My Terminal Diagnosis, His Cruel Divorce

Guthrie pointed his heavy cane directly at the divorce papers on the table. The thick veins on the back of his hand bulged with absolute fury.

Gerard stepped in front of the table. "Grandfather, you do not understand. We have irreconcilable differences. It is better for both of us if we-"

A loud, sharp slap cut off his sentence.

Guthrie struck Gerard across the face with his open hand. The sound was crisp and brutal in the quiet living room.

Adaline gasped. Without thinking, she stepped forward and placed herself between Gerard and the angry old man. The protective gesture was entirely instinctual.

Guthrie saw her move to shield his grandson. The intense rage in his eyes softened just a fraction.

Gerard looked at the thin back of the woman standing in front of him. A flash of shock crossed his face, quickly replaced by a dark, complicated shadow.

Guthrie banged his cane on the floor again. "The Crosby family trust is very clear, Gerard. If you divorce, you lose your voting rights as CEO. You lose control of the board. Are you willing to throw away the empire for some petty argument?"

Gerard clenched his jaw. His hands curled into tight fists at his sides. The Wall Street board was already looking for a reason to push him out. He knew his grandfather was not making an empty threat.

Guthrie turned his attention to Adaline. His tone dropped, becoming surprisingly gentle. "Tell me the truth, Adaline. IIs he having an affair with another woman outside? Is he mistreating you?"

Adaline felt Gerard's intense, warning gaze burning into the back of her head. Her stomach cramped violently, but she forced her facial muscles into a perfect, polite smile.

She reached back and wrapped her hand around Gerard's arm. "No, Grandfather. There is no one else. Gerard has just been working too much. We had a stupid fight. I printed those papers to scare him. We were never going to sign them."

Gerard immediately wrapped his arm around her waist. His fingers dug into her side, applying just enough pressure to warn her to keep playing along. He pulled her close, creating a picture of a unified couple.

Guthrie let out a cold snort. "Do not insult my intelligence. I know a lie when I hear one. I am staying here to supervise you two until I am satisfied this marriage is stable."

He turned to his butler. "Bruno. Go check the master bedroom. Make sure they are actually sleeping in the same bed."

Adaline's blood ran cold. A layer of cold sweat broke out on her forehead. She slept in the guest room. All her clothes, her personal items, and most importantly, her cancer medication, were hidden in the guest room nightstand.

Gerard felt her body go completely rigid against his side. He leaned down and whispered into her ear. "Let me handle it."

He let go of her and walked quickly toward the hallway before Bruno could move. He stepped into the guest room, grabbed Adaline's pillows, her silk pajamas, and her hairbrush, and threw them onto the massive bed in the master suite.

Bruno walked in a minute later. He scanned the room, noted the two sets of pillows and the mixed items, and walked back out. "Everything appears normal, sir."

Guthrie looked slightly less angry. "Fine. We will have lunch together. I remember that seafood risotto you made for me last Thanksgiving," Guthrie said, his tone softening slightly. "Bruno, have the kitchen prepare the finest ingredients. Adaline, I want you to go down and supervise the chef. Guide them through your recipe. I have a craving for that exact taste today."

Adaline's heart sank. The cancer had destroyed her ability to tolerate strong smells. Even just standing near the prep station, the scent of raw seafood would make her violently ill. But she had no choice. She smiled and nodded. "Of course, Grandfather."

She walked into the open-concept kitchen. The private chef had already laid out fresh shrimp and scallops on the counter, waiting for her instructions. Wanting to finish this as quickly as possible, Adaline stepped closer to inspect the ingredients. The intense, briny smell of the raw seafood hit her nose.

Her face turned chalk-white. She dropped the knife and gripped the edge of the marble counter, fighting the overwhelming urge to vomit.

Gerard walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water. He saw her swaying on her feet, looking like she was about to pass out. He frowned deeply. He walked over, bumped her out of the way with his hip, and picked up the knife.

"Stop playing the victim in front of him," he muttered under his breath. He began awkwardly peeling the shrimp, his expensive suit cuffs getting stained with seafood juice.

Adaline watched the billionaire CEO, a man who never stepped foot in a kitchen, doing prep work just to save his stock options. A bitter smile touched her lips.

An hour later, they sat at the dining table. Guthrie watched them like a hawk. "Gerard, peel a shrimp for your wife."

Gerard picked up a cooked shrimp. His long fingers pulled off the shell. He placed the meat directly onto Adaline's plate. "Eat it." His eyes dared her to refuse.

Adaline stared at the shrimp. Her stomach churned. She picked up her fork, forced the meat into her mouth, and swallowed.

The reaction was instantaneous. A violent wave of nausea ripped through her body. She slapped her hand over her mouth, pushed her chair back so hard it crashed to the floor, and sprinted toward the first-floor powder room.

Guthrie froze. He stared at the empty doorway. Then, a massive, joyful smile broke across his wrinkled face. He turned to Gerard. "Is she pregnant?"

Gerard looked like he had been struck by lightning. His face twisted into an expression of pure horror. He knew for a fact he had not touched his wife in two years.

In the bathroom, Adaline fell to her knees and vomited everything into the toilet. When she finally stopped, she saw a thin streak of bright red blood mixed in the water.

A sudden, paralyzing chill gripped her heart, far colder than the marble floor beneath her. The blood was a glaring, undeniable siren that her body was deteriorating faster than she had anticipated. The sheer terror of her own mortality crashed over her, suffocating her more than Gerard's cruel accusations ever could. She knew her time was slipping through her fingers like sand. Trembling, she closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the cold porcelain, trying to steady her erratic breathing. But amidst the fear for her own life, another dreadful realization dawned on her. She knew exactly what the old man was thinking out there. This misunderstanding was going to drag her straight into hell.