Chapter one: The Divorce
964 Words
Ethan Blackwood, the enigmatic CEO of Blackwood Enterprises, had it all-built a name synonymous with power,wealth, precision, and unparalleled business acumen. In his early thirties, he was already on the cover of Forbes, listed among the top ten youngest billionaires in the world. But behind the meticulously crafted public image and sharp business mind was a man quietly haunted by heartbreak.
His marriage to Isabella Royce had been a fairytale on paper—two powerful families uniting, merging empires through vows and headlines. Isabella, daughter of oil magnate Jonathan Royce, was a rare kind of woman, who was breathtakingly beautiful, with porcelain skin, ice-blue eyes, and a presence that demanded attention. The press loved her. Investors admired the alliance because she was hardworking and very optimistic. But beneath the glitz and flashbulbs, their marriage was a slow-burning tragedy.
They had met at a gala for cancer research, introduced by their parents. Jonathan Royce and Charles Blackwood, Ethan’s late father who was also a business tycoon, died in a plane crash alongside with his managing director during a business trip to Italy. had long discussed the potential benefits of a union between their children. Ethan, fresh off a record-breaking acquisition, was tired of one-night flings and the emptiness of bachelor life. Isabella, poised and seemingly charming, offered a reprieve from the chaos of his world.
Their courtship was swift. Dinners in Paris, weekends in Tuscany, and extravagant public appearances followed. Despite the speed, Ethan had convinced himself it could work. He admired Isabella’s poise, her confidence, and her ability to match him stride for stride in a room full of billionaires.
But love? That part had always been questionable.
He can't be contented enough with her beauty and tremendous charisma. She was a rare kind of woman he has ever been with, while Isabella on the other hand was lost in awe. His charming physique, masculine voice, his strength to carry responsibility and the way he looks at her was all she dreamt of in a man. This was this reason Isabella said yes to Ethan's proposal in Italy.
Within months of their extravagant wedding in Italy, cracks began to form. Ethan would return from twelve-hour meetings to find her absent, sometimes in Milan, sometimes with friends in St. Barts. She wasn’t unfaithful—not in the traditional sense—but emotionally, she was distant, locked behind a wall of inherited coldness. Her priorities lay with fashion campaigns, high society circles, and her father’s approval. Isabella didn't seem to be aware of how her social activities and decisions was affecting Ethan's emotion as well as breaking the walls of their marriage. Their interactions became transactional: appearances at charity galas, rehearsed interviews, and quiet dinners with neither warmth nor curiosity.
Ethan tried to break through.
He surprised her with her favorite flowers—white orchids—on a random Wednesday. She glanced at them once and muttered, “The vase is wrong.”
He invited her to a cabin retreat in Aspen for a weekend alone. She brought her assistant.
He canceled a major investor trip to spend her birthday with her. She spent the evening on her phone.
The emotional distance turned to bitterness. Arguments became routine—quiet, cutting conversations behind closed doors. Isabella would bring up Ethan’s late mother who died 3 years before Ethan's father death, His mother and father never hard a lovey dovey marriage before their death, She would always accuse him of chasing perfection. Ethan would also remind her that marriage requires effort, not just appearances.
The final straw came one rainy afternoon, three years into their marriage.
Ethan had returned early from a trip to Singapore. He had hoped to surprise Isabella with dinner, maybe rekindle something. Instead, he found her in the private study—her father on video call, speaking about a merger between Royce Energy and a European conglomerate.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ethan asked.
Isabella barely looked up. “Because your input wasn’t needed.”
That night, they slept in different wings of the house. The next morning, he asked for a divorce.
The legal proceedings were swift. No children-she only had one miscarriage but refused to try again. No shared businesses. No emotional baggage, at least not on paper. But Ethan walked away from the marriage with a broken heart and a cynicism he had never known before.
The media buzzed for months—“Billionaire Love Gone Cold,” “Royce and Blackwood Split: What’s Next?”—but Ethan didn’t give interviews. He buried himself in work, focusing on expansion into Asia and digital markets.
But the loneliness settled in like fog.
Friends noticed. His executive assistant, Marcella,who was very sensitive and concerned about his situation started staying later at the office, worried he’d forget to eat. His driver, Peter, kept checking in even on off-days. Even the board expressed concern—not about his performance, but the lack of spark that had once defined Ethan Blackwood.
One evening, he stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of his penthouse, drink in hand. Lights of the city blinked below. He had reached every financial milestone he’d ever dreamed of. But all he felt was empty.
He had loved once—if you could call it that. Trusted. Hoped. But love, he now believed, was a liability. A distraction. A weakness he could no longer afford.
He made a vow that night, spoken only to himself and the quiet city below.
“Never again.”
“I'm done with love.”
He would not fall. He would not open his heart. Love would not be part of the legacy he intended to build. He kept repeating it like a sermon to himself.
But fate, as it often does, had other plans.
- Writer
