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Divorcing The Cold Heir: Watch Me Rise

Divorcing The Cold Heir: Watch Me Rise

Author: Da Lanlan
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Chapter 1

Word Count: 1232    |    Released on: 15/06/2026

nd out the same way the rest of the city did-from a gossip

The women crowding around him in some

in every place that mattered. Barrett Harding had never loved her. He had never

air of the operating room was replaced by

ours hunched over a patient's open chest. A deep, bone-weary exhaustion settled over her, silencing the w

her fingers stiff. The scre

w mes

ssed

e from him. No

t. She was used to this silence. It had be

messages from assistants, forwarded schedules, and the occasional cold confirmation that a wire transfer had been complete

friends' lives would numb the familiar ache. A splash of co

tory from Jessica Yu, her best friend. The photo wa

ck in town and alre

and unwelcome, washed over her. Her thumb hovered over the sc

te, the headline blazing acro

tt Harding, Returns

laughing crowd at some impossibly chic private club. He held a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid cat

f perfectly made-up women w

catching. It was him. That face, so intimately familiar

led how he had booked out the entire club for an impromptu celebration with his friends.

s company, Apex Holdings

ention his w

dinners, in carefully staged photographs that proved the Harding heir was stable, respectable, an

in her hand. A

y? I saw this a

rcing the air into her tight lungs. Her

anks for lett

sn't fine. Sh

he shock. She walked out of the hospital, the automatic doors sliding open to release her into the c

without purpose, the rhythmic sound of her footsteps on the pavement a strange comfort. T

hailed an Uber, the address to their Upper East Side

elevator ride was silent. She stepped into th

Exactly as she had l

ike a showroom than a home. No luggage by the door. No coat slung over a cha

riage. No shared clutter, no careless intimacy, no evidence of two lives ta

e out of her work clothes. She didn't turn on the TV

mer blow against the quiet. A tiny, foolish sliver of hope flickered

and went. He

d for her phone again. She opened the profile of Spencer Sinclair

the center of the frame, laughing. And standing next to him, her body angled slightly into his, was a woma

spread through her entire body, a deep, invasive

hter, surrounded himself with friends, strangers, and beautiful women. He had

sent his wife a

nally

king-sized bed felt vast and empty. She collapsed onto

tared at the ceiling, the sheer, crushing absurdity of her

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