The Jilted Wife's Dangerous Revenge

Joy pushed through the revolving glass doors of the Wilcox building. Her eyes were bloodshot. Her chest heaved with every breath. The receptionist stood up. "Mrs. Wilcox, you can't go up there without an appointment-" Joy walked right past her. She stepped into the private executive elevator and hit the button for the top floor. The doors opened to the penthouse office. She marched down the hallway like a woman walking to the gallows. She didn't knock. She shoved the heavy glass doors to Angel's office open. Angel was sitting behind his massive mahogany desk, signing a stack of documents. He wore his suit jacket. He looked up. His jaw instantly tightened. "Get out," Angel said to his secretary, who was standing beside him. The secretary scurried out, pulling the doors shut behind her. The office fell dead silent. The only sound was the hum of the air conditioning. Joy walked to the desk. She slammed a piece of paper down on the polished wood. It was the printed receipt of the wire transfer. "Is this what I'm worth to you?" Joy's voice was hoarse. Her throat burned. "One million dollars for three years of my life and a rape in a bathtub?" Angel slowly put his pen down. He leaned back in his leather chair. His face was a mask of absolute indifference. "That's the market rate for an inconvenience," Angel said. "Don't get greedy, Joy." The word 'inconvenience' felt like a physical slap to her face. Her skin burned. "Why are you doing this?" Joy demanded. Her hands gripped the edge of his desk. Her knuckles turned white. "Why the sudden rush to throw me out?" Angel stood up. He walked around the desk and went to the floor-to-ceiling window. He looked out over the Manhattan skyline, his hands in his pockets. "Hillary Warner," Angel said. The name sucked the oxygen out of the room. Joy's lungs seized. She couldn't breathe. Hillary Warner. The woman Angel had loved before the trust fund forced him to marry a nobody. The woman who had broken his heart and moved to Paris. "She's back," Angel said. He didn't turn around. "I need to give her the position she deserves." Joy's vision blurred. The edges of the room turned black. "And what about our marriage?" Joy whispered. "What was I?" Angel finally turned to face her. His eyes were merciless. "You were a transaction," Angel said. "My grandmother's trust required me to be married by thirty to inherit the voting shares. You needed money for your brother. We made a deal. I don't need the camouflage anymore." Joy bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. The physical pain grounded her. She took a deep breath. She straightened her spine. "Your grandmother loves me," Joy said. Her voice was steady now. Cold. Angel's eyes darkened. A muscle ticked in his jaw. "Don't drag the old woman into this," Angel warned. His voice dropped an octave. "She won't let you divorce me," Joy said. She stepped away from the desk, lifting her chin. "Unless she looks me in the eye and tells me to leave, I am not signing those papers." Angel crossed the room in three massive strides. He grabbed her chin. His fingers dug into her jawbone, bruising the skin. He forced her to look up into his furious eyes. The coldness radiating off him made her shiver. "If you go near my grandmother," Angel sneered, his breath hitting her face, "I will make sure you and your pathetic brother never find a job in this city again. I will ruin you." Joy's jaw throbbed in his grip. She didn't blink. She stared right back into the eyes of the man she loved. Suddenly, a phone rang. It wasn't the office line. It was Angel's personal cell phone in his breast pocket. A custom ringtone. Angel froze. His grip on her jaw loosened. He pulled the phone out and looked at the screen. His entire demeanor shifted in a fraction of a second. The rage melted away. His shoulders relaxed. He answered the call. "Hillary," Angel said. His voice was soft. Gentle. A voice he had never, not once, used with Joy. The sound of that gentle tone ripped through Joy's chest like a serrated blade. Angel turned his back on her. He walked toward the coat rack, listening to the woman on the other end of the line. He grabbed his overcoat. He didn't even look at Joy as he walked toward the door. He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. "My lawyers will see you tomorrow," Angel said over his shoulder, his voice cold again. "Don't make this ugly, Joy." He walked out. Joy stood alone in the massive office. Her legs gave out. She sank to the floor, her back against his mahogany desk, and stared at the empty doorway.