Divorcing The Cold Billionaire After Baby Birth

Victor didn't wait for a response. He walked down the concrete steps, leaving Aria standing alone with her canvas bag. He pulled open the door of the Rolls-Royce and dropped into the leather seat.

Aria pulled her khaki coat tighter around her body. The damp wind bit through the thin fabric. She walked down the steps, went to the opposite side of the car, and slid in. The heavy door clicked shut, sealing them inside the silent, tension-filled cabin.

Victor kept his eyes fixed forward. "Drive," he ordered. He gave the driver, Sean, an address on the very edge of Queens.

Sean's hands jerked on the steering wheel. He looked in the rearview mirror, his eyes wide with shock. He opened his mouth to ask if there was a mistake, caught the lethal glare from his boss, and immediately put the car in gear.

Aria knew New York. She knew exactly what kind of neighborhood that address belonged to. Her hands, resting in her lap, went completely rigid. She didn't say a word.

The Rolls-Royce glided away from the towering glass skyscrapers of Manhattan. Slowly, the scenery shifted. The clean streets gave way to cracked asphalt. The luxury boutiques were replaced by boarded-up storefronts and chain-link fences.

The car finally rolled to a stop in front of a decaying brick apartment building. The exterior walls were covered in faded graffiti. A pile of uncollected trash bags sat leaking on the curb.

A group of teenagers in oversized hoodies stopped walking. They stood on the corner, whistling and pointing at the half-million-dollar vehicle parked in their neighborhood.

Victor turned his head slowly. He looked at Aria. The corner of his mouth twitched upward in a cruel, satisfied smirk. "Your new home."

Aria looked out the window. She saw the grime on the glass doors of the lobby. She knew exactly what he was doing. He wanted to break her. He expected her to scream, to cry, to beg him to take her back to the mansion.

Instead, Aria turned back to him. Her face was completely blank. She gave a single, short nod. "Understood."

She reached for the door handle.

Victor's smirk vanished. His chest tightened with a sudden, violent surge of frustration. It felt like he had swung a baseball bat and hit empty air.

Just as Aria pushed the door open, Victor's hand shot out. He slammed his palm against the lock button. The doors locked with a heavy clunk. He leaned toward her, his eyes dark and dangerous. "Don't play games with me. You won't last two days here."

Aria met his gaze. She didn't flinch. "I know you want a divorce. The second this baby is born, I will sign whatever you want. I will leave with nothing."

Victor let out a harsh, barking laugh. "Leaving with nothing? A classic negotiation tactic. You think playing the martyr will make me lower my guard."

Aria didn't argue. She reached over, manually flipped the lock, and shoved the heavy door open. She stepped out into a puddle of murky water. The cold water soaked instantly through the canvas of her cheap sneakers.

A gust of wind blew a crumpled newspaper past her legs. She looked incredibly small standing against the backdrop of the massive, rotting building.

Victor watched her back. A sudden, irritating thought pierced through his anger. She was pregnant. If she miscarried in this dump, the old woman would have his head.

He rolled down the window. "Sean will pick you up every morning," Victor snapped. "Don't flatter yourself. It's just to keep my grandmother off my back."

Aria stopped walking. She didn't turn around. "I can take the subway."

Victor's jaw clenched so hard his teeth ground together. "I said, Sean will drive you. Do not test my patience."

Aria closed her eyes for a second. She was too tired to fight over a car ride. She gave a slight nod and walked toward the building.

She pulled open the heavy glass door. The lobby was dark. The overhead light fixture was shattered. She pulled out her phone, turned on the flashlight, and walked towards the elevator.

Inside the Rolls-Royce, Victor sat perfectly still. His gaze fixed on the third floor. He kept watching until the light disappeared on the third floor.

Sean looked back nervously. "Sir? Should I arrange a security detail?"

"Drive," Victor spat.

The Rolls-Royce pulled away from the curb, speeding out of the neighborhood as if trying to outrun a disease.

Aria stood in front of apartment 3B. She pushed the rusty key into the lock and turned it. The door groaned open.

A thick smell of dust and stale air hit her face. The living room was completely empty. Spiderwebs hung in the corners of the ceiling. The floorboards were scuffed and dull.

Aria dropped her canvas bag on the floor. She didn't cry. She walked into the tiny kitchen, found a plastic bucket under the sink, and rolled up her sleeves. She had work to do.