Divorced CEO: Your Ex-Wife Is a Genius

Chapter 10: The Rivalry Begins

The fluorescent lights of the cramped motel room hummed with a steady, monotonous drone.

Ethan didn't notice the noise. His eyes were glued to the glowing screen of his Lenovo laptop as the final lines of code for Vanguard Bio-Analytics’ proprietary audit engine compiled successfully.

The fifty-thousand-dollar retainer from Veridian Medical was just the beginning. Over the past week, working fourteen-hour days fueled by black coffee and cold determination, Ethan had secured three additional consulting contracts with independent European laboratories. He wasn't trying to challenge Apex Holdings head-on—he was too smart for that. Instead, he was carving out a specialized niche in regulatory compliance and supply chain security, systematically undercutting the rigid, monolithic structures that major pharmaceutical conglomerates relied upon.

He stretched his arms over his head, wincing as his stiff joints cracked.

For the first time since he walked out of the Creeks Pharmaceuticals boardroom, he felt a genuine surge of adrenaline. He was building something real again. Not an illusion of grandeur propped up by stolen patents, but a lean, agile enterprise forged entirely from his own intellect and relentless drive.

Knock, knock.

The sharp sound echoed against the hollow wooden door of the motel room.

Ethan frowned, glancing at the cheap digital wall clock. It was 2:14 AM. Who could possibly be knocking on his door at this hour?

He stood up quietly, walking across the worn carpet, and peered through the wide-angle peephole.

Standing in the dim, flickering light of the outdoor corridor was Marcus Vance. The senior corporate attorney was dressed impeccably in a charcoal suit, looking entirely out of place against the peeling paint and stained stucco of the industrial motel.

Ethan’s jaw tightened. He unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open, stepping squarely into the frame to block Marcus’s view of the room.

"You're a long way from the Apex Tower, Marcus," Ethan said coldly, his voice low. "If Annabel sent you here to deliver another eviction notice, you're wasting your time. There's nothing left here for her to take."

Marcus didn't flinch. He adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, his expression completely neutral.

"Good evening, Mr. Creeks. I'm not here on behalf of the receivership, nor am I here to evict you," Marcus replied smoothly, holding up a sleek, heavy black envelope stamped with an embossed silver crest. "Dr. Genesis sent me to deliver a formal invitation."

Ethan stared at the envelope, his suspicion flaring. "An invitation? To what?"

"To the annual International Bio-Tech Innovation Gala, taking place this Friday evening at the Grand Zenith Hotel," Marcus said, sliding the envelope forward. "Apex Holdings is hosting the primary keynote presentation, and the executive committee has officially extended an open seat to the founder of Vanguard Bio-Analytics."

Ethan looked from the envelope up to Marcus’s impassive eyes. A cold, challenging smile slowly touched the corners of his lips. He didn't need to ask to know what this was. It wasn't a gesture of goodwill; it was a psychological trap. Annabel wanted to watch him squirm. She wanted to invite the disgraced former billionaire into her new domain just to remind him of the distance between her supreme empire and his motel room.

"Tell Dr. Genesis..." Ethan said, reaching out and snatching the heavy envelope from Marcus's hand with a firm, steady grip, "...that I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Marcus gave a polite, measured nod. "Very well, Mr. Creeks. I shall inform the Doctor to expect you."

Without another word, Marcus turned on his heel and walked down the dim concrete corridor, his footsteps fading into the quiet night.

Ethan closed the door, locking the deadbolt with a sharp, heavy click. He walked back to his desk, tossed the invitation down beside his laptop, and stared at the embossed silver crest.

She wanted a public confrontation? She wanted to see if the broken CEO had truly recovered his edge?

Ethan pulled out his phone—a brand-new burner model he had purchased that afternoon—and dialed a tailor he had trusted back during his prime years.

"Yes," Ethan said, his voice ringing with absolute, unyielding resolve. "I need a tuxedo fitted by Thursday evening. Black silk lapel, custom cut. We're going to a party."