The Jilted Wife's Ruthless Wall Street Return

The world around Adriene felt like it was submerged in water. The sounds of the estate were muffled, replaced by a high-pitched ringing in her ears. The cold marble beneath her was the only thing keeping her tethered to reality.

Brenda, the maid, walked down the adjacent hallway carrying a silver tray of fresh fruit. She glanced through the floor-to-ceiling glass doors and froze.

A horrific scream tore from Brenda's throat. The silver tray crashed to the floor, sending grapes and sliced melon skittering across the tiles. She shoved the glass door open and sprinted to the pool deck.

"Mrs. Morales!" Brenda cried, dropping to her knees. She saw the deep gash on Adriene's forehead and the massive pool of dark blood. Her hands shook violently as she grabbed a clean pool towel and pressed it hard against the wound.

Brenda reached for the radio clipped to her apron. "I'm calling the estate doctor. Stay with me!"

A bloody hand shot out and clamped down on Brenda's wrist with surprising strength.

Adriene opened her right eye. Her face was terrifyingly pale, but her gaze was sharp and unyielding. She slowly shook her head. "No," she rasped, her throat dry. "Don't say a word. Help me up."

"But you're bleeding to death!" Brenda sobbed.

"Help me up," Adriene commanded, leaving no room for argument.

Terrified, Brenda slid her arms under Adriene's shoulders and hauled her to her feet. The world spun violently, and Adriene's stomach he heave, but she locked her knees and forced herself to stand.

She pushed Brenda away. She refused to go to the medical wing. A sick, masochistic clarity had taken over her brain. She needed to see it. She needed to see exactly what the man who had just left her to die was doing.

Adriene dragged her feet across the floor. Every step sent a shockwave of agony through her skull. Drops of her blood fell onto the plush red carpets of the hallway, soaking into the fabric without a trace.

She reached the heavy mahogany door of the luxury guest suite where Elaina was staying. The door was cracked open just an inch, letting out the warm, flickering light of the fireplace.

Adriene leaned her shoulder heavily against the cold wall. She held her breath and looked through the narrow gap.

Inside, Elaina was propped up against the massive headboard, wrapped in a thick cashmere blanket. She was whimpering softly, her lower lip trembling as she played the role of the traumatized victim.

Dallin sat on the edge of the mattress. His clothes were still soaked, clinging to his skin, but he didn't care. He was holding a dry towel, gently and meticulously drying Elaina's hair.

The look in his eyes-the profound, aching tenderness-was something Adriene had never seen directed at her in three years of marriage.

Elaina grabbed Dallin's wrist. "I'm so scared, Dallin," she cried. "I'm so scared she's going to make the family throw me out. I have nothing."

Dallin turned his hand and intertwined his fingers with hers. He brought her knuckles to his lips and kissed them deeply.

"Don't be afraid," Dallin said, his voice a low, fierce vow. "I am here. No one will ever touch you. If she ever tries to hurt you again, I will make her wish she was dead."

Outside the door, Adriene's chest caved in. It felt as if a giant, invisible hand had reached into her ribcage and crushed her heart into powder. She couldn't breathe.

Inside, Elaina sniffled, pressing her advantage. "But I don't have a child. The board hates me. My place in the Morales family is nothing."

The room went dead silent for five agonizing seconds.

Then, Dallin spoke the words that finally pushed Adriene over the edge of the abyss.

"I will use my supreme executive authority over the family trust," Dallin said, his tone heavy with absolute finality. "I will ensure you are granted a Morales heir."

"No one will ever question your place, Elaina. It's what I owe you."

The words struck Adriene like a physical blow to the stomach. He wasn't just protecting her. He was going to use medical surrogacy or adoption to bypass his own wife and hand the legacy of the Morales empire to this venomous woman.

Adriene slowly closed her eyes. A drop of blood slid down her nose and landed on her lips. It tasted like rust and salt.

She didn't feel sad anymore. She felt nothing but a dark, hollow amusement. It was all so incredibly pathetic.

She didn't push the door open. She didn't scream. She simply turned her back to the room.

She stood up perfectly straight, ignoring the screaming pain in her head, and walked away. Her steps were slow, but they were the steadiest steps she had taken in years.

She walked into her own bathroom and turned on the cold water. She cupped the freezing water in her hands and scrubbed the blood from her face.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror. The woman who loved Dallin Morales was dead. The woman staring back had eyes like shattered ice.