The CEO's Ex-Wife

My World

Chapter 4

Jennifer’s point of view

The final investor email was sent. I closed my laptop with a soft click. Silence settled over my office, high above the Toronto streets. I leaned my head back against the chair and just listened to the quiet.

Six years. It still felt like a dream.

From this height, the city looked like a toy model. My model. I built it, this company, brick by brick. The girl who landed here half-broken, carrying everything she owned in two shopping bags, wouldn't recognize the woman in the window's reflection. Dressed in a tailored suit and good hairstyle…with a face that had learned how to look like, it had all the answers.

Most mornings, I could convince myself it was true.

A quick knock broke the stillness. "Come in," I said, not turning from the view.

It was Kim. She wasn't just my assistant. She was the one who was there in the beginning, in that one-room office above a noodle shop. We'd shared a single space heater and a dream that felt ridiculous to say out loud. Now she was my second-in-command. The only person I trusted with the keys.

"Got a minute?" she asked, leaning in.

"Always," I said, and I meant it. I walked back to my desk. "What's happening?"

"It's the Vanders deal from California."

My stomach tightened. That funding was crucial for our next phase. "Tell me it's good news."

"It's not." Kim made a face. "They canceled the Toronto meeting. Said it's not feasible for them right now."

I let out a slow breath, frustration bubbling up. "Did they at least reschedule?"

"They did." She hesitated, and that's when I knew. "But they wanted to host. In California. They won't come here."

The word California hung in the air between us. It wasn't just a place on a map. It was a locked room in my mind, filled with everything I'd run from.

"Jen?" Kim's voice was gentle. She knows more of my story than anyone. "You look like you've seen a ghost. You okay?"

"I'm fine," I said, too quickly. It was a reflex. I turned back to the window, but the skyline was gone. All I could see was the past. "It's just a long flight. That's all."

"So… what do you want to do? Should I accept? Are you going to go?"

I stood there, weighing it. Fear was a thread I’d learned to snap years ago. This wasn't about me. It was about the company. It was about my son's future. I turned around, pulling my professional mask into place. It felt like buckling on armor.

"You know what they say, Kim," I replied, forcing my voice into something steady. "If the mountain won't come to you, you go to the mountain. Book the tickets. Two of them."

"Two?" she asked, surprised.

"One for me. One for Will."

Summer break had just started. I'd been promising him a trip, time away from our routine. Maybe we could mix business with a little adventure. Make some good memories to balance the old ones.

After Kim left, I finished packing my briefcase. The last thing I picked up was the small framed photo from my desk. Will, caught mid-laugh at the park last summer, his brown curls a wild mess. His smile was a light I’d built my whole world around. This little boy, my quiet miracle, had no idea he was the reason I kept going when everything else stopped.

"Okay, little man," I whispered, touching the glass. "We're taking a trip."

---

Stepping out of the plane in California, the heat hit me like a physical wall. It wasn't just warmth; it was a bright, aggressive light that felt like an interrogation.

My heel touched the tarmac, and for a dizzying second, I wasn't a CEO. I was that girl again soaked to the bone, clutching those awful bags, with nothing but a one-way ticket and a terror so deep I couldn't breathe. The memory was a punch I hadn't been ready for.

Now, people glanced as we walked. The woman in the sharp blazer and sunglasses. The energetic little boy was swinging hand.

"Mom," Will chirped, skipping to keep up. "Can we have pancakes for dinner?"

"Let's find our suitcases first, buddy. Then we'll talk about pancakes."

Baggage claim was a swirl of noise and rolling carts. Then I saw them: two men in neat suits, holding a sign.

WELCOME, MS. JENNIFER CARTER.

The name on my company's masthead. Seeing it here, in this airport, was like two halves of my life violently colliding.

A wave of surreal disbelief almost made me laugh. Six years ago, I'd been curled on a plastic chair in this terminal, trying to make myself small, terrified someone would ask me a question. I had a maxed-out credit card, a secret growing inside me, and a shattered heart. That was my entire net worth.

Toronto tested me. The crushing loneliness in a tiny apartment. The anxiety and endless 'no's before a single 'yes'. There were nights, the bad ones, where my thumb would hover over his old contact in my phone. Just to hear his voice and to feel connected to that old life, even the painful parts.

But I always stopped. I'd remember the cold slap of the divorce papers in my hands. The complete absence in his eyes. The click of the front door lock. And later, the glossy magazine photos of him and Lucy, smiling at some charity event. I had nothing back then…no money, no security, no plan. But I had my pride, beaten and battered as it was. I held onto it. I let the anger keep me warm. I let every setback become a reason to push harder.

And now, a uniformed driver was loading our bags into a waiting limousine.

"Ms. Carter," one of the men said, nodding respectfully. "Your car is ready."

Will gasped, his small hand squeezing mine. "Whoa, Mom! Is that for us?"

"It is," I said, my voice strangely calm.

I helped him into the deep, cool leather seats. As the door shut, sealing us in quiet luxury, I closed my eyes for just a second.

Just get me through this meeting. Let me sign the papers. Let me get my son home safe.

And please, for the love of all that's good, don't let me run into Jason Owen.