Novellia Facebook ad: “My husband fell in love with an intern…”

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My husband fell in love with an intern from his company. There was no cheating, no affair, no other woman. Not technically. He signed over the car, the house, and every dollar in our accounts. He was walking away with nothing but the clothes on his back, all for a clean break and one piece of paper: a divorce decree. "Corinne," he said, his voice strained, "I can't do this to Daisy. And I don't want to do this to you." I looked at him—the man who once crammed into a tiny South Side apartment with me, sharing a single microwave burrito because our one credit card was maxed out. The man who promised me forever. Blinking back the moisture gathering at the corners of my eyes, I managed a soft, even tone. "Alright." Chapter 2 01 My single-word answer made Griffin Foster freeze. He clearly hadn't expected me to agree so easily. He'd come prepared for a war. For screaming matches and slammed doors, for me to dig my heels in and refuse to let go. He was ready to drag this out for months, maybe years. Lawyers, court dates, a bitter war of attrition—he had the resolve for it. That was Griffin. When he wanted something, he went after it, consequences be damned. It was the same way he’d once wanted me. He’d fought for me, physically dragging me out of the suffocating wreckage of my family home. "You want to mess with Corinne Foster?" he'd snarled back then, his voice a low growl that promised violence. "You ask me first." A beer bottle had shattered against the side of his head, glass raining down like deadly confetti. The sound was sickeningly loud in the narrow alley. But the feral look in the teenager's eyes, a blaze of pure, protective fury, made the loan sharks hesitate. They were big men, used to intimidation, but this was something else. This was a cornered animal. They shuffled on their feet, weighing the potential payout against a possible murder charge. The debt my father had racked up wasn't worth a life sentence. Slowly, reluctantly, they backed away. I had sobbed then, my hands trembling as I tried to press them against his bleeding temple. The coppery smell of blood filled the air, thick and terrifying. My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. But he’d just grinned, a reckless, triumphant smile that was all the more startling on his blood-streaked face. He pulled me into a hug, his arms tight around me, ignoring his own injury. "I told you, Corinne," he’d whispered, his voice full of gravel and pride. "I love you. And I'll never let anyone hurt you." That fierce, unwavering devotion had been my entire world. He was my protector, my champion. But now, he didn't love me anymore. His devotion had found a new target. Now, he loved the new intern. Chapter 3 02 Griffin opened his mouth, a flicker of guilt finally crossing his features as the silence stretched between us. "Corinne, I know I'm the asshole here. I'm not trying to deny that," he started, the words coming out in a rush. "But I love Daisy. I can't let her carry the stigma of being the other woman. She's too good for that. I need to be with her, clean and clear." He was so earnest, so righteous. Even now, pushing thirty, he still had that same reckless fire he’d had as a boy, the unwavering belief in the purity of his own desires. How noble. Anyone watching this scene unfold would have swooned at the power of true love. A man willing to give up a decade of his life, an entire fortune, for the woman he truly loved. "I just have one question," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. I carefully wiped away a single tear that had escaped, refusing to let him see the full extent of the devastation he was causing. I looked up, forcing a smile that felt like it was cracking my face. "Just one little question." "Is today the first time your Daisy found out you weren't single?" At first, he’d complained about her constantly. The new assistant. Clumsy, timid as a stray cat, always on the verge of tears. He wasn't satisfied, he'd grumbled. She wasn't sharp enough. Later, he'd pointed at the Valentine's Day gift he was supposed to give me, his face a mask of frustration. It was a giant, almost comically large, pink Squishmallow she had picked out for him. "What was Daisy thinking?" he'd fumed. "Who gives their boss this... this thing for Valentine's Day?" But the assistant in question, the target of his supposed anger, had just blinked her wide, innocent eyes and murmured, "But... I thought it was cute." Griffin had scoffed, turning away to hide his face, but I saw it. Just for a second, I saw the flash of helpless affection in his eyes. I saw the hint of a smile he was trying so hard to suppress. It was a small, almost imperceptible crack in the dam of our marriage. Finally, just last week, the dam had broken. He’d laid it all out. Daisy was genuinely in love with him. A girl that pure, that innocent... she deserved the best. And the best, naturally, meant him. A free, unattached version of him, ready to stand with her in the sunlight. He didn't want his sweet, innocent Daisy to be branded a homewrecker. So, I had to ask. All those weeks of their budding office romance, the shared lunches, the late nights 'working'... had she really been that naive? My question hung in the air, sharp and pointed. Griffin’s expression went blank for a moment before he turned away, unable to meet my gaze. "Corinne, it was... we couldn't help it." "But I swear to you, nothing physical happened. We never crossed that line," he insisted, as if that was the only line that mattered. "My conscience is clear on that." Of course. Laughing in the breakroom wasn't cheating. Giving your assistant a ride home in the rain wasn't cheating. Defending her when she cried, fighting her battles for her, becoming her office savior... none of it was technically cheating. It was just the slow, painful death of a marriage by a thousand emotional paper cuts. A bitter smile touched my lips. I nodded, a sense of finality washing over me. "Okay. Let's get a divorce." Chapter 4 03 Why not? Griffin was giving up everything. The house in Squirrel Hill, the cars, the money. Our entire life, built from nothing in that cramped Pittsburgh apartment, was now mine. He was walking out with a clean slate, all for a piece of paper that would set him free. What more could I possibly want? A wave of pure, unadulterated relief washed over Griffin's face. He looked at me, a genuine, almost boyish smile breaking through the tension. "Corinne, I knew it. I knew you'd understand. You always do. You'll support us, won't you?" Of course he knew. My entire life from eighteen to twenty-eight had been lived at his side, molded to his. We met freshman year at Carnegie Mellon, started dating sophomore year, got married five years after graduation. A perfect ten-year story. I was quiet by nature, never one for drama or confrontation. So much so that in our early days, Griffin used to complain that I didn't really love him. "You never get jealous!" he'd yell, storming off after I failed to react to some girl flirting with him at a bar. He once vanished for three whole days, a desperate, childish attempt to get a rise out of me. When he finally came back, he slumped in defeat on our doorstep, glaring at me with a look of pure, grudging admiration. "You win, Corinne Foster," he’d muttered, pulling me into his arms and burying his face in my hair. "I'm done pretending. I'm obsessed with you. Call me a lost cause, I don't care. I'm yours." It was only after he said that, after I felt the surrender in his body, that I finally buried my face in his chest. He never knew I'd spent those three days frantically searching for him, calling every friend we had, my mind spiraling into a dark place of panic and fear. I had been on the verge of a complete breakdown. I had clung to him then, my voice a trembling whisper against his shirt. "You promised. You can't leave. I get scared." His body went rigid. He pulled back, saw the real, raw fear in my eyes, and his expression shifted. The grin was back, wide and triumphant, like he'd just conquered the world. "So you do care," he'd crowed. "You're like a cat. All quiet and aloof until you're not." After graduation, we shared that tiny apartment, living on instant noodles and microwave burritos. We hustled, pounding the pavement to get Forge & Foundry Digital off the ground, fueled by cheap coffee and sheer determination. Then things took off. He proposed. We got married. The wedding was huge, extravagant, because, as he’d said to anyone who would listen, "I love Corinne. And Corinne deserves the best." Now, with the divorce decree in his hand, those words echoed with a new, cruel twist. "Don't blame me, Corinne. Daisy deserves the best." The intern herself was waiting a short distance away, a picture of delicate innocence. She looked at me with a sort of timid fear, as if I were a monster about to devour her. Griffin noticed, and his protective instincts flared like a wildfire. He pulled her into his arms, positioning himself as a human shield between us. "Daisy's a little shy," he warned, his voice low and dangerous. "If you have a problem, you take it up with me. Don't you dare try to scare her." Daisy blushed, then gave me a small, apologetic smile from the safety of his embrace. "He's just got a temper, Ms. Foster. Please don't take it personally. He doesn't mean any harm." She spoke with such easy, practiced familiarity. You'd think she was the one who'd spent a decade weathering his moods and celebrating his triumphs, not me. That I was the outsider here. And in that moment, standing in the cold, sterile lobby of the courthouse, I was. The painful sting in my chest had faded to a dull, heavy numbness. I held up my copy of the decree, my smile bright and brittle. "It's fine. It's not like we'll be seeing each other again anyway." For some reason, Griffin frowned, a flicker of something unreadable—disappointment? confusion?—in his eyes. "Corinne, even if we're divorced, we can still be friends. If you ever need anything, you can call me." Beside him, Daisy's sweet smile tightened at the edges. I just shook my head, my own smile unwavering. "No, thank you." I wasn't going to need anything. And even if I did, I wouldn't call him. He was broke and powerless, a man starting from scratch with nothing but the confidence of a past victory. What good would he be? Besides... "I don't make a habit of bothering married men." The words hit their mark. The air crackled with unspoken tension. Both of their faces changed. Daisy, sensing her carefully constructed scene was slipping away, quickly tried to reclaim her position. She was already settled in the passenger seat of his car—my former seat—as if she'd been sitting there her whole life. "Where are you headed, Ms. Foster?" she asked, her voice dripping with false, sugary concern. "Griffin can give you a ride." My ex-husband and his little intern playing savior. I guess this is what they call 'crying all the way to the bank.' Except I own the damn bank. I politely declined, then slid into the driver's seat of my own car—a black Rivian R1S—and drove straight to the hospital. My doctor was waiting. She handed me the new test results with a warm, professional smile. "Everything looks perfect, Ms. Foster," she said gently. "The pregnancy is progressing beautifully." Chapter 5 04 Griffin hadn't just left me the house and the company. He'd left me his child. A secret he would never, ever know. After the divorce, I executed the plan I had been quietly formulating for weeks. I moved the entire center of operations for Forge & Foundry Digital to Austin, Texas. It was a clean break, a new city, a new life. Everyone back in Pittsburgh whispered about the dramatic downfall of Griffin Foster. How the brilliant, self-made founder had thrown away a tech empire for a pretty intern. Years of hard work, a decade-long marriage, all tossed aside in a blaze of romantic glory. The day he married Daisy Lane, the spectacle was enormous. It was broadcast on screens all over downtown Pittsburgh, a public declaration of his new beginning. Even starting from zero, Griffin still had connections. Plenty of our mutual friends, caught in the awkward crossfire, attended the wedding. Which meant my phone was blowing up with live updates I never asked for. A close friend of ours, Sarah, texted me, her words practically vibrating with rage. "Ten years, Corinne. It hasn't even been six months since the divorce, and he pulls this stunt? He has no shame. He's deliberately trying to humiliate you." "You should see the comments online," her next text read. "They're saying Daisy is his one true love. That you were just a placeholder, someone he was stuck with until he had a choice." She followed it with a string of angry emojis. "It's absolute bullshit." No one knew better than our friends how we had started. The sacrifices, the struggles, the shared dreams cooked up over cheap takeout on the floor of our first apartment. Every hardship Griffin faced, I had faced right beside him. We were partners in every sense of the word. But the internet had its own, much more romantic, narrative. The comments section was a fantasy novel come to life. "This is literally a romance plot! The hero finally gets rid of the annoying side-character to be with his true love!" another user gushed. "So sweet! I'm just an NPC in their world! I bet the old hag is crying in a corner somewhere right now." It was then that I learned Daisy, in all her quiet, wide-eyed innocence, had been documenting her "forbidden romance" with Griffin on a carefully curated Instagram account. She had become a minor lifestyle influencer, the brave, beautiful heroine in her own tragic love story. Her followers ate it up. "Reading your posts is like watching a real-life fairytale! The innocent girl and the powerful, misunderstood CEO!" one comment read. "Can the evil ex-wife just disappear already? She's ruining their happiness!" Well, they got their wish. My family was already gone. My mother died in childbirth. My gambling-addicted father was found dead in an alley three years ago, a predictable end to a wasted life. I had him cremated. A small box of ashes was all that was left of my past. I had nothing. Except for the organic bone broth I was sipping to nourish my growing baby, the keys to my luxury SUV, and the thriving, multi-million-dollar company I now commanded. I was utterly alone, drowning in the profound emptiness of a life without Griffin Foster. Somehow, I would manage to survive. I texted Sarah back. "Don't send me any more. I've moved on." I didn't tell her that Griffin had actually sent me an invitation to the wedding. He’d called, his voice bright and hopeful, completely oblivious to the cruelty of his request. "Corinne, we're still friends, right? You want me to be happy, don't you?" When I didn't immediately agree, Daisy had gotten on the line, her voice trembling with expertly feigned tears. "Are you still mad at me, Ms. Foster? Griffin, maybe I was wrong... maybe I shouldn't have fought for our love..." It was strange. Daisy's tears were like gasoline. They ignited a sudden, inexplicable anger in Griffin. "Corinne, do we have to be like this?" he'd snapped. "Even if we're not married, we were together for ten years! Can't we still be friends?" I had to laugh. I'd held my tongue for the sake of the money and the assets. But did he really think I was that much of a pushover? Still, Corinne Foster had always been gentle, agreeable. She didn't start fights. And that wouldn't change now. My voice was sweet as honey when I replied. "Friends? Of course, we're friends. I wasn't planning on coming, but since you both insisted... allow me to send a wedding gift." He was ecstatic. "I knew you weren't the petty type, Corinne!" I didn't hear the rest of his sentence. I had no time for fools. I hung up and blocked his number. My doctor had warned me. Stress wasn't good for the baby. Later, I heard reports from the wedding. The groom, for some reason, had seemed distracted all day. His eyes kept darting towards the entrance of the grand ballroom, as if he were waiting for someone. But the person he was waiting for never appeared. Instead, under the glare of a city-wide broadcast, a delivery arrived. A gift from his ex-wife. A massive billboard, rented for a month on the building directly opposite the hotel, displaying a message in elegant, scrolling letters. It was from Sterling & Price, Pittsburgh's premier divorce attorneys. The message was simple, and devastating. "Your first consultation is always complimentary." Chapter 6 05 But what did that have to do with me? Six years had passed. Six long years. I had truly, honestly moved on. I had cut off all contact, all sources of information about Griffin. He was a ghost from a past life. So I never expected to see him again. Especially not here, in a chic art gallery in the heart of Austin. I was holding my daughter's hand, pointing out the thick, vibrant brushstrokes on a large abstract canvas. Her name was Charlotte, but we all called her Charlie. She was a quiet, serious child who rarely cried. But she loved to fight. The last time a boy at her exclusive preschool called her a "bastard with no daddy," she sent three of his friends to the nurse's office with bloody noses. During the subsequent parent-teacher conference, the other mother was practically breathing fire. "Was my son wrong?" she'd demanded, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. "Her own husband didn't want her! She's lucky her kid has a mother at all!" I kept my voice calm, a placid lake against her storm. "Let's try to discuss this without shouting." "A child with no father is a child with no manners!" she spat. I took a deep, centering breath. "Could we please avoid the profanities?" But she was on a roll. Her husband was apparently a manager at some big tech firm, and she wore her entitlement like a designer coat. Her son had been in trouble before—once, he'd nearly blinded another child with a thrown rock—and they'd always managed to make it go away with a hefty donation. She wasn't afraid of me. Her finger was nearly touching my nose, spittle flying from her mouth. "I'll say what I want! Who the hell do you think you are? Just wait until my husband gets here! He'll deal with you! Look at you, with your little fox-faced smirk. I bet your daughter will grow up to be just as much of a tramp!" I sighed. This was getting tiresome. I pulled out my phone and made a quiet call to my assistant. Thirty minutes later, the once-arrogant woman was practically sobbing at my feet, begging me not to fire her husband. I held Charlie in my lap, my expression weary but firm. "I told you we could discuss this calmly. Why wouldn't you listen? Is that your husband? Ah, Mr. Wallace. Don't just stand there. Please, have a seat." The man I was paying a handsome six-figure salary to had no idea the hornet's nest his wife had just kicked. When he first stormed in, he was all bluster, demanding the principal expel my daughter immediately. "You're really letting a widow's kid into your school? Isn't that bad luck?" Then he turned, saw me sitting there calmly sipping my tea, and his legs nearly gave out. He froze, the color draining from his face as the pieces clicked into place with horrifying clarity. "Ms... Ms. Foster..." He had finally remembered. His very private, very rarely seen boss was also a single mother. A widow, as far as the world knew. He dropped to his knees before his wife could even process what was happening. "Ms. Foster? What Ms. Foster?" she stammered, a terrible premonition dawning on her. I took a slow sip of tea before finally meeting their terrified eyes. "I had no idea you and your husband had such... strong opinions, Mrs. Wallace." The man was sweating, his own wife's venomous words now echoing in his ears like a death sentence. He knew her mouth. It was as reckless as his own. "Ms. Foster, this is all a huge misunderstanding," he choked out. He yanked his wife forward, and the woman, who had been a lioness moments before, turned into a terrified mouse. "Yes! A misunderstanding!" she squeaked, forcing a grotesque smile. She grabbed her son. "It was just kids being kids! Saying silly things!" Wallace glared at his son. "Apologize! Now!" The little tyrant, spoiled as he was, burst into tears under his father's terrifying gaze and mumbled a barely audible apology. My daughter just turned her head away, sniffing disdainfully. Wallace plastered a desperate, sycophantic smile back on his face. "See? He knows he was wrong. And you know Ms. Foster, she's famous for her good temper. She never argues, never holds a grudge. I'll be sure to teach this little monster a lesson when we get home, Ms. Foster, you have my word!" He wasn't wrong about one thing. I never argued. I found it to be a complete waste of time and energy. I nodded, my expression one of benevolent understanding. "Educating your children is so important. And of course, every single mother deserves respect. The fault here lies with the adults." I placed my teacup down on the table, my smile as warm and caring as any boss about to give a glowing performance review. "This is an excellent preschool. The tuition must be, what, over a hundred thousand a year? I'm sure a man as capable as you, Mr. Wallace, will have no trouble affording it after you find your next position." His smile froze and then shattered on his face. Behind me, the sound of a man and woman begging, and a child wailing, faded as I carried Charlie out the door. My phone buzzed. A message from my assistant. "Ms. Foster, Wallace's termination papers are being processed as we speak." I typed back a reply without breaking my stride. "Give him the standard severance. But make sure he's blacklisted from the industry." I have a good temper. Ever since I realized that arguing solves nothing, I've avoided verbal conflict entirely. Why waste breath when you can simply cut out the problem at the root? When I discovered Griffin's wandering eye, I took the assets and walked away. When this family proved to be unreasonable, I had them fired and blacklisted. And when my father's gambling threatened to ruin me, I cut him off completely, refusing to pay another cent. I only acknowledged his existence again when the coroner called to inform me his body had been found in a dumpster. In the car, Charlie buried her head in my neck. The things they had said still bothered her. "It's okay, Mommy," she whispered, her small arms wrapped tightly around me. "We don't need a daddy. I'll protect you from the bad guys. I can be your husband." That little rascal. I gave her a gentle swat on the behind, and she finally settled down, her breathing evening out against my shoulder. Now, here we were, at the gallery, trying to put all that ugliness behind us. We were supposed to be having a peaceful, healing afternoon. And then a voice from the past, a voice I thought I'd never hear again, thick with disbelief and shock, called out from behind me. "Corinne?!" I turned. … Whose side are you on? The tension is real! 👇👇👇 Team 👑 HIS obsession: Drop a ❤️ if you think he's doing it for love! Team 👠 HER revenge: Drop a 🔥 if she should walk away and never look back! Can’t wait to see what happens next? The climax is just one click away... 1️⃣ Click the "Learn More" button. 2️⃣ Get the App. 3️⃣ READ NEXT CHAPTER immediately! ✨ Pro Experience: Our smart link will automatically jump to the book the moment you launch the App. No searching, just pure reading! 🚀

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