The Unwanted Wife Demands A Divorce

Dorman's gaze swept over her, taking in the wet hair, the damp bath towel clutched to her chest, the defiance blazing in her eyes. Then, his focus shifted past her shoulder, landing on the Louis Vuitton suitcase sitting on the bathroom floor.

His jaw tightened, a muscle feathering beneath his skin. But his expression remained otherwise blank.

Adina didn't give him time to speak. She stepped forward, forcing him to take a step back into the bedroom.

"I packed my things," she said, her voice raw but steady. "I'm leaving, Dorman. I want a divorce."

She waited for the explosion. She waited for the shock, the anger, the denial. She had just dropped a bomb on their two-year marriage, and she expected a crater.

Dorman simply looked at her. Then, without a word, he turned his back and walked toward his walk-in closet.

The dismissal was worse than a shout. It was a vacuum, sucking the air right out of the room. Adina stood frozen, the towel suddenly feeling flimsy and inadequate.

"Are you deaf?" she yelled, chasing after him. She planted herself in the doorway of the closet, blocking his path. "I said I'm leaving you!"

Dorman was unbuttoning his cuffs, his movements slow and methodical. He didn't even glance at her. "I heard you."

"Then what the hell is this?" Adina gestured wildly at his nonchalance. "You act like I just told you I'm changing my shampoo!"

He pulled the cufflinks from his shirt, setting them on the velvet tray with a soft click. "Adina, you had a bad day. Don't mistake your insecurity for a valid grievance."

"Insecure?" The word was a slap. "This isn't about insecurity! This is about you and Cierra-"

"Stop." He cut her off, his voice dropping to that dangerous, low register that always made her skin prickle. He turned to face her, his eyes hard and unyielding. "Stop this dramatic performance. What is it you actually want? A new Birkin? The apartment in Paris? Just tell me the price and stop wasting my time."

Adina recoiled as if she had been struck. The air left her lungs in a sharp gasp. He thought this was a shakedown. He thought her pain was just a negotiation tactic.

"I don't want your money," she spat, her voice shaking with fury. "I want out. I want a divorce, and I want what I'm entitled to."

Dorman paused. A slow, cold smile touched the corners of his mouth, completely devoid of humor. "Entitled? Have you forgotten the prenuptial agreement you signed? You walk away, you get exactly what you came in with. Nothing more."

He took a step toward her. The sheer size of him, the oppressive force of his presence, forced her to step back into the bedroom.

"And let's not forget," he continued, his voice silky and menacing, "your father's company is currently surviving on a line of credit extended by Cannon Industries. You push this divorce, that credit line disappears. Ayers Group goes under. Your parents lose everything. Is that what you want?"

The threat hung in the air between them, toxic and paralyzing. Adina felt the ground shift beneath her feet. He wasn't just refusing her; he was holding her family hostage.

She felt dizzy, the edges of her vision blurring. She swayed, and the towel around her chest loosened slightly.

Dorman's gaze dropped to her bare shoulder, the strap of the towel slipping down her arm. Something flickered in his eyes-something dark and intense that vanished before she could identify it.

He reached out, his fingers hovering near the edge of the towel as if to pull it back up.

Adina flinched violently, slapping his hand away. "Don't touch me!"

Dorman's hand hung in the air for a fraction of a second. Then, he pulled it back, his face resetting to that infuriating, impenetrable mask.

"Go to bed, Adina," he said, his tone final. "In the morning, the housekeeper will unpack your bag. We're done discussing this."

He turned his back on her and walked into his en-suite bathroom. The door closed with a decisive click, followed by the sound of the lock turning.

Adina stood in the middle of the bedroom, her chest heaving, her nails digging into her palms so hard she drew blood. He had dismissed her. He had threatened her. And then he had locked the door as if she were a pet that had misbehaved.

She stared at the closed door, a red haze of rage descending over her vision. He thought he had won. He thought he could just buy her off or scare her into submission.

He had no idea who he was dealing with.