Chapter 1: The Shredded Divorce

For three years, my marriage to the incubus CEO was just a contract—no love, no drama, just two signatures and a whole lot of pretending.

On the day I finally worked up the nerve to ask for a divorce—

He barely reacted, all business, but suddenly, a flurry of wild messages flashed above his head like a chaotic TikTok comment section:

[Completely unhinged yandere! The chains and those little toys in the basement are all custom-made for the female supporting character—why bother pretending to be a gentleman now?]

[Girl, as soon as you sign, the next time you wake up you'll be chained up, nose-to-nose with the crazy second male lead.]

[Yes! The captivity arc is finally coming! All this hate—so satisfying. The incubus's true form even has barbs. The female supporting character has done all sorts of awful things—those glazed-over eyes, that's what she deserves...]

[Hey, female supporting character, are you confused? If you'd shown the second male lead even a little kindness these past years, this love-crazed maniac would've dropped to his knees and become your loyal puppy. It wouldn't have turned into twisted hatred!]

My hand started sweating as I hesitated before signing, my mind racing. I remembered the first time I’d met Nathaniel—his icy stare, the way he’d looked right through me—and suddenly, I was terrified of what would come next. Was I really ready to let go of the only constant in my life, even if it was all just for show?

"Um, let's not get divorced after all."

My words hung in the air, awkward and shaky. The silence in his office felt like the inside of a walk-in freezer. I fiddled with the pen, my palms clammy, wishing I could disappear beneath the polished oak table. My heart pounded—louder than the humming fluorescent lights above me. The whole scene was peak American cringe, like calling your teacher 'Mom' and having the whole class stare.

1

"What?" Nathaniel Brooks's eyes narrowed, his voice cool as steel.

He looked so unmoved that I almost wondered if I’d hallucinated those pop-up messages.

He sounded like every Wall Street shark I’d ever seen on TV—smooth, unreadable, like he’d never once lost a negotiation. His tie was perfect, suit immaculate, as if he’d just strolled off the cover of Forbes. The only thing out of place was me: half-standing, clutching the pen like it was a speeding ticket I was too scared to sign.

I took a shaky breath, the pen hovering above the paper, then slowly set it down and tried to explain:

"I just suddenly don't want a divorce. I mean, after three years together, you know what they say—a day as husband and wife is worth a hundred days of kindness, right? I've gotten used to you. Honestly, I don't think I could live without you..."

The more I talked, the more his expression shifted—confused, almost vulnerable for a split second before he locked it all down again. My voice faltered. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, the kind of flush you get when you realize you’ve just made a fool of yourself on national TV. I wished the ground would swallow me up. Every awkward rom-com moment I’d ever witnessed flashed through my mind, except this time, I was the star—and there was no laugh track to save me.

My marriage alliance with Nathaniel Brooks had been a total accident.

Five years ago, when a broke intern named Summer Fields started at the company, my perfect life imploded.

My childhood friend—the guy who’d sworn to love me forever—fell for someone else. He broke off our engagement right in the middle of a family barbecue, humiliating me in front of everyone.

Even my parents, who’d always doted on me, took Summer’s side for the first time ever.

It still stings to remember that day: my mom handing Summer the last slice of sticky, sweet peach cobbler, my dad clapping Derek on the back and saying, "You’re making the right choice, son." The backyard was alive with the sizzle of burgers on the grill, the Eagles playing on Dad’s old stereo, kids splashing in the pool—while my whole world fell apart in broad daylight.

Driven by jealousy and desperation to prove I wasn’t unwanted, I married out of spite. I picked the one man in New York everyone feared: Nathaniel Brooks, the infamous, brooding, and ruthlessly private incubus CEO.

Page Six called it: "Heiress Carter Weds Wall Street’s Scariest CEO—What Was She Thinking?" My friends ghosted me. Even the mailman started avoiding my eyes. Our wedding photos looked like movie stills from a horror flick—me in white, Nathaniel in black, both of us looking like we’d just buried the last of our hopes and dreams.

The next three years, I kept clashing with Summer—and always lost.

Every time, either Nathaniel caught on and shut me down, or I managed to sabotage myself.

My life felt like one endless Jerry Springer episode—except I was never the guest who walked away happy.

Recently, my latest attempt to frame Summer blew up in my face. I got canceled so hard, even my closest friends bailed.

I knew Nathaniel hated my drama and always took Summer’s side. Instead of waiting for him to kick me to the curb, I decided to dump him first—maybe I’d look a little more chill that way.

When I sent the divorce request, Nathaniel was in a meeting, but he called back almost instantly.

"Reason." His voice was low and frosty over the line.

I let out a bitter laugh: "Last time you didn’t close the bathroom door, and I accidentally saw your tail. It was all slippery and gross."

So now, when I’m spouting stuff like ‘can’t live without you’—even I don’t believe it, let alone Nathaniel.

"Are you sure you don't want a divorce?" Instead of the cold laugh I expected, his low voice brought me back to reality. His jaw clenched, and I caught the faintest flicker of something in his eyes—maybe hurt, maybe hope.

"I don't want to. For now."

I searched Nathaniel’s face, but saw no hint of happiness.

"As you wish." After a moment, he picked up the half-signed divorce papers and fed them into the shredder.

The loud grind of the shredder filled the room—satisfying, almost like burning old love letters or tossing your ex’s hoodie on a bonfire. Nathaniel didn’t flinch. The shreds of our marriage agreement drifted into the bin like confetti at the saddest parade in Manhattan.

A new barrage exploded across my mind:

[What's with the vicious female supporting character—did she finally grow a brain?]

[Madison Carter is finally enlightened and ready to cling to the second male lead? Too bad it's a bit late, the second male's hatred is already spreading.]

[Who says it's too late? This timing is perfect! Didn't you see the second male's lips twitch with joy when he shredded the divorce papers? And that shredder—killing me! This guy is terrified the female supporting character will change her mind in the next second.]

[Female supporting character, keep going! Don't stop, push harder! The second male is a yandere incubus with no morals, you're a villainess—what a perfect match. Take him down and you won't have to worry about beating the heroine Summer!]

A voice in my head—pure American snark, like a YouTube drama commentator—whispered, "Girl, are you really about to try and salvage this?" I shoved my hands into my blazer pockets, wishing I could text my therapist or at least vent in a group chat.