The 100-Point Divorce Plan

The 100-Point Divorce Plan

Valeria

4.7
Comment(s)
1M
View
23
Chapters

For three years, I documented the slow death of my marriage in a black journal. It was my 100-point divorce plan: for every time my husband, Blake, chose his first love, Ariana, over me, I deducted points. When the score hit zero, I would leave. The final points vanished the night he left me bleeding out from a car crash. I was eight weeks pregnant with the child we had prayed for. In the ER, the nurses frantically called him-the star surgeon of the very hospital I was dying in. "Dr. Santos, we have a Jane Doe, O-negative, bleeding out. She's pregnant, and we're about to lose them both. We need you to authorize an emergency blood transfer." His voice came over the speaker, cold and impatient. "I can't. My priority is Miss Whitfield. Do what you can for the patient, but I can't divert anything right now." He hung up. He condemned his own child to death to ensure his ex-girlfriend had resources on standby after a minor procedure.

Protagonist

: Caroline and Blake Santos

The 100-Point Divorce Plan Chapter 1 Chapter

For three years, I documented the slow death of my marriage in a black journal. It was my 100-point divorce plan: for every time my husband, Blake, chose his first love, Ariana, over me, I deducted points. When the score hit zero, I would leave.

The final points vanished the night he left me bleeding out from a car crash. I was eight weeks pregnant with the child we had prayed for.

In the ER, the nurses frantically called him-the star surgeon of the very hospital I was dying in.

"Dr. Santos, we have a Jane Doe, O-negative, bleeding out. She's pregnant, and we're about to lose them both. We need you to authorize an emergency blood transfer."

His voice came over the speaker, cold and impatient.

"I can't. My priority is Miss Whitfield. Do what you can for the patient, but I can't divert anything right now."

He hung up. He condemned his own child to death to ensure his ex-girlfriend had resources on standby after a minor procedure.

Chapter 1

Blake Santos never expected to find the notebook.

He was searching for his favorite platinum cufflinks, a gift from his father, in the back of the shared closet. His fingers brushed against a leather-bound journal tucked away in a shoebox, hidden behind Caroline' s winter boots. It wasn't hers; her journals were always brightly colored, filled with architectural sketches. This one was plain black. Curiosity, a rare emotion for him, took hold. He opened it.

The first page was titled in Caroline' s neat, precise handwriting: The 100-Point Divorce Plan.

Blake frowned. He read the rules written below.

Starting Points: 100.

For every action that proves this marriage is a mistake, points will be deducted.

When the score reaches zero, I will file for divorce. No exceptions.

He let out a short, humorless laugh. A game. It had to be some silly game his wife was playing. He flipped through the pages. Each entry was dated, a meticulous log of his supposed transgressions.

-1 Point: He forgot our anniversary. Again. He was having dinner with Ariana.

-2 Points: He canceled our vacation because Ariana' s dog was sick. He spent the weekend at her apartment.

-1 Point: He called me Ariana by mistake.

-3 Points: He bought the last bottle of a vintage wine I' d been searching for, only to give it to Ariana for her birthday.

The list went on, page after page. A detailed, painful chronicle of his neglect. Blake felt a flicker of annoyance, not guilt. He saw it not as a record of his failures, but as a testament to Caroline' s obsession with his friendship with Ariana Whitfield. Ariana was his first love, the one who had shattered him when she left years ago.

Caroline knew that. He had married Caroline on the rebound, a convenient, stable choice from a good family, a person who could manage the Santos household while he focused on his career and, if he was honest, nursed his broken heart.

He shut the notebook, his annoyance hardening into cold indifference. He tossed it back into the box. A ridiculous, childish list. It meant nothing. He found his cufflinks and shut the closet door, the notebook already fading from his mind. He had more important things to think about. He had a custom-made necklace for Ariana in his briefcase. Her art gallery was having its grand opening, and he needed to be there.

He walked into the living room. Caroline was on the couch, sketching on a large pad, her brow furrowed in concentration. She looked up when he entered, a hopeful light in her eyes that he had long ago stopped noticing.

"You' re home early," she said, her voice soft.

"I have to go out again soon," he replied, loosening his tie. "Ariana' s gallery opening."

The light in her eyes dimmed. "Oh. Right."

He saw the notebook on the coffee table, a different one, one of her sketchbooks. He glanced at an open page. It was a drawing of a nursery, detailed and full of soft light. A crib, a mobile with tiny stars, a rocking chair. He felt a strange pang in his chest, an unfamiliar emotion he couldn't place. They had been trying for a child for over a year.

"Is that for a client?" he asked, his voice flat.

Caroline quickly closed the sketchbook. "Just an idea."

He didn' t press. He didn' t care. His mind was on Ariana. He looked at the clock. He should leave soon. He wanted to be the first one there, to see her face when she saw the necklace.

He stood there, a silent wall between them, when his phone rang. It was his best friend, Mark.

"Blake! Turn on the news! Now!" Mark' s voice was frantic.

Blake grabbed the remote and switched on the television. A live news report filled the screen. A building was engulfed in flames. Thick black smoke billowed into the night sky. The reporter' s voice was urgent.

"Firefighters are on the scene at the new Whitfield Gallery downtown, where a massive fire broke out just an hour before its scheduled grand opening..."

Blake' s blood ran cold.

Ariana.

The world narrowed to that single thought. He grabbed his keys, his coat, and bolted for the door without a word to Caroline. He didn' t look back. He didn' t see the look of utter devastation on her face as she watched him go.

Caroline followed him. She didn' t know why. Some desperate, foolish part of her needed to see it for herself. She drove through the city, her hands tight on the steering wheel, her heart pounding a sick rhythm against her ribs.

When she arrived, the scene was chaos. Police barricades, flashing lights, the roar of the fire. Blake had abandoned his car and was arguing with a firefighter, his face a mask of raw panic.

"She' s in there! I have to get her!" Blake yelled, trying to push past the man.

"Sir, it' s too dangerous! The structure is unstable!" the firefighter shouted back.

"I don' t care! She' s trapped!"

Mark was there, trying to restrain him. "Blake, calm down! They' ll get her!"

"They' re not fast enough!" Blake' s voice was ragged with a desperation Caroline had never heard from him. Not for her. Never for her. He looked at the burning building as if it held his entire world. In that moment, Caroline knew it did.

He shoved Mark away and made a run for the entrance.

"My hands!" he screamed at the firefighter who grabbed his arm. "Do you know who I am? I' m Blake Santos! These hands are insured for millions! They perform miracles! But I would trade them, I would trade my entire career, just to know she' s safe! Let me go!"

It was a declaration. A confession. A truth so brutal it felt like a physical blow.

Mark saw Caroline then, standing in the shadows, her face pale. He looked horrified.

"Caroline... I..."

She heard Mark' s wife, Sarah, whisper to him, "God, Mark, he' s been obsessed with Ariana since high school. I thought marrying Caroline would fix him, but he' s just gotten worse."

Sarah' s words confirmed everything. It wasn' t just neglect. It was a love story she had no part in. She was just an obstacle. An afterthought.

For three years, she had tried. She had loved him with everything she had, hoping that one day he would see her. She had decorated their home, managed his social obligations, comforted him after long surgeries, and endured his family' s cold scrutiny. She had believed her love could eventually heal his old wounds, that it could be enough.

It was a lie she had told herself. The truth had been there all along, in every missed anniversary, every canceled plan, every time he looked through her as if she were made of glass.

The 100-point plan wasn't a game. It was a lifeline. A way to quantify the slow, bleeding death of her love. A way to give herself a finish line, an escape hatch from a marriage that was hollowing her out. And tonight, watching him ready to burn for another woman, she felt a massive chunk of those points crumble away.

A cheer went up from the crowd. Blake emerged from the smoke, carrying Ariana in his arms. She was conscious, coughing, but otherwise seemed unharmed. He held her like she was the most precious thing in the world, his face buried in her hair. He carried her to the ambulance, whispering things only she could hear.

He never once looked for Caroline.

After ensuring Ariana was safely with the paramedics, Blake' s body finally gave out. The adrenaline faded, and he collapsed to the ground, unconscious from smoke inhalation.

In the sterile white waiting room of the hospital, the smell of antiseptic sharp in her nose, Caroline' s mind drifted back. She remembered the charity gala where she first met him. He was the most brilliant, captivating man she had ever seen. A star neurosurgeon from the powerful Santos family. She, a promising young architect, had been bold. She had pursued him.

He had been grieving Ariana' s marriage to another man. She knew that. But when he proposed six months later, she thought she had won. She thought her devotion had finally broken through his reserve.

The illusion shattered a year into their marriage. At a party, she overheard one of Blake' s friends, drunk and loose-lipped, telling someone the truth. "Blake only married her because Ariana got married. He needed a distraction, a wife to satisfy his family. Poor girl thinks he actually loves her."

That was the day Ariana became a thorn in her heart, a constant, painful presence in her marriage. It was the day she went out and bought the plain black journal. It was her last act of self-preservation. A way to measure the pain until it became too much to bear.

Ariana' s return to Boston after her own divorce a year ago had accelerated everything. The points on her list disappeared with terrifying speed. Her heart, once full of hope, had grown cold and heavy.

A doctor approached her, pulling her from her thoughts. "Mrs. Santos? Your husband is stable. He inhaled a lot of smoke, but he' ll be fine. Miss Whitfield is also fine, just a few scratches."

Mark and Sarah came over, their faces etched with pity. "Caroline, he' ll come to his senses," Sarah said, placing a hand on her arm. "The Santos family will make sure he treats you right."

Caroline just looked at them, a bitter taste in her mouth. She stood up and walked out of the waiting room, leaving them behind.

Back home, in the silent, empty house, she walked to the closet and took out the black journal. She opened it to the last entry.

-5 Points: He ran into a burning building for her.

-10 Points: He said he would give up his career for her.

She uncapped her pen. Her hand was steady.

-10 Points: He collapsed after saving her, and his first and last thought was of her, not me.

She did the math. Only a few points left. Very few. The end was near.

Continue Reading

Other books by Valeria

More
Five Years' Love, Shattered by a Call

Five Years' Love, Shattered by a Call

Romance

4.7

My wedding to Ethan, the man I’d loved for five years, was weeks away. Everything was set for our future, a beautifully planned life together. Then the call came: Ethan’s high school sweetheart, Chloe, was found with severe amnesia, still believing she was his girlfriend. Ethan postponed our wedding, asked me to pretend to be his brother Liam’s girlfriend, insisting it was "for Chloe’s sake." I endured quiet agony watching him relive their past, his every loving gesture now for her. Chloe’s Instagram became a public shrine to their "rekindled" love, #TrueLove emblazoned everywhere. I even found a groundbreaking clinic for Chloe, hoping for an end, but Ethan brushed it off. Then, I overheard him: I was just a "placeholder," a "good sport" who would wait, because I had "nowhere else to go." Five years of my life, my love, my loyalty, reduced to a disposable convenience. The cold, calculated betrayal punched the air from my lungs. He thought I was trapped, that he could use me at will, then return to me, expecting gratitude. Numb, I stumbled. And then, I met Liam, Ethan’s quiet brother. "I need to get married, Liam. To someone. Soon." The words escaped me. Liam, who had watched silently, responded: "What if I said I'd marry you, Ava? For real." A dangerous, desperate plan ignited within me, fueled by pain and a fierce desire for reckoning. "Alright, Liam," I declared, a new resolve hardening my voice. "But I have conditions: Ethan must be your Best Man, and he must give me away at the altar." The charade was about to begin, but now, it was on my terms. And Ethan had no idea the bride was truly me.

Remarried To The Ruthless Mafia King

Remarried To The Ruthless Mafia King

Modern

5.0

I found the instruction manual for my own abandonment on a dark web forum while my husband scrubbed the scent of another woman from his skin in the bathroom. The thread was titled "Burden Disposal Strategies." The user, RatKing88, asked a simple question: "How do I dump a loyal wife without triggering a war with the old guard? My parents love her more than me." The replies were brutal. They suggested faking a dangerous mission, forcing a paper divorce for 'asset protection,' and then disappearing with the cash. Moments later, Luca walked out of the bathroom smelling of cheap vanilla perfume and panic. He grabbed my hands, his palms sweating, and spun a clumsy lie about a "Code Red" mission in Sicily. "It is going to be a bloodbath, Sienna," he whispered, his eyes wide with manic energy. "We need to divorce on paper. It is the only way to protect you from the vendettas." I felt a cold rage settle in my gut. He wasn't a soldier going to war. He was a rat running off with his mistress and the family savings, leaving his stroke-ridden father and our daughter with nothing. He planned to wait for his parents to die so he could return for the inheritance. He thought I was just a naive, caged canary who would wait forever. But he forgot that canaries are the first to smell poison in the air. I didn't scream. I didn't expose him. Instead, I looked him in the eye with carefully manufactured sorrow and signed the papers. He thought he was escaping to freedom with a bag full of stolen cash. He didn't realize he had just voluntarily abdicated his throne. And I was going to take it.

Shattered Hand, Broken Heart, Burning Soul

Shattered Hand, Broken Heart, Burning Soul

Mafia

5.0

The first blow cracked a rib, the second dissolved the world into pain. They dragged me into an alley, brutalizing me, shattering my drawing hand, and carving out my kidney. Just before I blacked out, I saw them: Eleanor, my adoptive mother; Olivia, my sister; Sarah, my fiancée. Standing at the alley's edge, watching with cold, tense eyes as I lay bleeding. Then, Eleanor' s chillingly calm voice cut through the haze: "Is it done?" A man confirmed my hand was shattered, and pointed to a cooler. My kidney. They had taken my kidney. Later, in the sterile hospital room, I overheard them. Eleanor confirmed my art career was destroyed. Olivia expressed relief. Sarah, my fiancée, twisted the knife: "This is for the best. Caleb couldn't handle the rejection." My heart pounded with sick realization. For seven years, my achievements had been sacrificed for Caleb's "fragility." I was a fool, believing their love, their sisterhood, their devotion. I was an obstacle, a resource to be drained and discarded. The party celebrating Caleb's scholarship, built on my ruin, raged downstairs-on my birthday, which they' d forgotten. I was bleeding, injured by a dog they claimed I' d attacked, forced to apologize by Eleanor, who shoved my head, sending me crashing. But as I lay broken, a new fire ignited within me. I clutched a faded photograph: my real father. And on it, a phone number for my grandfather. "I've been waiting for your call, son. Tell me where you are. I'm on my way."

You'll also like

Flash Marriage To My Best Friend's Father

Flash Marriage To My Best Friend's Father

Madel Cerda

I was once the heiress to the Solomon empire, but after it crumbled, I became the "charity case" ward of the wealthy Hyde family. For years, I lived in their shadows, clinging to the promise that Anson Hyde would always be my protector. That promise shattered when Anson walked into the ballroom with Claudine Chapman on his arm. Claudine was the girl who had spent years making my life a living hell, and now Anson was announcing their engagement to the world. The humiliation was instant. Guests sneered at my cheap dress, and a waiter intentionally sloshed champagne over me, knowing I was a nobody. Anson didn't even look my way; he was too busy whispering possessively to his new fiancée. I was a ghost in my own home, watching my protector celebrate with my tormentor. The betrayal burned. I realized I wasn't a ward; I was a pawn Anson had kept on a shelf until he found a better trade. I had no money, no allies, and a legal trust fund that Anson controlled with a flick of his wrist. Fleeing to the library, I stumbled into Dallas Koch-a titan of industry and my best friend's father. He was a wall of cold, absolute power that even the Hydes feared. "Marry me," I blurted out, desperate to find a shield Anson couldn't climb. Dallas didn't laugh. He pulled out a marriage agreement and a heavy fountain pen. "Sign," he commanded, his voice a low rumble. "But if you walk out that door with me, you never go back." I signed my name, trading my life for the only man dangerous enough to keep me safe.

No Longer Mrs. Cooley: The Architect's Return

No Longer Mrs. Cooley: The Architect's Return

Xiao Xiaosu

I went to the City Clerk’s office for a routine copy of my marriage license to finalize a trust fund audit. I expected a simple piece of paper, but the clerk’s pitying look told me my entire life was a lie. "The license was never finalized, Ms. Oliver. In the eyes of the state, you are single." The three-hundred-guest wedding at the Plaza and the Vogue features meant nothing. My husband, Gray Cooley, had intentionally filed the documents with a "procedural defect" so he could discard me without a legal divorce. Moments later, an iCloud invite titled "Our Little Secret" popped up on my screen. It was a photo of my best friend, Brylee, holding a positive pregnancy test at our Hamptons estate. Gray’s text to her was the final blow: "Happy anniversary, babe. This baby is the best gift. Once the trust unlocks today, we’re done with the charade." I soon discovered they were even stealing my career, reassigning my architectural masterpiece to Brylee while preparing my eviction notice. Gray's mother called me a "barren mule" in a leaked recording, mocking the infertility I suffered after saving Gray’s life in a construction accident. I wasn't a wife; I was a three-year placeholder used to secure his inheritance. How could the man I bled for treat me like a disposable prop? How could my best friend carry his child while pretending to comfort me through my darkest moments? The betrayal burned until it turned into a cold, hard stone of fury. I didn't cry. Instead, I walked into the penthouse of the Barretts, the Cooleys' most powerful rivals. I signed a marriage contract with Kane Barrett, the man the tabloids called the "Beast of Wall Street." "I want a wedding," I told his father, my voice steady and lethal. "Bigger than the one I had with Gray." If they wanted me gone, they would have to watch me become the woman who owns their world.

The Ghost Wife's Billion Dollar Tech Comeback

The Ghost Wife's Billion Dollar Tech Comeback

Huo Wuer

Today is October 14th, my birthday. I returned to New York after months away, dragging my suitcase through the biting wind, but the VIP pickup zone where my husband's Maybach usually idled was empty. When I finally let myself into our Upper East Side penthouse, I didn't find a cake or a "welcome home" banner. Instead, I found my husband, Caden, kneeling on the floor, helping our five-year-old daughter wrap a massive gift for my half-sister, Adalynn. Caden didn't even look up when I walked in; he was too busy laughing with the girl who had already stolen my father's legacy and was now moving in on my family. "Auntie Addie is a million times better than Mommy," my daughter Elara chirped, clutching a plush toy Caden had once forbidden me from buying for her. "Mommy is mean," she whispered loudly, while Caden just smirked, calling me a "drill sergeant" before whisking her off to Adalynn's party without a second glance. Later that night, I saw a video Adalynn posted online where my husband and child laughed while mocking my "sensitive" nature, treating me like an inconvenient ghost in my own home. I had spent five years researching nutrition for Elara's health and managing every detail of Caden's empire, only to be discarded the moment I wasn't in the room. How could the man who set his safe combination to my birthday completely forget I even existed? The realization didn't break me; it turned me into ice. I didn't scream or beg for an explanation. I simply walked into the study, pulled out the divorce papers I'd drafted months ago, and took a black marker to the terms. I crossed out the alimony, the mansion, and even the custody clause-if they wanted a life without me, I would give them exactly what they asked for. I left my four-carat diamond ring on the console table and walked out into the rain with nothing but a heavily encrypted hard drive. The submissive Mrs. Holloway was gone, and "Ghost," the most lethal architect in the tech world, was finally back online to take back everything they thought I'd forgotten.

Chapters
Read Now
Download Book
The 100-Point Divorce Plan The 100-Point Divorce Plan Valeria Romance
“For three years, I documented the slow death of my marriage in a black journal. It was my 100-point divorce plan: for every time my husband, Blake, chose his first love, Ariana, over me, I deducted points. When the score hit zero, I would leave. The final points vanished the night he left me bleeding out from a car crash. I was eight weeks pregnant with the child we had prayed for. In the ER, the nurses frantically called him-the star surgeon of the very hospital I was dying in. "Dr. Santos, we have a Jane Doe, O-negative, bleeding out. She's pregnant, and we're about to lose them both. We need you to authorize an emergency blood transfer." His voice came over the speaker, cold and impatient. "I can't. My priority is Miss Whitfield. Do what you can for the patient, but I can't divert anything right now." He hung up. He condemned his own child to death to ensure his ex-girlfriend had resources on standby after a minor procedure.”
1

Chapter 1 Chapter

28/08/2025

2

Chapter 2 Chapter

28/08/2025

3

Chapter 3 Chapter

28/08/2025

4

Chapter 4 Chapter

28/08/2025

5

Chapter 5 Chapter

28/08/2025

6

Chapter 6 Chapter

28/08/2025

7

Chapter 7 Chapter

28/08/2025

8

Chapter 8 Chapter

28/08/2025

9

Chapter 9 Chapter

28/08/2025

10

Chapter 10 Chapter

28/08/2025

11

Chapter 11 Chapter

28/08/2025

12

Chapter 12 Chapter

28/08/2025

13

Chapter 13 Chapter

28/08/2025

14

Chapter 14 Chapter

28/08/2025

15

Chapter 15 Chapter

28/08/2025

16

Chapter 16 Chapter

28/08/2025

17

Chapter 17 Chapter

28/08/2025

18

Chapter 18 Chapter

28/08/2025

19

Chapter 19 Chapter

28/08/2025

20

Chapter 20 Chapter

28/08/2025

21

Chapter 21 Chapter

28/08/2025

22

Chapter 22 Chapter

28/08/2025

23

Chapter 23 Chapter

28/08/2025