The 11th Divorce- My Billionaire Revenge

Michael Purnell and I had been stuck in this twisted dance for nine years—married, divorced, repeat. Ten times we'd split, ten times we'd somehow end up back together. But the eleventh time? That's when I followed him to the jewelry store and watched him help his latest obsession, Regina White, pick out a diamond ring.

"She's pregnant," Michael said, cool as ever. "Just pretend this is temporary."

No shame, no hesitation. Just that same smug tone.

"We'll remarry in eight months," he continued. "Until then, move out. I'll have your meals delivered."

He tossed the divorce papers at me like I was some errand girl. "Go sign these. Regina's in a delicate state—she can't handle the baby alone."

I took the papers without a word. As I turned to leave, laughter erupted behind me—his friends, of course.

"Michael's something else," one of them snorted. "Turned his ex-wife into a damn servant."

Michael just chuckled, proud as ever. "Please. Evelyn's cheap. Even if I never remarry her, she'll still play nanny to my kid like some desperate sidepiece."

I didn't react. Just pulled out my phone and shot off a text to the man I'd been talking to:

[Evelyn Cooke: Got the divorce papers. When's the wedding?]

The reply came instantly:

[IM P: Tomorrow. Taking the first flight home.]

A second later, my phone buzzed again. A bank notification—$50 million, deposited into my account. Attached was a single line:

[Engagement gift.]

I smirked and slipped my phone back into my pocket.

Michael caught the smile and scowled. "What the hell are you grinning about, Evelyn?" He sneered. "You so heartbroken you've lost it?"

Funny. Once upon a time, I would have been shattered. The first time he left me for Regina, I thought my world had ended. I sobbed for days, begged on my knees in front of everyone we knew. When he still walked away, I slit my wrists.

He never came back.

But now? I just stared at him, dead-eyed. "Congratulations," I said flatly. "You're finally gonna be a dad."

Michael shrugged, indifferent. "Don't worry. We'll remarry after the kid's born." He smirked. "Behave, and maybe I'll let it call you 'Mom' in public."

I'd heard it all before.

Nine years ago, Regina was just some fresh-faced intern. Michael threw a million at her, but she refused to be his mistress—so he dumped me to chase her. After he finally slept with her, he made sure I saw the photos.

"She's different," he'd bragged. "So young. So pure."

From then on, he was obsessed. Once, he came inside her in some mountain cabin, and I had to trek through snow for miles just to bring him Plan B. Another time, Regina was bored, so she made me kneel and bark like a dog. I did it. If she so much as frowned, Michael would divorce me just to make her smile.

Then, when it suited him, he'd quietly remarry me to keep our families connected. After nine years of this cycle, I'd stopped feeling anything.

I walked out without a word, face blank—until Regina's shrill voice cut through the air.