Ex Husband, You Will Beg Me

CHAPTER 4

Aria’s POV

Maya's apartment was exactly what you'd expect from an artist who refused to sell out: cramped, chaotic, and somehow perfect. Canvases leaned against every wall, some finished, most not. The air was thick with the smell of oil paint and the jasmine incense she burned to cover it up. It was the opposite of the sterile penthouse I'd been living in, and right now, it felt like oxygen filling lungs that had been suffocating for years.

Maya disappeared into the kitchen. "I'm making tea. The kind with whisky in it."

I sank into the cushions, my phone clutched in my hand like a lifeline. Or a grenade. I wasn't sure which anymore.

Get home now!!!

The text message stared back at me, those three exclamation points like tiny daggers. Home. The apartment I hadn't even seen yet. The one Damien had so generously given me in the settlement, probably laughing to himself about how charitable he was being.

Maya returned with two mugs that were more whisky than tea, the amber liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. She handed me one and curled up beside me, her red dress hiked up to her thighs, her heels already kicked off and abandoned by the door.

"Okay," she said, her shoulder pressing against mine, warm and solid. "Talk. Who is this person, and how do they know all this?"

"I don't know." I took a sip of my drink. It burned going down, searing a path to my stomach, which felt appropriate. "But they know things that should be impossible to know. Private contracts. Medical records. They're either very well connected or…"

"Or they're close to Damien," Maya finished, her voice dropping. "Someone in his inner circle."

The thought sent a chill down my spine, prickling across my skin like ice water. Someone close enough to Damien to access his most guarded secrets. Someone who wanted to see him destroyed badly enough to hand me the weapons to do it.

My phone buzzed again, the vibration making my heart skip.

Your marriage wasn't about love, Aria. It was never about love. It was about money. His father's money. Are you ready to know how much?

My hands started shaking again, the tremor so violent that the tea sloshed onto my dress. Maya took the mug from me before I could spill more.

"What does it say?" she asked, her voice tight.

I showed her the message. She read it, her expression darkening like storm clouds rolling in. "His father's money? Robert Cross?"

I nodded, my throat suddenly too tight to speak. Robert Cross had been a legend in New York, a self-made billionaire who'd built NexWave Group from nothing into one of the most powerful IT firms on the East Coast. He'd died ten months ago, and I'd stood beside Damien at the funeral, watching him accept condolences with dry eyes and a firm handshake. I'd thought he was being strong, stoic in his grief. Now I wondered if he'd just been calculating his inheritance, adding up the zeros in his head while people praised his father's legacy.

Another message appeared: Robert Cross didn't trust his son. He knew Damien was reckless and irresponsible. A playboy who'd rather party than build something meaningful. So he made a condition.

My heart pounded against my ribs, each beat painful and sharp.

Damien could only inherit the trust fund and majority shares if he married someone Robert approved of. Someone stable. Someone respectable. Someone who could ground him.

The pieces started clicking together, each one landing like a physical blow to my chest.

Your father and Robert were best friends. Business partners for thirty years. When Robert needed someone to save his son from himself, he chose you.

"Oh my God," I whispered, the words barely audible.

Maya leaned over my shoulder, reading. "Aria, what does this mean?"

This was accurate. This person knew too much!! The next message came before I could answer, before I could even process the first revelation: You were the condition, Aria. The price Damien had to pay for his billions. And he paid it reluctantly, resentfully, but he paid it. He married you and played the devoted husband just long enough to satisfy the terms of his father's will.

I thought about our wedding. How beautiful it had been, how everyone had said we looked perfect together. The white roses everywhere, the string quartet, the champagne that tasted like celebration. How Damien had smiled for the cameras and said his vows with just the right amount of emotion, his voice breaking in all the right places. How he'd kissed me at the altar like he meant it, his hand gentle on my face.

But here's what Damien doesn't know: the next message read. Here's what his expensive lawyers missed in their rush to get him divorced and free to claim his prize.

I held my breath, my lungs burning.

The marriage contract that his father made you both sign, the one buried in all those legal documents you signed six years ago, had a clause. A very specific clause.

My fingers were numb as I scrolled to the attachment in the email. It was a contract, thick and dense with legal language that made my eyes cross. But there, on page thirty-four, highlighted in yellow like a beacon, was a paragraph that made my blood run cold and then hot, a rush of something I couldn't name:

“If either party files for divorce within six (6) years of the marriage, the first party to initiate or file for such divorce shall automatically forfeit all rights, claims, and interests in the Cross Family Trust and all associated assets, including but not limited to shares in NexWave Group. All such forfeited assets shall transfer in full to the non-filing party.”

I read it again. Then again. The words stayed the same, but their meaning kept expanding, growing larger and more impossible.

"Maya." My voice didn't sound like my own… it was too rough, too raw. "Maya, read this."

She took the phone, her eyes scanning the text. I watched as understanding dawned on her face, as her mouth dropped open, as she looked at me with something that might be awe or horror or both, her eyes wide and shining.

"Aria," she breathed. "Do you understand what this means?"

Another text appeared: Damien filed for divorce first. You signed. That means HE filed. HE walked away first. And according to the contract, his father made him sign...

The next message was just three words, but they rewrote my entire world:

You own everything.

The mug slipped from Maya's hand, hitting the hardwood floor with a c***k that seemed too loud, spilling whisky-tea in a spreading amber pool. Neither of us moved to clean it up. Neither of us could move at all.

"Everything?" Maya's voice was barely a whisper, fragile as glass. "How much is everything?"

My phone buzzed with the answer, each word appearing like a hammer blow: The Cross Family Trust is worth 1.2 billion dollars. The NexWave Group shares represent 51% ownership of a company valued at 3.8 billion. Combined assets, liquid and otherwise, total approximately 2.5 billion.

The numbers swam before my eyes, blurring and sharpening. Billion. With a B. Not a million. Billion. More money than I could conceptualise, more than I could picture, more than seemed real.

"This can't be real," I said, my voice shaking. "This has to be a mistake. I don't know anything about running a company." Panic rising in my throat like bile. "I can't…. I don't…"

"You ran a literacy foundation that everyone said was impossible to fix, and you fixed it," Maya said firmly, giving me a small shake. "You're smart, Aria. Smarter than Damien ever gave you credit for. Smarter than you give yourself credit for."

My phone buzzed again: There's a board meeting in three days, at 9 AM. NexWave Group headquarters, 47th floor. They're expecting Damien to officially take his seat as majority shareholder now that the divorce is filed. Imagine their faces when you walk in instead.

"I can't do this," I said, my voice thin and high. "This is insane. I should… I need to talk to a lawyer. A real lawyer. Someone who can verify all of this."

'Already done,' the mysterious sender replied instantly. Check your email. I've sent you contact information for Margaret Chen. She's the best corporate attorney in New York, and she's expecting your call. She has copies of everything. She'll confirm what I'm telling you.

I opened the email with shaking hands, and sure enough, there was a message from a law firm: Chen & Associates. The email was professional and brief and ended with a line that made my heart race: Ms Winters, I've reviewed the documents provided regarding the Cross Family Trust. We need to speak immediately. This is time-sensitive. Please call my personal line at your earliest convenience.

"It's real," I whispered, the words scraping past my lips. "Oh my God, it's real."

Maya started laughing. It was a slightly hysterical sound, too high and too loud, but it was real. "Aria. Aria Winters. You're a billionaire. You own NexWave Group now!!! Holy God!!!

The weight of it crashed over me like a wave, drowning me in implications I couldn't process. Not just the money, but the power. The control. Everything Damien thought he was divorcing me to claim, he'd actually handed to me on a silver platter wrapped in legal documents he'd been too arrogant to read carefully.

In three days, when Damien Cross would walk into that boardroom expecting to claim his throne, only to find me sitting in it, wearing his crown.

I would become the CEO of NexWave Group.

And Damien had absolutely no idea what was coming.