The Penniless Ex-Wife's Spectacular Comeback

Adelia spent the night curled into a tight ball on the small sofa in the guest room. She didn't sleep.

When the gray morning light filtered through the blinds, she pushed herself up. Her joints ached. She walked out of the guest room and into the main living area.

Fed Cardenas, Dominic's executive assistant, was standing by the kitchen island holding a tablet.

Fed looked at her with a completely blank expression. He informed her that Dominic required her to fulfill her duties as his wife one last time. She was to attend the family lunch at the Long Island estate. If she refused, Dominic would not release her passport.

Adelia needed her identification to survive. She swallowed the bile rising in her throat and nodded.

She went back to the room, changed into a conservative beige suit, and went downstairs.

She slid into the backseat of the waiting Rolls-Royce. Dominic was already sitting on the opposite side. His eyes were closed. He didn't acknowledge her presence.

The physical distance between them on the leather seat was wide enough to fit a third person. The air conditioning blew freezing air over her arms.

The car pulled up to the massive, castle-like architecture of the Long Island estate. A butler in a uniform opened the door and held a black umbrella over them.

They walked into the grand dining room. The elders of the Thompson family were already seated along the massive mahogany table.

The lunch was a suffocating execution.

The older relatives did not bother to lower their voices. They openly mocked Adelia's Appalachian background. They brought up the three-year-old rumors, calling her a thief and a manipulator.

An aunt sitting across the table deliberately asked about Carly. She loudly proclaimed that Carly was the only woman with the grace and pedigree to sit beside the head of the family.

Adelia kept her eyes glued to her plate. She methodically cut her steak into tiny pieces, not taking a single bite.

Dominic sat at the head of the table. He slowly swirled the red wine in his glass. He watched his family tear her apart and did absolutely nothing to stop it.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and began typing a message.

Adelia caught a glimpse of the screen out of the corner of her eye. The name "Carly" was at the top of the text thread.

Her stomach violently rejected the situation. She placed her knife and fork down on the porcelain plate.

The agonizing lunch finally ended.

As they walked out to the grand foyer, the sky outside turned pitch black. A massive thunderstorm broke over the island. Rain lashed against the windows, and thunder shook the floorboards.

Adelia followed Dominic out to the covered portico. The driver had pulled the black Maybach up to the steps.

A bodyguard opened a massive umbrella. Dominic walked down the steps toward the open car door. Adelia stepped forward to follow him back to Manhattan.

Her fingers brushed the cold metal of the door handle.

Dominic suddenly stopped. He turned his head and looked at her. His eyes were devoid of any human warmth.

He spoke over the sound of the crashing rain.

He said since she had signed the papers, she no longer had the right to sit in his car. He told her to figure out how to roll back to the city herself.

Adelia froze. A gust of wind blew a sheet of freezing rain under the portico, instantly soaking the hem of her beige skirt. She stared at him, unable to process the sheer cruelty of the act.

Dominic slid into the leather seat. The tinted window rolled up smoothly, completely severing her from the dry, warm interior.

The Maybach accelerated into the storm. The heavy tires hit a deep puddle, sending a wave of freezing, muddy water splashing over Adelia's legs.

The estate butler stepped out onto the portico. He coldly informed her that the estate was closing to visitors. He physically corralled her down the steps and out the front gates.

The heavy iron gates clanged shut behind her, locking her out.

The estate was located in an exclusive, isolated area halfway up a mountain. Taxis did not come here. Adelia pulled out her phone, but the storm had killed the cellular signal. The screen showed zero bars.

She had no choice. She started walking down the steep, winding asphalt road into the teeth of the storm.

The rain blinded her. The wind pushed her sideways.

Suddenly, her foot slipped on the slick pavement. The thin heel of her shoe jammed into a crack in the asphalt and snapped clean off. Her ankle twisted violently.

A sharp, shooting pain traveled up her leg.

The broken heel felt like a cruel mockery of her broken marriage. With a sudden surge of self-destructive anger, Adelia bent down, unbuckled both shoes, and threw them violently into the wet grass. She continued walking barefoot on the rough, jagged asphalt. Small stones and broken twigs sliced into the soles of her feet. With every step, she left a faint smear of blood on the road, which the heavy rain instantly washed away.

The sky grew darker. The temperature plummeted. Adelia's clothes were plastered to her skin. Her lips turned a bruised purple. Her entire body shook uncontrollably with violent shivers, but she forced her bleeding feet to keep moving.

She finally reached the main highway at the bottom of the mountain.

A rusted, beat-up pickup truck hauling crates of produce slowed down. The driver, an older man with a weathered face, rolled down the window and yelled for her to get in.

Adelia climbed into the back seat. The cabin smelled strongly of raw fish and damp earth. She wrapped herself in a scratchy wool blanket the driver handed her. She stared out the window, her eyes completely hollow.

Hours later, the truck pulled up to the curb outside the Manhattan penthouse building. Adelia thanked the driver quietly and stepped out.

She dragged her stiff, freezing body through the opulent lobby, ignoring the stares of the concierge.

She rode the elevator up, entered the apartment, and walked straight past the mess in the living room.

She went into the guest room and pulled a cheap, battered suitcase from under the bed. She shoved her few old, pre-marriage clothes inside.

She walked to the entryway. She took the heavy metal keycard that granted access to the penthouse-the symbol of the Thompson family matriarch-and placed it perfectly straight on the shoe cabinet.

Adelia grabbed the handle of her broken suitcase. She walked out the door and pressed the button for the lobby, permanently severing her ties to her three-year prison.