“You look like a scarecrow.
Unkempt, sloppy, completely abandoned.
You’ve become repulsive to me and you’re ruining my image.”
“A CEO at my level,” he continued smoothly, adjusting his platinum cufflinks, “a man building a multibillion dollar company under constant public scrutiny, needs a wife who reflects success, vitality, power, sophistication, not this deterioration.”
I blinked slowly, too drained to summon anger, my voice rasping from sleepless nights as I whispered, “Mark, I gave birth to three of your children six weeks ago.
Your sons.
Your heirs.”
“You let yourself go in the process,” he replied coldly.
“That isn’t my problem, Appa.
Your body, your choices, your consequences.
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