The Unwanted Wife Is A Zillionaire

Drip. Drip.

The sound of Elisa's blood hitting the floor was the only noise in the room.

Allena peeked out from August's chest. She let out a dramatic gasp. "Oh my god, sister! Are you okay?"

August stared at the deep gash on Elisa's arm. A flash of genuine panic crossed his face. He took a half-step forward, his hand reaching out.

Allena immediately gripped his bicep, her nails digging into his suit jacket. August's foot stopped.

He swallowed hard, burying the panic under a thick layer of arrogant rage. He looked down at Elisa.

"This is what happens when you act like a lunatic," August said, his voice shaking slightly. "Apologize, and I'll have my driver take you to the hospital."

Elisa didn't scream. She didn't cry.

She placed her uninjured left hand flat on the floor and slowly pushed herself up.

She grabbed the belt of her trench coat with her teeth and her left hand. She yanked it tight, tying a brutal tourniquet just above the bleeding wound.

The violent, mechanical efficiency of her movements stunned the frat boys into silence.

Elisa stood up straight. Her face was deathly pale, but her eyes were black voids.

She let out a low, chilling laugh.

She locked eyes with August. "What rumor did I spread, August?"

Devon stepped up. "You told everyone she lost a baby! You're a psycho!"

Elisa snapped her head toward Devon. "Ruptured corpus luteum," she said, her voice echoing off the walls.

She looked at the crowd of men. "It's a hemorrhagic cyst. It bursts when the abdomen sustains violent, repetitive blunt force trauma. Usually from aggressive sexual intercourse."

The room went completely still. The men exchanged uncomfortable, shocked glances.

Allena's face drained of all color. She looked like she was going to vomit.

August's face turned purple. The veins in his neck bulged. "Shut your mouth!" he roared, raising his hand as if he was going to strike her.

Elisa didn't flinch. She stepped directly into his space, tilting her bleeding arm toward him.

"Do it," she whispered. "Hit me."

August's hand froze in the air. The absolute, terrifying deadness in her eyes paralyzed him.

Elisa looked around the room. "You're all pathetic. A bunch of Wall Street cowards covering up a disgusting affair. You make me sick."

She walked over to the bar cart. She pulled a crisp white napkin from the stack and wiped the blood off her left fingers.

She walked back to August.

With a swift motion, she slammed the bloody napkin directly against the chest of his custom Tom Ford suit.

It left a bright red smear over his heart.

"I'm done with you," Elisa said.

She turned on her heel and walked out the door, her spine perfectly straight.

The heavy door slammed shut.

Devon cleared his throat nervously. "Man... that bitch is crazy."

August stared down at the blood on his chest. He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ground together.

She's just putting on a show, he told himself, twisting his cufflink. She wants a bigger payout. She'll be begging to come back by tomorrow.