Rising From Shadows: The Billionaire's Cold Revenge

Ephram stood under the smoking shelter outside the hospital. The rain had stopped, leaving the air damp and heavy. He looked at the phone in his hand. The screen was cracked, the battery life was terrible, and it was filled with messages from a life he hated.

"By the way," Arlie's voice echoed in his memory. "The Alvarado girl is waiting."

Ephram scowled. An arranged marriage. Another chain.

He raised his arm and threw the phone. It hit the concrete with a satisfying crunch, shattering into pieces. The battery skittered across the pavement.

He took a silver cigarette case from his inner pocket. He lit a cigarette, the flame illuminating his face for a brief second. He inhaled deep, the smoke filling his lungs.

A black SUV rolled up to the curb. It made no sound. The window rolled down three inches. A hand extended, holding a sleek, black satellite phone.

Ephram took it. The window rolled up. The SUV waited.

He powered on the device. It booted up instantly, connecting to a secure network.

Immediately, it rang. The contact name synced from the cloud: Mrs. Wilson. His mother-in-law.

Ephram frowned. He slid the answer button.

"Ephram!" Mrs. Wilson's shrill voice pierced his ear. "Where the hell are you? Erlene said you were making a scene and screaming at her at the hospital!"

"She's lying," Ephram said calmly. He flicked ash onto the wet ground.

"I don't care!" she screamed. "Now that the old hag is dead, you have no reason to stay. Andrew is back. He's a hero. He just paid off the loan on Erlene's car! What have you done? You can't even pay for gas!"

Ephram smiled. It was a cold, sharp expression. "Are you sure he bought it?"

There was a pause. "What is that supposed to mean? You jealous loser! Just sign the divorce papers tomorrow! Don't stand in the way of her happiness!"

Ephram looked up at the neon sign of the hospital. "Don't worry. I'll sign. You'll get everything you want."

Mrs. Wilson sounded suspicious. "What do you want? Alimony? We won't give you a dime!"

"I don't want anything," Ephram said softly. "I just hope you don't regret it."

He hung up. He blocked the number.

He tapped on the window of the SUV. The driver got out and handed him a manila envelope.

Ephram opened it. The divorce papers were already drafted. He leaned the envelope against the wall under the streetlamp. He took a pen and signed his name. The signature was bold, aggressive. Not the handwriting of a defeated man.

He tossed the envelope into the passenger seat of his rusted Honda Civic. He got in. The engine sputtered before roaring to life with a noise that sounded like a dying animal.

He pulled out into the street. He was going back to the apartment. He had one last thing to do.