General He is really miserable, got divorced by his wife.

Evelyn pulled the silk sheet up over her bare shoulders. Her chest still heaved, her breathing uneven from the intimacy they had just shared. The heat of his skin seemed to linger on hers, a phantom warmth in the dim light of the master bedroom. Julian stood up from the edge of the mattress. He did not look back. His broad back and the hard lines of his muscles looked rigid, carved from cold stone under the glow of the wall sconce. He walked toward the mahogany walk-in closet. His bare feet sank into the thick Persian rug, making absolutely no sound. Evelyn watched him, her heart maintaining a steady, hopeful rhythm. That rhythm shattered when Julian emerged wearing a chilled silk robe. He held a thick manila envelope in his right hand. He walked back to the bed and tossed the envelope onto the mattress. It landed near her knees with a heavy, muffled thud. Evelyn's eyes dropped to the brown paper. A cold dread pooled in her stomach. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached out and pulled the flap open. She slid the documents out. The bold, black letters at the top of the first page screamed at her: DIVORCE AGREEMENT. Evelyn snapped her head up. She stared at Julian, her eyes searching his sharp, handsome features for any sign of a cruel joke. His jaw was set. "Sign it," Julian said. His voice held zero temperature. He looked down at her as if she were a stranger who had overstayed her welcome. He adjusted the belt of his robe. "Scarlett landed at JFK an hour ago. I need my single status restored to welcome her back." The name hit Evelyn like a physical blow to the sternum. Scarlett Vance. All the blood drained from Evelyn's face. Her heart felt as if an invisible fist had reached into her chest and crushed it flat. Her lungs burned. She could not pull in a single breath. She bit down hard on her lower lip, forcing the tears to stay behind her eyes. Suddenly, her stomach violently twisted. A wave of intense nausea surged up her throat. Evelyn clamped a hand over her mouth. She threw the silk sheet aside, stumbled off the bed, her legs weak and shaking, and rushed into the master bathroom. She gripped the edges of the cold marble sink. She hunched over, gagging, her body shaking as dry heaves wracked her chest. Julian stood outside the frosted glass door. His brow furrowed in deep irritation. "Don't use cheap tricks to stall for time, Evelyn," Julian's voice cut through the heavy door, laced with brutal mockery. "Faking an illness won't change anything." Evelyn turned on the faucet. She splashed freezing water onto her face. She stared at her pale, hollow reflection in the mirror. The water dripped from her chin. The naive hope in her eyes died, replaced by a clear, sharp resolve. She grabbed a towel, dried her face, and walked out of the bathroom. She walked straight to the closet and pulled a long trench coat off a hanger. She slipped it over her shoulders, completely ignoring the divorce papers lying on the bed. She grabbed her phone and her handbag from the nightstand. She walked right past Julian, aiming for the bedroom door. Julian reached out and clamped his large hand around her wrist. His grip was like a steel vice. "Where do you think you're going?" he demanded, his voice dropping to a dangerous octave. "I told you to sign." Evelyn yanked her arm with all her strength, breaking his hold. "I am going to the hospital," she said. Her voice was hoarse, but it did not shake. "The papers can wait until I get back." She walked out of the bedroom. She moved down the empty, silent hallway, stepped into the private elevator, and pressed the button for the lobby. The elevator doors slid open on the ground floor. The midnight wind whipped through the revolving doors of the building. Evelyn pulled the collar of her trench coat tight against her neck. She walked out onto the sidewalk of Fifth Avenue. She raised a hand and flagged down a passing yellow cab. She climbed into the back seat. "New York General Hospital, please," she told the driver. She leaned her head against the cold glass of the window. The neon lights of the city blurred past her. Her stomach cramped again, a sharp, twisting pain that made her curl inward. The cab pulled up to the emergency room entrance. Evelyn handed the driver a crumpled twenty-dollar bill and pushed the door open. The bright, sterile lights of the hospital lobby blinded her for a second. She walked to the triage desk and handed over her personal ID and her old, pre-marriage insurance card. The nurse took one look at her pale face and the sweat on her forehead, and immediately wheeled her into the OB-GYN emergency bay. Dr. Matthews, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes, walked in. She asked Evelyn a few questions about her cycle, then instructed her to lie back on the examination table. Cold gel hit the skin of Evelyn's lower abdomen. The ultrasound wand glided over her flesh. A grainy, black-and-white image flickered onto the monitor. Dr. Matthews stopped moving the wand. She pointed a gloved finger at the screen. "You are pregnant, Mrs. Harrison," Dr. Matthews said, her tone serious. She pointed to two distinct dark spots. "And it is a twin pregnancy." Evelyn stopped breathing. "However," Dr. Matthews continued, her frown deepening, "your physical exhaustion and extreme emotional distress are causing a threatened miscarriage. You are at high risk." Evelyn stared blankly at the monitor. Her hand moved on its own, resting flat against her stomach. The tears she had fought so hard to hold back finally spilled over her lashes, hot and fast. "We need to admit you for observation immediately," Dr. Matthews said. Evelyn simply nodded, her fingers pressing gently into her own flesh, protecting the two tiny lives she had just discovered.