Fifty Million Reasons To Hate Him

Harrison picked up the pen and casually tossed it onto the mahogany table. The sharp clatter of the metal hitting the wood echoed like a gunshot in the silent room. Iris flinched as if the sound had physically struck her chest. The lead attorney nervously flipped through the heavy stack of documents. "Mr. Torres," the lawyer asked, his voice tight. "How would you like to restructure the trust fund payout?" Harrison kept his arms crossed. His dark eyes never left Iris's pale face. "Make it a ten-year installment plan," Harrison said flatly. "To ensure the capital remains secure." Iris sucked in a sharp breath. Her hands shot down to her lap, gripping the fabric of her expensive silk skirt. Her fingernails dug so hard into her own thighs he was surprised she didn't draw blood. She forced her facial muscles to relax. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and brimming with fresh tears. "Harrison," she choked out, her voice dripping with disbelief. "Do you really have so little faith in me? After everything?" Ten years?! her inner voice roared, vibrating against his skull. By the time I get that money I'll be old and wrinkled! You cold-blooded vampire! The sheer toxicity of her thoughts felt like a physical slap to his face. Harrison narrowed his eyes. The muscles in his jaw ticked. He had to force his hands to stay flat on the table to keep from reaching across and wrapping them around her neck. Iris pushed her chair back and stood up. She swayed slightly on her heels, looking as though the emotional weight was crushing her fragile bones. She took two slow steps toward him. She reached out and rested her hand gently on his broad shoulder. "I gave up my entire life for this family," she whispered, a tear finally spilling over her lashes. "I just want to be able to start over." Harrison inhaled the faint, familiar scent of her Jo Malone perfume. This perfume cost me a fortune, her voice sneered in his head. I researched his ex-girlfriend's favorite scent just to hook him. Is it not working? A wave of pure nausea hit Harrison's stomach. He violently shoved her hand off his shoulder. The force of his movement threw Iris off balance. She stumbled backward in her heels, her arms flailing as she nearly crashed into the floor. The lawyer gasped and lunged forward to catch her. Harrison shot the man a look so lethal the lawyer froze mid-step and backed away. Iris caught herself on the edge of her chair. She collapsed into the seat, burying her face in her hands. She began to sob loudly, her shoulders heaving with the effort. Harrison stared down at her shaking form. If I throw myself on the floor and get a bruise, can I sue him for another two million in emotional distress? Harrison let out a harsh, bitter laugh. He turned his head to the sweating attorney. "Draft the addendum right now," Harrison ordered, his voice like cracking ice. "Put the ten-year installment plan in writing." Iris's sobbing stopped instantly. She lowered her hands. The vulnerability was gone from her eyes, replaced by a dark, desperate calculation. She took a deep, shuddering breath. She wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand. "Fine," Iris said. Her voice was suddenly steady, laced with a tragic resolve. "If that is what you want, Harrison. I accept." Harrison blinked. He hadn't expected her to cave that quickly. The second I get that first check, her mind hissed venomously, I am hiring someone to take a baseball bat to his limited-edition Porsche. The extreme contrast between her tragic surrender and her violent mental threats was absurd. Harrison felt a strange, twisted sense of amusement rise in his chest. Letting her walk away with a structured settlement felt too easy. It was boring. He wanted to see what else this two-faced woman was capable of. He wanted to watch her squirm in the wild. As the lead attorney frantically typed on his laptop, his fingers a blur across the keys, the low hum of a portable printer in the corner filled the tense silence. It took three agonizing minutes for the machine to spit out the modified document. During that time, Harrison's dark eyes remained locked onto Iris. He watched the subtle twitch of her jaw, the way she carefully maintained her posture of defeat while her mind likely plotted arson and vandalism. He realized a slow bleed was less satisfying than a clean, brutal break. Harrison reached across the table. He grabbed the freshly printed addendum right out of the lawyer's hands. He gripped the top of the paper and ripped it straight down the middle. The sound of tearing paper made Iris jump. She stared at the two halves of the document fluttering to the floor. Her mind raced with frantic confusion. What is he doing? Did I overplay it? Does he know? Harrison didn't look at her. He picked up his Montblanc pen. He flipped to the signature page of the original, lump-sum agreement. He pressed the nib down and slashed his signature across the line, pressing so hard the ink bled through to the next page. He shoved the heavy stack of papers across the polished wood toward Iris. "Take your money," Harrison said, his voice devoid of any human emotion. "And get the hell out of my life." Iris stared at his signature. She bit her inner lip hard to stop herself from smiling. She picked up a cheap plastic pen from the table with trembling fingers. Maintaining her devastated expression, she slowly signed her name. "The divorce is finalized," the lawyer announced quietly. Harrison stood up. He adjusted the lapels of his suit jacket. He didn't spare Iris a single glance. He turned on his heel and strode out of the conference room. Iris dragged her feet as she followed him out into the hallway. They stepped into the private elevator together. The doors slid shut, sealing them in a tight, soundproof metal box. The air pressure in the small space was suffocating. They stood back-to-back. Harrison stared straight ahead at his own reflection in the polished metal doors. A slow, mocking smirk crept onto his lips. Behind him, Iris stood with her head bowed, looking like a defeated prisoner. But inside her head, a massive, deafening crowd was cheering. Pop the champagne! I am rich! I am free! The mental screaming was so loud Harrison actually felt a dull ache behind his eyes.