The Unwanted Wife Is A Zillionaire Heiress

Audrey sat in the driver's seat of her ten-year-old Volvo. The engine hummed loudly, struggling against the freezing temperature. Lukewarm air blew from the vents, hitting her frozen face, but she couldn't stop shivering. Her hands gripped the worn leather steering wheel. She squeezed it so hard her joints ached. She shifted the car into drive and pulled out of the cemetery parking lot. The tires hit the highway. Tiny, sharp flakes of snow began to fall, hitting the windshield like grains of sand. The wipers squeaked as they dragged across the glass. Her mind dragged her back to a memory she had spent three years trying to bury. The lawyer's office in Manhattan. The smell of expensive leather and lemon polish. The heavy, fifty-page document sitting on the mahogany desk. Colton had sat across from her, his face completely unreadable. He had pushed the thick stack of papers toward her with a single finger. The prenuptial agreement. It was a brutal, airtight contract. It stated clearly that in the event of a divorce, Audrey would have zero claim to the Christian family trust, zero claim to his corporate shares, and zero right to any property acquired during the marriage. She would leave with exactly what she brought in: nothing. She had picked up the pen and signed her name on every single page. She had done it because she loved him. She had believed they were building a life, not a business transaction. A blaring car horn shattered the memory. Audrey flinched. Her foot slammed down on the brake pedal. The Volvo jerked forward, the seatbelt biting violently into her collarbone. She was back in Manhattan. The car was stopped at a red light on Fifth Avenue. Audrey rubbed her temples. A dull, throbbing headache was starting to pulse behind her eyes. She turned her head, looking out the passenger side window to distract herself from the pain. Across the busy street, a large, striped awning stretched over the sidewalk. It was a high-end French bakery. A man was standing under the awning. Audrey's breath caught in her throat. She pressed her finger against the window switch. The glass rolled down, letting the freezing, snowy air rush into the warm cabin. She squinted through the falling snow. It was Colton. He was wearing his signature dark gray cashmere overcoat. He wasn't at a kindergarten dealing with a screaming child. He wasn't in a boardroom. He was standing on the sidewalk, holding two delicate pink cake boxes by their string loops. The glass door of the bakery swung open. A little girl in a prestigious private school uniform ran out onto the sidewalk. Willow. Audrey's heart leaped. She opened her mouth to call out her daughter's name, but the sound died in her throat. Willow didn't run to Colton. She ran straight past him and threw her arms around the legs of a woman walking out of the bakery right behind her. The woman was wearing a beige cashmere coat. Her long, dark hair fell perfectly over her shoulders. She looked down at Willow and smiled. It was a soft, gentle smile. Audrey's stomach dropped so fast she felt physically sick. The air was sucked out of her lungs. Colton stepped closer to the woman. He shifted the pink boxes into his left hand. With his right hand, he reached out and naturally, effortlessly, wrapped his arm around the woman's waist. The woman turned her head and said something to him. Colton looked down at her. His face softened. The harsh, cold lines of his jaw relaxed. He smiled. It was a genuine, warm smile. A smile Audrey hadn't seen directed at her in three years. Willow grabbed the woman's hand. The three of them turned and began walking down the sidewalk, moving together in perfect harmony toward Colton's silver Aston Martin parked at the curb. Audrey's hands began to shake violently. She reached over to the passenger seat, her fingers fumbling blindly for her phone. She needed a picture. She needed proof that she wasn't losing her mind. Her numb fingers brushed the smooth metal of the phone, but her hands were shaking so violently she couldn't secure a grip. The device slipped, clattering against the leather passenger seat. "No," Audrey gasped, her breath hitching in her throat. She frantically clawed at the seat, her fingernails scraping the leather until she finally managed to snatch it up. She yanked the device to eye level, her thumb desperately swiping to unlock the screen and open the camera app. She looked out the window. The sidewalk was empty. The silver Aston Martin was already pulling away from the curb, its taillights glowing bright red as it merged into the heavy Manhattan traffic. The cars behind Audrey began to honk furiously. The light had turned green. Audrey sat frozen for three seconds. The shock in her chest morphed, twisting and hardening into a hot, blinding rage. The blood roared in her ears. She dropped the phone into her lap, gripped the steering wheel with both hands, and slammed her foot on the gas. The Volvo lurched forward. She yanked the steering wheel hard to the right, cutting off a yellow taxi. The taxi driver slammed on his brakes and laid on the horn, but Audrey didn't care. She kept her eyes locked on the silver Aston Martin two car lengths ahead.