The Mighty CEO Knelt Outside My Door After I Asked for a Divorce

"Time's about up. Still nothing from the kid's dad?"

The funeral staff in a black uniform asked quietly, their voice nearly drowned out by the low, mournful music.

Stella Hart lifted her swollen, red eyes and stared at the tiny, pale body surrounded by flowers. Sophie looked so cold and still.

Her phone screen showed nothing new—calls still going straight to voicemail.

Like a robot, Stella took a few slow steps forward, gently brushing her daughter's cheek with trembling fingers.

"Sophie, let's not wait for him anymore, okay?"

Even the staff, used to dealing with death, looked uncomfortable.

"If her father doesn't get a chance to say goodbye, he might regret it for the rest of his life. Are you sure we shouldn't wait just a little longer?"

"Regret?"

Stella suddenly let out a bitter laugh.

"While my daughter lay on that table, waiting for his bone marrow to save her, he was off playing happy family—with his mistress and her daughter at some amusement park. Do you really think a man like that has any regrets?"

A tear slipped and landed on Sophie's already stiffened face.

Panicked, Stella wiped it off right away.

Her precious girl had suffered too much in this life—she wouldn't let her take tears into the next one.

"Start it. We're not waiting anymore."

...

Stella picked the most beautiful Elsa-themed urn she could find, carefully painting little floral designs onto it herself.

Sophie was scared of the dark, so instead of the somber black cloth from the funeral home, Stella wrapped the urn up in her own coat.

The early winter wind cut like knives, but she didn't feel a thing. Numbly, she flagged down a taxi and gave the driver her address.

The car pulled away from the quiet outskirts and merged into the bustle of downtown. Glitzy displays flashed outside the windows, but all she felt was emptiness.

Her parents were gone. Her daughter too. There was nothing left in this world for her.

A burst of fireworks lit up the windshield, so bright it stung her eyes.

She flinched, turning away—only to catch sight of the massive LED screens lining the street, all showing the same birthday video.

A Disney-style palace glittered on-screen. Olivia Smith, done up in a white princess gown and diamond tiara, rode up in a pumpkin carriage. Charles Hart, the all-powerful CEO, actually bent down to help her off like it was some real fairytale.

He took her hand and walked to where Isabelle Smith waited, grinning. Together they lit ten tiers of a custom cake, and when Olivia made her wish, she kissed both their cheeks with a happy giggle.

The picture-perfect "family of three" practically oozed sweetness off the screen.

"Boom!"

Another round of fireworks exploded in the sky.

The driver let out a sigh. "Man, what a life. Being Mr. Hart's daughter must be a dream come true."

Stella's eyes burned red as she clutched Sophie's urn tighter, a sharp pain stabbing through her chest.

"Take the back roads, please."

Her voice was raspy, barely above a whisper. It almost sounded like begging.

The driver froze, realizing where he'd picked her up from. His heart sank as the pieces clicked together.

"Sorry, ma'am... my condolences."

He quickly took a turn, avoiding the bright, busy streets.

The backroads were bumpy, but at least there were no more LED screens blaring fake happiness.

An hour later, the taxi rolled to a stop in front of Riviera Court.

Stella thanked the driver, stepped out holding the urn close, and stood under the stark white glow of the streetlamp.

Looking up at the third-floor apartment, she could almost hear Sophie's fingers still dancing across the piano keys.She practiced so hard—even when she was sick, just playing for a bit would leave her drenched in sweat. But she never stopped.

"Mom, if I win a big international piano award, do you think Dad will finally like me?"

Stella felt a sharp sting in her nose as she dragged her heavy legs toward the piano room.

She gently placed the urn on a small stool beside the piano, opened the lid, and slowly closed her eyes.

As her fingers touched the keys, the familiar melody echoed in the room, tearing open her raw grief and the memories she could never let go.

Ever since her parents passed away, she hadn't played.

The piano had become a haunting ghost.

But today, she wanted to play one last time for Sophie.

That piece Sophie had prepared for the competition—Stella played it over and over until her hands cramped up and she physically couldn't go on.

After sitting through the night, she came downstairs the next day looking like a walking ghost.

The bright morning sunlight felt like knives in her eyes.

A tall man in a sleek black coat stepped through the door, the chilly breeze clinging to him, his coat brushing the hallway floor.

Charles had finally shown up.

Without even glancing at her, he took off his coat and hung it up, tone cold and indifferent.

"Sophie's still in bed?"

Stella let out a bitter laugh.

Sophie had been gone for three days now—was he finally done playing house somewhere else and suddenly remembered she existed?

Disgusting.

Charles clearly didn't expect that. His eyes darted up, locking on her face—and for a split second, he froze. Then his brows knit, slow and tight, like a storm building behind his eyes.

Seriously? Was this going to be another one of her over-the-top acts?

He couldn't be bothered.

"I canceled my morning meeting and rushed back. Go get Sophie—I'll take her to piano class."

Just hearing the words "piano class" nearly broke Stella.

Sophie had lessons three times a week, all in the mornings.

She never dared ask him on weekdays; Saturdays were the only day she worked up the nerve, only to hear "no" every time.

As her health declined, she cut down to once a week.

Before her last surgery, Charles finally agreed to take her.

She'd barely slept out of excitement, dressed up in her prettiest white dress. His assistant picked her up.

Stella thought she'd have a lovely morning.

At 9:30, the piano teacher called.

By the time she rushed over, Sophie had already collapsed.

That's when she learned Charles had bailed—the assistant dropped her off but didn't go in.

Charles never understood that Sophie begged and begged just so she could have one moment where her classmates wouldn't laugh at her for not having a dad.

She just wanted him to show up—just once.

But he skipped more than the piano class.

When she was lying on the operating table, waiting for a chance at life, he never came.

Stella could only imagine how heartbroken her baby girl must've been at the end.

Her eyes bloodshot, she stared at Charles like she wanted to burn a hole through him. Her voice bled hate.

"Don't bother. You're never taking her again."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Charles frowned, annoyed.

So he missed one time, and now she's acting high and mighty?

"I don't have time for your games. Go get her."

Stella snapped. Her voice cracked, wild and ragged.

"She's gone! Sophie is dead!"