if I don’t agree?”

He took a step closer, leaning in until his face was inches from mine. His voice dropped to a chilling whisper. “I suggest you be smart about this, Ava.”

“You’ll walk out of here with nothing. Not a single penny.”

“And if you breathe one word of this to anyone, your parents' company will be wiped off the Manhattan map by morning.”

I looked at his face, so close to mine. I had kissed those thin lips a thousand times. Now, they were spitting the most venomous threats.

The last flicker of warmth in my heart went out.

I picked up the pen from the table, flipped to the last page of the agreement, and calmly signed my name: Ava Sterling.

My hand didn't tremble.

He seemed pleased by my compliance. He snatched the papers and turned to leave without another glance in my direction.

The moment the door clicked shut, I stood up.

I scraped the cold, untouched food from the table into the trash, along with three years of pathetic devotion.

Then, I made a phone call.

“Leo. It’s time.”

Half an hour later, my study was brightly lit. I had applied my most exquisite makeup, my lips a slash of crimson.

I turned on the camera and started a livestream.

The title was simple:

“The Kim Vance Auction: A Fire Sale of Secrets.”