The Billionaire's Ex-Wife Is A Queen

Holly ignored Crawford's outstretched hand. She stepped out of the limo in her high heels, keeping her back straight.

Surrounded by bodyguards, they walked into the private rehab center. The place looked more like a five-star hotel than a hospital.

The elevator took them straight to the top floor. The head nurse respectfully pushed open a massive glass door. Inside was a sunlit conservatory filled with tropical plants.

Holly immediately spotted Delphine sitting in a wheelchair. She wore a pure white hospital gown, looking fragile and pitiful.

The second Crawford saw Delphine, the dark tension left his body. His steps naturally sped up.

He walked to the wheelchair and crouched down. His voice dropped to a gentle tone Holly had never heard before. He asked how she was feeling today.

Delphine offered a weak smile. Her eyes bypassed Crawford and locked dead onto Holly.

She covered her mouth in fake surprise. Her voice trembled as she said she didn't know Mrs. Morris was coming. She apologized for not being prepared to host.

Holly watched her cheap acting with cold eyes. She stood a few feet away. She replied coldly that she was just here to inspect the family's charity investments.

The words were a direct insult, calling Delphine a parasite living off the Morris money. Delphine's face stiffened instantly.

Crawford frowned hard. He stood up and blocked Delphine from view. He warned Holly to watch her mouth.

Delphine timed it perfectly. She grabbed the cuff of Crawford's shirt. Her eyes turned red. She whispered that she really was just a burden.

She suddenly started coughing violently. She gasped for air, looking like she was about to pass out.

Crawford panicked. He slammed the call button on the wall. He rubbed her back gently while glaring at Holly, blaming her for triggering the attack.

Holly watched the touching scene play out. Her stomach churned violently. The sight made her physically sick.

The medical team rushed in. They wheeled Delphine into the inner examination room. Crawford followed right behind them.

Holly stood alone in the middle of the conservatory. Surrounded by lush green plants, she looked like an unwanted outsider.

Ten minutes later, Crawford walked out of the inner room. He shut the door. His face was dark as he marched toward Holly.

He grabbed her wrist. He dragged her roughly into an empty lounge room next door.

He locked the door behind them. He shoved Holly against the solid wood door. He lowered his voice into a growl and asked if she was trying to kill Delphine.

Holly ripped her hand out of his grip. She mocked him. She told him if his heart hurt so much, he should submit the divorce papers to the court right now.

The word divorce lit a dark, uncontrollable fire in Crawford's eyes. He felt his absolute authority being fundamentally challenged.

He stared at Holly's stubborn, cold face. His gaze dropped from her defiant eyes to the slight tremble of her pale lips. The air between them thickened, suffocating and charged. He leaned in, his broad shadow entirely swallowing her smaller frame. The faint scent of her vanilla perfume clashed violently with the sterile hospital alcohol in the air. He suddenly dropped his head, his movement entirely devoid of hesitation. He crushed his lips against hers with brutal force.

There was absolutely zero warmth in the kiss. It was pure, unadulterated punishment and raw, terrifying possession. The impact forced a sharp gasp from her throat. It tasted like metallic blood, bitter anger, and a desperate need for control.

Holly's eyes widened in sheer panic before narrowing into pure fury. She fought back wildly. Her fists slammed into his solid chest, each strike fueled by years of pent-up resentment. But he anticipated her resistance. His large hand shot up, his fingers wrapping around both of her delicate wrists like an iron shackle, effortlessly pinning them against the solid wood above her head.

His other arm wrapped around her waist, crushing her body against his. He tried to force her to submit through sheer physical power.

Right then, the door handle rattled. A nurse's voice called out from the hallway, asking if Mr. Morris was in there.

Crawford froze, the authoritative voice from the hallway acting like a bucket of ice water. Reality crashed violently back into his brain, shattering the primal haze that had consumed him. He abruptly let go of Holly, taking a staggering step back, his chest heaving heavily as he tried to regain his composure.

Holly didn't hesitate for a microsecond. The moment her wrists were free, she channeled every ounce of her humiliation and rage into her right arm. She used the opening to strike. She swung her hand in a wide, vicious arc and slapped him across the face with everything she had. The sharp, explosive crack echoed loudly in the small, confined room, leaving a stinging vibration in her palm.

She watched the immediate aftermath, feeling no victory, only a deep, churning nausea. She aggressively wiped her bruised mouth with the back of her hand, trying to scrub away the lingering heat of his touch. She looked at his shocked profile as if he were nothing more than toxic trash. Her breathing was ragged, but her voice was deadly quiet when she spat out one final sentence. "You make me sick."