The Unwanted Wife: No Longer His Shield

The morning sun sliced through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the master bedroom, casting harsh lines of light across the expensive bedding. Branden woke up with a dull ache behind his eyes. He rolled over. Aryanna was already awake. She wasn't in her silk pajamas. She was wearing a sharp, tailored black business suit. Her hair was pulled back into a severe bun. Branden frowned, propping himself up on his elbows. Aryanna walked to his side of the bed. She slammed a thick manila folder down onto the mahogany nightstand. The heavy thud echoed in the quiet room. Branden barely glanced at it. He assumed it was another stack of ridiculous jewelry invoices she wanted him to pay since her cards were declined. He reached past the folder to grab his morning coffee from the tray. "Make a choice," Aryanna said. Her voice was completely devoid of emotion. "It's me or Kaylen." Branden's hand paused over the coffee cup. His blue eyes snapped up to her face, turning instantly hostile. He hated ultimatums. He felt she was pushing his boundaries just to get attention. "Kaylen needs me right now," Branden said, his voice a smooth, icy blade. "The position of Mrs. Montgomery is already yours. Don't get greedy, Aryanna." The words hit her stomach like a lead weight. Don't get greedy. He wanted the wife for the image, and the lover for his heart. Aryanna took a deep breath. She reached out and pushed the folder directly into his line of sight. Printed in bold, black ink across the cover were three words: Divorce Settlement Agreement. Branden's eyes locked onto the letters. His pupils contracted violently. A muscle in his jaw feathered. He quickly masked the reaction with a cruel smirk. He tossed the folder back onto the nightstand like it was trash. "You're really pulling out all the stops for attention, aren't you?" he mocked. He was absolutely certain she was bluffing. Aryanna was a spoiled socialite. Without her family trust and his black cards, she wouldn't survive a week in Manhattan. She didn't have the spine to actually leave. Aryanna didn't scream. She didn't cry. She calmly unzipped her black leather bag. She pulled out a heavy Montblanc fountain pen, popped the cap off, and held it out to him. "Sign it, Branden," she said. Her voice was so quiet, so terrifyingly calm. "I'm letting you go." Branden stared at the silver nib of the pen. A sudden, unfamiliar wave of cold dread washed over him, an unwelcome sensation he immediately crushed with raw annoyance. He smacked her hand away. The pen clattered onto the hardwood floor. "I don't have time for your psychotic episodes," he snapped. He threw the blankets off, stood up, and marched straight into the master bathroom. The heavy door slammed shut. The shower turned on, the rushing water physically blocking her out. Aryanna stood frozen for a second. A bitter, self-deprecating smile touched her lips. She bent down, picked up the pen, and put the divorce papers back into her bag. She turned around and walked out of the bedroom without looking back. In the living room, she pulled out her phone. She dialed the number for the most ruthless divorce law firm in New York. "I need an afternoon consultation," she told the receptionist, her tone strictly business. "I am initiating litigation for a contested divorce." She hung up. She looked around the massive, cold penthouse one last time. Her eyes hardened. Half an hour later, Branden walked out of the bathroom, dressed in a sharp navy suit. He adjusted his tie as he walked toward the dining room, expecting to see Aryanna sitting there, ready to apologize over warm coffee. The dining room was empty. He frowned. He walked to the foyer. Her favorite coats were gone. Her car keys were missing from the silver tray. The front door opened. Reid stepped inside to deliver the morning briefing. "Where is my wife?" Branden interrupted him, his voice tight with irritation. Reid quickly checked the GPS tracker on his tablet. He swallowed hard. "Sir... the tracker shows Mrs. Montgomery's Porsche is currently pulling into the Montgomery Group headquarters." Branden's tight jaw instantly relaxed. A smug, arrogant breath escaped his nose. Of course. She was going to his office. She realized she had pushed too far with the fake divorce papers and was coming to surrender on his turf. "Perfect," Branden said, shooting his cuffs. He stepped into the private elevator. He was ready to accept her tearful apology.