Too Late, Ex-Husband: My Five Brothers Are Global Tycoons!

The soft clatter of porcelain echoed through the quiet dining room of the suburban villa as Cecilia Adams carefully adjusted the final place setting. The mahogany table was laden with a lavish spread—steamed sea bass with delicate ginger ribbons, slow-braised pork belly glistening beneath a rich glaze, and a steaming pot of hand-brewed jasmine tea, Roy’s favorite. It was six in the evening. Cecilia wiped her hands on her simple linen apron, adjusting her faded hair ribbon as a sweet, small voice called out from the living room doorway. "Mommy? Is Daddy coming home soon?" Four-year-old Jasmine rubbed her sleepy eyes, clutching a worn, well-loved stuffed brown bear to her chest. Her small face carried a trace of fatigue from her delicate health, but her dark eyes were bright with anticipation. "You said we could give Daddy the drawing I made for his big promotion!" Cecilia’s heart warmed instantly. She knelt down, gently brushing a stray lock of dark hair from her daughter's forehead. "He’ll be home any minute, sweetheart. Go sit on the sofa and play with your bear for just a little bit, okay? As soon as Daddy walks through the door, you can show him." "Okay!" Jasmine chirped, scurrying back toward the living room rug. Cecilia stood up, a trace of bone-deep weariness touching her soft eyes as she checked the oven one last time. Tonight was special. After months of grueling corporate maneuvers, Roy’s promotion to Chief Executive Officer of the Johnson Group’s primary subsidiary was finally set to be announced tomorrow morning. To the rest of the world—and to Roy’s arrogant family—Cecilia was nothing more than a quiet, low-born orphan whom Roy had taken pity on three years ago. They saw her as a simple housewife who spent her days scrubbing floors, folding laundry, and cooking meals. None of them knew the truth. They didn't know that every major corporate pitch Roy had presented over the last three years had been quietly written by her at three in the morning. They didn't know that the complex, coded financial models that saved his firm from bankruptcy last autumn were debugged by her hands while he slept. And they certainly didn't know that the anonymous industry contact who had quietly opened doors for his promotion was a contact she had personally secured. She had given up her own light to let him shine, content to remain in the shadows as long as her small family was safe, warm, and together. The front door clicked open. Cecilia’s face brightened immediately. She hurried toward the foyer, with little Jasmine trailing closely behind her, holding up a bright crayon drawing of three figures holding hands. "Roy, you’re home!" Cecilia said warmly. "I cooked all your favorites tonight to celebrate—" "Daddy, look!" Jasmine beamed, holding the drawing out toward him. "I drew us at the park!" Roy Johnson stepped into the entryway, bringing with him the cold, damp chill of the evening air. Dressed in a sharp, tailored gray suit, his hair meticulously styled, his expression was completely void of warmth. He didn't look at the drawing, nor did he glance toward the aromatic spread on the dining table. He didn't even acknowledge the small child looking up at him with wide, hopeful eyes. Instead, he walked right past them both into the living room, unbuttoning his suit jacket with brisk, clinical detachment. "Roy?" Cecilia paused, her smile faltering as she placed a gentle hand on Jasmine's shoulder, pulling the quieted child against her side. She carried a freshly poured cup of jasmine tea toward him. "Is everything alright at the office? Did the board meeting go well?" "Set it down, Cecilia," Roy said coldly, tossing his leather briefcase onto the glass coffee table. Cecilia gently placed the cup on a coaster. "The tea is hot. Drink some first to warm up— "I said set it down!" Roy snapped, his voice sharp enough to slice through the quiet room. Jasmine flinched, instinctively burying her face against Cecilia’s apron and hugging her stuffed bear tighter. Cecilia froze, her breath catching in her throat as she protectively wrapped her arm around her daughter. Roy unzipped his briefcase, pulled out a thick document bound in heavy blue cardstock, and slammed it down onto the glass table directly beside the cooling tea. Beside the document, he slid a slip of paper. A cashier's check. Fifty thousand dollars. Cecilia looked from the paper to Roy, her heart beginning an uneven, heavy thud against her ribs. "What... what is this?" "The divorce agreement," Roy said, his voice flat, devoid of a single drop of emotion. "Sign it. The room seemed to drop ten degrees in an instant. Cecilia stared at the bold black lettering at the top of the page: MARITAL DISSOLUTION CONTRACT. "Divorce?" Cecilia whispered, forcing a hollow laugh as if waiting for the punchline of a cruel joke. "Roy... what are you talking about? Today is your promotion day. We’ve worked so hard for three years—" "Correction. I worked hard for three years," Roy interrupted, leaning back against the couch and looking up at her with icy disdain. "You stayed home. You cooked meals and cleaned rooms, Cecilia. You did what any hired housekeeper could do. But a housekeeper isn't a suitable wife for the CEO of the Johnson Group. Cecilia felt as though the oxygen had been pulled right out of her lungs. "A housekeeper? Roy, I spent every night reviewing your quarterly reports! I fixed your—" "Enough!" Roy cut her off, raising a hand in disgust. "Don't try to take credit for my intellect just because you proofread a few memos! It’s pathetic." He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees, his eyes fixing onto hers with absolute indifference—never once sparing a glance at his own flesh and blood cowering beside her. "Wendy is back," Roy said softly. The name hit Cecilia like a physical blow. Wendy Miller. Roy’s high-school sweetheart, the pampered daughter of a wealthy logistics mogul who had left for Europe four years ago. "Wendy returned from abroad two days ago," Roy continued, his tone softening only when he spoke her name. "She has a delicate, congenital heart condition. She’s fragile, Cecilia. She needs a calm, high-society environment, proper care, and an attentive husband by her side. I promised her long ago that if she ever came back, I would give her the status she deserves." "And what about me? What about Jasmine?" Cecilia’s voice trembled, a solitary tear spilling over her lashes despite her desperate attempt to remain strong. "What about the three years I spent by your side when you had nothing? When your own family called you a failure?" "You got three years of shelter, clothes, and food," Roy sneered, tapping his finger against the fifty-thousand-dollar check. "And I’m not leaving you empty-handed. That check is fifty thousand dollars. It’s more than enough for a woman of your low background to rent a small apartment in the outer suburbs and live comfortably with the kid for a year." He stood up, towering over her as he adjusted his cuffs, his gaze sweeping over her simple clothes and the crying child beside her with open contempt. "Sign the papers tonight. Pack your things and take the kid out of here by tomorrow morning before Wendy comes over. I don't want her upset by your presence." Roy didn't wait for her answer. He turned on his heel and walked toward his study, slamming the heavy wooden door shut behind him. Left alone in the silent, sprawling living room, Cecilia stood frozen beside the dining table, holding a tearful Jasmine close to her chest. The lavish dinner she had spent five hours preparing had grown completely cold. Beside it, the single cup of jasmine tea sat untouched, the steam dying away into the dark, quiet night.