A painful marriage: Mr. CEO, let's get a divorce

In a dark corner of the bar.

The man toyed with the glass in his hand, watching as the wine slid slowly down the inner wall of the crystal. His eyes showed neither sadness nor joy, as if he were entirely oblivious to the noise and indulgence around him.

Yet, among the crowd, a voice so familiar it seemed engraved in his very bones echoed out, immediately catching his attention.

In that voice was a mixture of humility and desperation.

At the center of the dance floor, the dancers were gone. Only a burly gang leader and a woman with loose hair remained; she was kneeling, head bowed low.

The man gripped her hair tightly, pulling it back to her waist, and spat:

"It's just a kiss, isn't it? You think a bitch like you can react like that? You think you're better than me, Claude?"

"I'm just a girl who serves drinks. I don't know anything else. Please, forgive me," the woman replied, her voice trembling, her head still bowed.

No one noticed how her short nails were nearly digging into the polished tiles beneath her.

Strands of hair still covered part of her face.

The man in the corner frowned and slowly set his glass down on the table.

"You don't understand? Don't you know what it means to be a bar girl?" The fat man kicked her in the waist. "Trying to act innocent here, are you?"

"I've angered Mr. Claude. I apologize. If Mr. Claude doesn't want me, I'll ask Aunt Lynne to find him another girl," she said meekly.

"Shut up." The man hurled another kick, harder this time, right into her abdomen.

The frail woman flew more than a meter away.

Amid the jeers and laughter of the crowd, she crawled back to his feet.

Head lowered, her face was hidden behind her long hair.

Her once--sleek hair was now messy, cascading like a dark waterfall over her thin frame, making her look like a small, frightened creature. Nearly every man watching felt a dark desire stir within.

The fat man sneered at her, grabbed a bottle, seized her by the head, and forced the wine down her throat.

The scene was suddenly interrupted by the sound of a glass falling.

Following the noise, before he could even curse, the fat man turned around and hurriedly bowed with exaggerated respect.

"Mr. Dante. I didn't realize you were here. Please forgive me if I've disturbed you."

The man who had been sitting coldly in the corner, observing the entire scene, was none other than the only son of the Hendricks family from City B, the most promising heir of the Hendricks Group, second only to the Carwyn family: Dante Hendricks.

Once one of the city's most dazzling young elites, he had sunk into a life of debauchery and drink ever since the death of his former lover.

Rumor had it that the Hendricks and Carwyn families would soon be joined by marriage.

Dante kept playing with his glass, seemingly fascinated by the movement of the wine within it.

"Mr. Dante?" Claude bent forward with a forced smile.

"Bring me another drink," Dante ordered the bartender, as though he hadn't heard Claude at all.

His voice was low and hoarse, clearly drunk.

After receiving his drink, Dante fixed his gaze on the woman still kneeling in the center of the dance floor.

Under the blue glow of the glass, the scent of mint drifted through the air.

In the middle of the room, the woman's lifeless eyes met those of Dante Hendricks, cold and filled with contempt.

Every movement Dante made exuded calm authority. Except for the uneasy DJ, no one dared make a sound.

Claude assumed Dante wanted to continue watching, so he approached the woman again with a cruel grin, ready to replay the same act.

The crowd once again cheered and whistled excitedly.

Reading the hatred in the woman's eyes, Claude shot her a warning glare.

By chance, she let her gaze wander across the room, rage burning in her chest, until her eyes landed on the man in the corner, whose expression remained just as indifferent as before.

For a brief moment, she looked away and finally obeyed.

A wave of nausea rose from her stomach.

When the fat man was finally satisfied, he glanced at Dante, hoping for a sign of approval. But Dante simply stood up and walked out of the bar.

"Damn woman. I'll deal with you later."

Claude pushed her forehead away and threw the empty bottle to the floor. Thinking his "performance" hadn't pleased Dante, he hurried after him.

"Mr. Dante, if you're not satisfied, I can do whatever you want."

His voice faded into the distance.

When Claude and his men disappeared amid whistles and mocking laughter, the woman slowly rose to her feet.

She had been kneeling so long that every step felt like knives cutting into the soles of her feet.

"Hey, girl, don't leave. I'm not as cruel as Claude. Stay with me, I'll treat you right. Isn't that so, boys?" shouted a man blocking her way.

Clenching her fist so tightly her nails nearly cut her palm, the woman kept walking.

Her steps were heavy, but at last she left behind that repulsive place where soulless people laughed and drank.