The Jilted Wife's Ruthless Wall Street Return

The sterile cold of the Manhattan private hospital hit Adriene Rodgers the second the elevator doors slid open. She stepped onto the top floor, her fingers tightening around the handle of the insulated thermos. The metal dug into her skin, but she barely felt it. Her heart was beating too fast, hammering against her ribs with a sickening rhythm. Dallin had been in a car accident. The call had nearly stopped her breathing. She pulled her trench coat tighter around her waist, the chill of the air conditioning seeping through the fabric. She walked down the quiet corridor, her soft-soled shoes making no sound against the polished floor. At the end of the hall, two large bodyguards stood talking in hushed tones. They were facing the window, their backs to the blind spot along the wall. Adriene pressed herself closer to the edge, slipping past their line of sight. She wanted to surprise Dallin. She wanted to see his face, to know he was truly safe, before the staff announced her arrival. She reached the heavy oak door of the VIP suite. Her hand hovered over the brass handle. She was just about to push it open when a sliver of harsh white light from the crack in the door caught her eye. She paused. From inside, Dallin's voice drifted out. It was low. It was not the warm, lingering tone he used when he kissed her forehead every morning. It was cold. It sounded like ice cracking. Adriene's eyebrows drew together. "Is the press release ready?" It was Pax Keller, Dallin's lead attorney. Adriene held her breath. Why was Pax here in the middle of the night talking about press releases? "The scandal is contained," Pax said, his voice tight. "But burying Elaina's name in this mess cost us a fortune. The media was seconds away from finding out she was in the car with you." Adriene's stomach violently twisted. A sharp, physical ache bloomed just below her ribs. Elaina. His late brother's widow. Dallin let out a short, humorless laugh. "I don't care what it costs. As long as Elaina's reputation remains spotless, pay them whatever they want." The words felt like a bucket of ice water poured directly over Adriene's head. Her fingers went numb. "And what about Adriene?" Pax asked. "How do you explain this to your wife?" "Adriene is exactly what I need her to be," Dallin said, his voice dripping with casual disdain. "A perfect social shield." Adriene's hand jerked. The metal handle of the thermos snapped sharply against her palm, the sudden pain biting into her flesh. She almost gasped. Outside the window, a massive crack of thunder shook the glass, drowning out the sharp intake of air that tore through Adriene's throat. "Her flashy personality draws all the paparazzi," Dallin continued, his tone clinical. "She keeps the cameras busy so Elaina can live in peace. That's all this marriage is." "You deserve an Oscar, Dallin," Pax chuckled. "The whole city thinks you are madly in love with your wife." Adriene's eyes burned. The heat rushed to her face, and she bit down on her lower lip so hard she tasted copper. "It takes everything in me," Dallin said, his voice dropping into a sneer of pure disgust. "Every time I have to touch Adriene, it makes me physically sick. The only way I can stomach it is by closing my eyes and thinking of Elaina." The words were a physical blow. Adriene's knees gave out. Her legs turned to water, and she stumbled backward. Her spine slammed hard against the cold wall of the corridor. Inside the room, the conversation abruptly stopped. "Did you hear that?" Pax asked. Heavy footsteps moved toward the door. Pure, animal panic seized Adriene's chest. Her survival instinct kicked in. She spun around, her eyes darting frantically, and threw herself into the slightly ajar utility closet just inches away. The heavy suite door swung open. Pax stepped out into the hallway, his eyes scanning the empty space. A cold draft blew past him. He frowned, his jaw tight, but saw nothing. Inside the pitch-black closet, Adriene pressed both hands over her mouth. Tears spilled over her eyelashes, hot and fast, tracking down her cheeks. Her shoulders shook violently, her chest heaving as she fought to keep her breathing silent. Pax stepped back inside and the door clicked shut. The immediate danger was gone. Adriene dropped her hands, gasping for air as if she had been held underwater. She looked down at the thermos in her trembling hands. The soup she had spent three hours making. It felt heavy. It felt like a joke. A wave of intense nausea rolled through her stomach. She pushed the closet door open and stumbled out. She walked straight to the large metal trash can by the elevator. She didn't hesitate. She dropped the thermos inside. It hit the bottom with a hollow, heavy thud. Three years of her life, three years of devotion, shattered into pieces. She pulled her phone from her pocket. The screen lit up with a message Dallin had sent an hour ago: I miss you, honey. A bitter, broken laugh escaped her lips. Her thumb hovered over the screen, and she pressed delete. Adriene turned and walked into the elevator. Her steps, which had been shaky moments ago, grew steady. The soft, loving warmth in her eyes was gone, replaced by a hard, freezing hatred. The doors opened to the lobby. She stepped out and caught her reflection in the glass doors. Her mascara was smeared. She raised the back of her hand and wiped the tears away, her skin turning red from the friction. She pushed through the revolving doors and stepped out into the pouring rain. The freezing drops hit her face, soaking her hair instantly. The cold was a shock to her system, clearing the fog from her brain. A valet ran up to her, holding a large umbrella. "Mrs. Morales! Do you want me to call Mr. Morales's driver?" "No," Adriene said, her voice completely dead. She walked past him, straight into the storm. As the rain soaked through her coat, she thought back to the avalanche in Aspen. She remembered digging Dallin out of the snow until her fingers bled. She laughed out loud at her own stupidity. A yellow cab pulled up to the curb. She opened the door and slid onto the cracked leather seat. "Morales Estate," she told the driver. Her voice held zero emotion. The cab merged into the traffic. Outside the window, the neon lights of Manhattan blurred in the rain. Adriene curled her hands into tight fists, her nails digging deep into her palms. She was going to make them pay. Both of them.