The Billionaire Replace Wife

I brought up divorce to my husband, Peter Crowley, but he didn't agree to it.

"Don't be such a drama queen," he said coldly without even taking his eyes off the laptop screen.

It was as if he found those boring electronic data more interesting than talking to me.

I lowered my eyes and said firmly, "I'm being serious. I want a divorce."

Peter took a deep breath and stood, his expression icy.

"I was the one who agreed to suspend Mom's treatment. It had nothing to do with Cara. She was just carrying out orders. If you hadn't gone to the company and made a huge scene, I wouldn't have needed to teach you a lesson.

"I already had someone resume the treatment yesterday. My time is precious, so I don't have time to watch you throw a tantrum."

Without waiting for my reply, he turned and walked away.

He was certain that before long, I'd shamelessly submit and grovel, and continue to fawn over him just like before.

Even when he said to my face, "Don't be such a simp. It makes me sick," I'd just smile and say nothing, continuing to work like a tireless, uncomplaining maid.

But now, it no longer mattered whether the treatment was resumed.

If Peter had picked up my call three days ago, I might still be bowing and scraping, desperately trying to please him. But he was never patient enough to answer my calls.

At the time, I begged him not to hang up and to hear me out, but it was no match for a single word from Cara Harden.

"Could it be that Ada is upset because I reminded her to follow proper procedures earlier?" she asked Peter pitifully. "I didn't mean anything by it. I just didn't want her to keep that bad habit of having no plan at all, like she used to when she was just scraping by.

"That's why I enforced the process a bit more strictly—so that she'd learn her lesson and develop good habits."

Hearing this, Peter grew even more impatient with my call.

Ignoring my pleas, he ordered coldly, "Do as Cara says."

In the past, whenever I went to him for something, he would behave the same way.

"I'm busy. If you need something, go to Cara.

"Listen to Cara.

"Just do whatever Cara tells you to do."

I was his wife, yet I had not the slightest shred of dignity.

Not to mention going out normally—even for social engagements I was required to attend as his wife—I still had to submit an application for Cara's approval.

Every single time, Cara would smilingly reject these ridiculous applications with a light, dismissive attitude.

"Ada, the application description isn't detailed enough. Please rewrite it.

"The gala only goes until 10:00 pm tonight. How can you put it down at midnight?

"Ada, why do you always do this? Just look at what you wrote on the form. Didn't I say to submit it unless everything is in order?"