My Divorced Wife Is A Zillionaire

As if nothing had happened.

Cora walked past him toward the closet. She needed to pack. She needed to be anywhere but here.

His hand closed around her wrist.

"Cora." A pause. "Tonight was... a misunderstanding."

She shook him off. "I said don't bother explaining. The cake is all yours. I already celebrated my birthday-Director Morgan took me out."

It wasn't entirely true. Eleanor Morgan-Mrs. Gable to the children she'd raised at the orphanage-had video-called her at midnight, singing "Happy Birthday" off-key through the phone. It was the highlight of Cora's day.

Mrs. Gable had also given her a gift beyond price: the truth about her family.

Cora wasn't nobody. She wasn't an abandoned orphan with no past and no connections. She was Cora Beaumont-daughter of Richard Beaumont IV, the real estate tycoon whose name was synonymous with wealth on the East Coast. She had three older brothers: Leo, the steady-handed CEO who'd been running the family empire since their father's semi-retirement; Nathan, the prodigy surgeon whose research was changing medicine; and Harrison, the actor-slash-race-car-driver whose face graced magazine covers and whose antics kept tabloids in business.

A billionaire's daughter. A dynasty's lost princess.

She'd planned to tell Julian tonight, over what she'd hoped would be a romantic dinner. She'd imagined his surprise. His pride. Maybe even his admiration.

Now the thought made her want to laugh until she was sick.

"Cora." Julian moved into her line of sight, blocking her path to the door. He was holding a jewelry box. "Forget the cake. Open your gift."

She didn't move.

His jaw tightened, but he popped the lid himself.

Inside lay a sapphire pendant on a platinum chain. Deep blue. Tear-shaped. Stunning.

Exactly like the one hanging around Tiffany Reed's throat.

Ice flooded Cora's veins.

"Happy birthday." Julian lifted the necklace from its velvet bed. "Let me put it on you."

She snatched it from his hands and hurled it across the room. The chain hit the wall with a faint, musical clatter.

"*Enough.*" Her voice shook. "How long are you going to pretend tonight didn't happen?"

Julian's face went very still.

Then, with the patient condescension of a man explaining something to a difficult child, he said: "Tiffany has been my friend since childhood. She was in an accident overseas-her wrist was injured badly, she couldn't paint for months. She's been struggling with depression." A pause. "She came back, and I'm supporting her as a friend. You're making this into something it's not. You're being irrational."

Cora felt the floor drop out from under her.

Her husband had been pulled from a burning hotel room with another woman in his arms, and *she* was being irrational?

Her lungs constricted. Her vision blurred. She thought about the fertility supplements in her nightstand drawer, the ones she'd started taking because she'd convinced herself a baby would fix whatever was broken between them. A child. A family. Something real to hold them together.

God, she'd been so stupid.

Julian retrieved the necklace from the floor, brushing off invisible dust. "There's something else I need to discuss with you."

"Can't wait to hear it."

"I think we should get a divorce."

The words hit her like a physical blow. Even knowing what she knew, even after everything-hearing him say it out loud stole the air from her lungs.

"A temporary one," he added quickly, as if that made it better. "Tiffany is fragile right now. She feels guilty about coming between us, even though she hasn't done anything wrong. If we're officially separated, she can focus on her recovery without that burden. Once she's better, we'll remarry."

Cora stared at him.

"Let me make sure I understand." Her voice was eerily calm. "You want to divorce me-on paper-so your mistress doesn't feel bad about being your mistress."

"She's not my-" Julian stopped. Exhaled. "You're twisting this. Tiffany is kind. She doesn't want to hurt anyone. *You're* the one turning this into something ugly."

"Julian." Cora's voice cut through the room. "If she's so mentally fragile that she's sleeping with a married man, she needs a psychiatrist, not my husband."

His expression snapped shut like a steel trap.

"Don't talk about her that way." Cold. Hard. The voice of a stranger. "Tiffany would never be as calculating as you're implying. She doesn't have a malicious bone in her body."

Not like you, he didn't say. But she heard it anyway.

In that moment, Cora understood.

Julian didn't love her. He never had. She'd been a placeholder, a warm body, a convenient arrangement to please his grandmother. And now that the woman he actually wanted was back, Cora was nothing more than an obstacle to be managed.

"Fine." The word came out on an exhale, carrying the last three years of her life with it. "I'll give you your divorce."

*But not the way you want it.*

Julian's shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly. Of course she'd agreed. Cora always agreed. She was an orphan with no family, no resources, no leverage. What else was she going to do?

He had no idea.

"And Cora?" He reached out, almost touching her cheek. "This doesn't change anything between us. I'll take care of you. I'll be *better* to you."

The audacity nearly knocked her over.

"One more thing." His tone shifted to business. "Grandmother's health is precarious. She can't know about the divorce. If she finds out..." He didn't finish. He didn't need to. Beatrice Vance controlled the shares that made Julian CEO. If the marriage ended, so did his position.

Cora's smile was a blade. "Ah. So that's what this is about. Not the mistress's feelings. The *shares*."

His eyes flashed. "I've told you-I have no intention of truly ending this marriage. Tiffany and I are just-"

"Friends. Right. Got it."

She looked at the man she'd loved since she was nineteen years old, and she felt nothing but cold, clean contempt.

"We'll meet at the courthouse at nine tomorrow. The divorce paperwork should be convincing enough for your *friend*."

Julian blinked, momentarily wrong-footed. Then he nodded.

"Good. That's... reasonable." He paused at the door. "This is just temporary, Cora. You'll see. Once Tiffany is better, we'll-"

She didn't hear the rest. A wave of nausea had been building since she walked through the door, and now it crested into something violent. Her stomach seized. Her vision whited out at the edges.

She doubled over and vomited blood onto the hardwood floor.