The Wife He Underestimated

Chapter 1

I slipped the divorce papers to my husband between the quarterly earnings reports and his latest acquisition proposal.

Marcus Steele sat behind his massive glass desk in the executive suite—the nerve center of Steele Capital—three laptops open like battle stations, each one streaming live market data and encrypted messages from his board members and the hedge fund managers on his payroll.

Those steel-gray eyes, sharp as the blade his company was named for, scanned mechanically over the documents I'd placed before him, never lifting to meet mine. They never did anymore.

"The usual?" he asked flatly, already reaching for his Mont Blanc pen—the same one he used to sign multi-billion dollar deals and hostile takeover documents.

"The usual," I lied, keeping my expression carefully neutral. Five years of practice had taught me how to mask my emotions from even the most perceptive CEO.

His phone lit up. Her name flashed across the screen: Victoria. No last name needed. Everyone at Steele Capital knew who she was—his first love, the one who'd broken their engagement at the altar, the one he truly wanted despite everything.

He snatched the phone immediately, thumb swiping the screen open while his other hand scrawled his signature across the papers. That signature had built an empire. It had destroyed countless competitors. And now, it was ending our marriage.

He had no idea what he'd just signed. Marcus thought I was just another MBA graduate—useful, competent, forgettable. A strategic marriage his parents had arranged to strengthen business ties. He'd never suspected the truth.

I was Isabelle Moretti. Not Isabelle Steele. Not Belle, the efficient wife who managed his calendar and organized his files.

The only heir to the Moretti Group—one of Europe's oldest and most powerful financial dynasties. Hidden. Anonymous. Invisible to the business world that thought the Moretti fortune was managed by a board of elderly men in Zurich.

They didn't know that every strategic move, every perfectly timed investment, every acquisition that had made Steele Capital what it was today—those were mine. I'd built his empire while he played at being a titan of industry.

"Done." He grunted, pushing the stack of documents toward me without looking up, already absorbed in whatever Victoria was saying.

I collected the papers, carefully steadying my hands. Five years of marriage dissolved in thirty seconds, and he had no idea what he'd just lost.

I gathered the documents but didn't leave immediately. Something inside me—the part that had been dormant for five years—finally stirred. Patient. Calculating. Finally free.

Marcus had already retreated back into his world. Phone calls answered and ended in rapid succession, orders issued in English,and German with the same steady cadence he used for arranging dinner reservations instead of deciding which startups lived or died, which companies were absorbed or destroyed.

"Come back to the penthouse with me tonight," he finally looked up at me, that commanding tone threading through his voice—an automatic reflex he used on everyone. "My parents are waiting."

Not a question. A directive. A CEO's order to what he believed was a compliant corporate wife.

This was the pattern of our marriage.

"Alright," I said, letting the word carry just enough compliance to satisfy his ego.

He nodded, already examining the next file. I turned and left the executive suite, the door clicking shut behind me, sealing away the buzzing phones and the scent of his expensive cologne mixed with ambition.

Half an hour later, we were in the car.

The convoy pulled out of Steele Capital headquarters in formation—three black SUVs, security detail in each one. Executives and bodyguards took their positions with military precision, their earpieces crackling with constant updates. Marcus sat in the back seat, removing his suit jacket and loosening his Hermès tie, looking like a weary mogul who still controlled everything.

Ten minutes into the drive, his phone rang.

He glanced down, his jaw tightening instinctively before smoothing out again. Even his breathing changed slightly—I'd learned to read these tells over five years.

Victoria.

He didn't hide it from me, just answered directly.

"What are you doing?" His tone shifted immediately—low, taut with that familiar tension I knew too well. His protective instincts rising.

Muffled music and her slurred laughter came through the line. Even through the phone, I could detect the artificial sweetness in her voice—the manipulated charm that had ensnared him five years ago.

"Drinking," she said. "Celebrating for you."

"Go home," Marcus ordered coldly, using his boardroom voice—the one that made junior executives scramble. "Now."

"I don't want to." She drew out the words, playing at being petulant. "I didn't do anything wrong."

I stared out the window without turning my head. Rain had started to fall, droplets racing across the glass like tears I refused to shed.

The car was silent except for their conversation. Even breathing felt excessive. The security team in the front seat kept their eyes forward, pretending not to hear their boss abandon his wife for another woman.

"Don't be ridiculous." His voice carried both impatience and genuine concern—more emotion than he'd shown me in months. "I'll send someone to take you home."

"No." She refused bluntly. "You come get me."

He was silent for two seconds, then told the driver: "Pull over."

The convoy slowed immediately, stopping precisely at the curb. His head of security was already out of the car, jogging over through the rain.

Marcus ended the call and looked at me.

"Take the primary car back to the penthouse," he said to me, not even bothering with an apology. "I have something to handle."

Rain was falling harder now—cold and relentless. I stood on the curb watching his security chief open another car door for me.

My heart went cold, but something inside me remained eerily calm. He was casting me aside for the woman who'd abandoned him at the altar five years ago. The woman who'd only come back once his net worth hit nine figures.

I opened the door and got out, looking back at him before leaving: "You just signed the papers."

He seemed impatient, his mind already on Victoria, already pulling toward her: "I know."

But he didn't. He didn't know at all.

The door closed. The engine started.

I stood there watching his car make a U-turn and drive away, taillights pulling two blurred red streaks through the rain before disappearing around the corner.

The security chief spoke softly, carefully neutral: "Mrs. Steele, the car is waiting."

I got in. My heart ached, but I wasn't panicking. I'd known this moment was coming—it was just finally confirmed.

The marriage I'd felt dissolving for years was finally, legally severed. And the identity I'd buried for so long—Isabelle Moretti, heir to a financial empire that made Steele Capital look like a startup—was beginning to wake.