The Unwanted Wife Is A Zillionaire

Elisa pushed open the heavy oak doors of the Manhattan penthouse. The motion-sensor lights flickered on, casting a cold, sterile glow over the massive expanse of white marble. She kicked off her heels. Her bare feet hit the thick rug, but the apartment felt like an icebox. She walked straight past the massive family portrait hanging in the foyer. August had paid half a million dollars for that oil painting. It was nothing but a lie on canvas. She entered the dark study. Behind the massive mahogany bookshelf, she pulled a thick encyclopedia forward. A hidden digital keypad glowed to life. She punched in a complex sequence of numbers. The heavy steel door of the wall safe clicked open. Elisa ignored the velvet boxes of diamonds and emeralds. She reached into the very bottom and pulled out a yellowed manila envelope. She slid the documents out. The bold black letters at the top read: Prenuptial and Fixed-Term Marriage Agreement. Duration: Seven Years. She flipped to the last page. Her fingers traced the messy signature of the late Baron Chambers III, and right below it, August's sharp, aggressive handwriting. Elisa walked over to the sleek printer in the corner. She hit the copy button. The green light scanned back and forth, illuminating the dark room. The machine spit out the warm pages. She stapled them together and placed the stack perfectly in the center of August's massive desk. The front door keypad beeped. Heavy, rushed footsteps echoed across the marble floor. August walked into the living room, aggressively yanking his tie loose. The cloying scent of the hospital's VIP luxury candles clung to his clothes, mixing with the smell of sterile alcohol. He saw the light spilling from the study and frowned. He marched in. "You left your shift early," August snapped, his eyes full of irritation. Elisa didn't argue. She just pushed the stapled contract across the smooth wood of the desk, stopping it right at his fingertips. August glanced down at the cover page. He rolled his eyes. "Another trust fund amendment?" He let out a harsh, mocking laugh. He planted both hands on the desk, leaning over to glare down at her. "Your cold-blooded performance at the hospital tonight was just a negotiation tactic, wasn't it?" he sneered. "You want more money." Elisa looked up at him. Her eyes were painfully clear. "I want a divorce," she said evenly. "The contract expires in three days." August froze for a fraction of a second. Then, he threw his head back and laughed. It was a cruel, dismissive sound. "You're pathetic," he said. "This dramatic, attention-seeking act is getting old, Elisa." He didn't even open the document. He backhanded the stack of papers. They flew off the desk, scattering across the expensive Persian rug. "I don't have time for your desperate games," he said, turning his back on her. Before he could take two steps, his phone buzzed. A custom ringtone filled the room. Allena. August answered the phone, his voice dropping into a sickeningly sweet, gentle whisper. "I'm here, baby. Does it hurt?" A frantic, breathless voice echoed faintly from the earpiece. "August... the doctor says there might be a complication. I'm so scared. Please come back." His face tightened with sheer panic. He spun around, completely ignoring the papers on the floor. He didn't even look at Elisa. He grabbed his car keys from the side table and sprinted out of the apartment. The front door slammed shut. The sound echoed violently through the empty penthouse. Elisa sat perfectly still in the leather chair. She looked at the scattered papers on the floor. Her eyes were completely dry. She bent down and picked up the signature page. She stared at the date, and a slow, icy smile spread across her lips.