His Walking Blood Bank: The Unwanted Wife

The sound of a car engine on the gravel driveway startled Emilia awake from her semi-slumber. Dawn had broken, and Delano was back.

She rose from her bed and walked into the enormous walk-in closet. She brushed past her usual pastel-colored dresses and chose a black silk suit. She applied her makeup steadily, a mask of indifference on her face.

Delano walked into the master bedroom, shedding his jacket. He stopped when he saw her, frowning, and loosened his tie. "Arthur said you didn't accept your gift last night." His voice held a familiar edge of impatience, as if her feelings were an inconvenience. Emilia didn't answer. She walked to the coffee table and placed a document on its glass surface. The title was in bold, black letters: DIVORCE AGREEMENT.

Delano's hands stilled on his tie. His gaze lifted from the paper to her face, his ice-blue eyes filled with a flicker of disbelief. "What is this?" His voice was low, a dangerous rumble.

"Exactly what it looks like," Emilia said, her own voice unnervingly calm. "Delano, we're getting a divorce."

A short, humorless laugh escaped him. "A divorce? Emilia, have you forgotten that your Lancaster family still needs me?" He crossed the room in three long strides, his large frame eclipsing her. He gripped her chin, forcing her to look up. The pressure of his fingers was a painful warning. "Who gave you this courage?"

"You did. You and Fanny Solomon."

At the mention of Fanny's name, his eyes turned glacial. He released her, stepping back as if she were contaminated. "So you know," he said, not bothering to deny it. "That doesn't change anything. Fanny needs treatment, and you need to play your part."

"My part?" she asked, a bitter smile touching her lips. "Your mobile blood bag?"

"If that's how you choose to define it." He picked up the divorce agreement. Slowly, deliberately, he tore it in half, then in quarters, letting the pieces flutter into the wastebasket. "I will not agree to a divorce," he declared. "Not until Fanny's condition is completely stable. You're not going anywhere."

Emilia watched the torn paper settle. Her heart felt like it was being shredded along with it, but her expression remained placid. "You will." She took a deep breath. "If you don't, I won't hesitate to tell The New York Times the real story of our marriage. About how the great Delano Gates uses his wife's blood to keep his mistress alive."

His face changed. The cool indifference was gone, replaced by a flash of raw fury. "Are you threatening me?" He stalked toward her, the air crackling. Her palms were slick with sweat, but she held her ground. "I'm stating a fact."

He stared at her for a long, suffocating moment. Then, a slow, cold smile spread across his face. "Very good, Emilia. You have more fight in you than I thought." He pulled out his phone and dialed a number. "It's me. Suspend all credit lines to the Lancaster Group. And begin the process for a hostile takeover. Effective immediately."

Emilia's blood ran cold. This was the brutality she had anticipated. He ended the call, his gaze fixed on her, searching for a flicker of regret. "Now," he said softly, cruelly. "What leverage do you have left? Go ahead, tell the media. I don't care. But before the story even runs, your family will be bankrupt. Your father will be ruined. The choice is yours."

Emilia did not back down. On the contrary, she brought out a file. A slender, icy smile appeared on her lips, reflecting his own ruthlessness. "You're right, Delano. A scandal might not sink you. But what about the encrypted records of the South-East project? Or the 'questionable' offshore accounts I've been tracking? And what do you think happens when the internal trading records for the Gates Group's largest overseas energy acquisition get leaked to the SEC?"

The grip on her chin tightened, then froze. For the first time, the confidence in Delano’s eyes wavered. His pupils contracted. He recognized the files. They detailed deals he thought were flawless, untraceable. He looked at her—really looked at her—not as a possession, but as an opponent. The power in the room shifted.

"I told you," Emilia whispered, her voice as sharp as a blade. "I want a divorce. If the Lancaster Group goes down, I’m taking the Gates Corporation’s entire board of directors to prison with me. Now, do you still want to talk about leverage?"