The Unwanted Wife's Spectacular Billionaire Comeback

Giovanni lunged.

His hand shot out, grabbing Edith's wrist in a grip so tight she felt the bones grind together. He yanked her forward, pulling her flush against his chest. His breath was hot on her face, his eyes burning with a fury that bordered on madness.

"I can find it in hours," he snarled, his voice low and dangerous. "I will burn every sketchbook, every design, and make sure you never draw another line again."

Edith didn't flinch. The fear was there, a cold knot in her stomach, but it was overshadowed by a profound, weary anger. She was tired of being afraid.

"Go ahead," she said, her voice flat. "But it won't change anything. You can't destroy an idea."

She wrenched her arm free from his grip, the sudden movement catching him off guard. She turned to her portfolio, unzipped the outer pocket, and pulled out a thick manila envelope.

She walked back to the coffee table, right past him, and slapped the envelope down on the glass surface, right next to the unfolded sketch.

Giovanni stared at the envelope, then at her. "What is this?"

Edith flipped the cover open. It wasn't a divorce petition. It was a market analysis report, detailing the projected failure of a recent Baldwin acquisition in the tech sector. A report she had commissioned through a shell company weeks ago.

The bold, black letters at the top of the first page stood out starkly against the white paper.

BALDWIN TECH - Q3 LOSS PROJECTION: $500 MILLION.

Giovanni stared at the words. For a second, total silence filled the room. Then, a harsh, barking laugh escaped his lips. He looked at her as if she had just told him a hilarious joke.

"A business report?" he scoffed, his eyes raking over her with contempt. "Is this your new hobby? Playing businesswoman? You know nothing of my world. You'll be out on the street with the clothes on your back."

Edith didn't blink. "I want nothing from you. I just want you to see that you are not infallible."

Her lack of reaction seemed to enrage him further. He was used to her tears, her pleading. This cold, detached woman was an insult to his power.

He reached down, grabbed the thick stack of papers, and tore them down the middle. He tore them again, and again, until the pages were nothing but confetti. He let them fall from his hands, fluttering down onto the marble floor like snow.

"I decide when you have an opinion," he declared, his voice echoing in the high-ceilinged room. "Not you."

Edith watched the pieces of paper settle on the floor. She felt a strange sense of calm. The paper was meaningless. The intent was what mattered.

She looked up at him, her eyes hard. "It doesn't matter what you decide, Giovanni. The illusion is already over. Because there is nothing left to hold it together."

She paused, letting the silence stretch, building the tension until it was a living thing in the room.

"Especially since you are so blinded by the past you can't see the present."

Giovanni frowned, the anger on his face shifting to confusion. "What are you talking about?"

Edith took a step closer to him, forcing him to look her in the eye. "The 'costume' I was wearing last night? The life you've forced upon me? It's a cage of your own making. You're not punishing me, Giovanni. You're punishing yourself, haunted by a ghost."

The change in him was instantaneous and violent.

The color drained from his face. The sneer, the contempt, the anger-all of it vanished, replaced by a raw, unfiltered shock. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. His eyes widened, staring at her as if she had just shot him.

He hadn't expected her to name it. To call out his obsession with Dakota so plainly. He had wanted to hurt her, to control her, but she had just turned his own grief into a weapon against him.

Edith watched the realization hit him. She felt no satisfaction. Only a vast, empty wasteland where her heart used to be. She thought his shock was guilt, but she didn't care anymore. It just proved how broken they were.

"You're lying," Giovanni finally choked out, his voice cracking. "It's a trick. You're trying to get away."

"Look in a mirror," Edith said coldly. "You'll see."

Giovanni took a step back, his hand reaching out to grip the back of the sofa. His knuckles were white. She could see the gears turning in his head, the frantic calculations. The face of his beloved Dakota flashed in his mind, followed by the stern, unforgiving face of his father, Harold.

He couldn't divorce her. Not now. Not when their marriage was a strategic alliance between their families, a deal brokered long before Dakota's death. And he had just been exposed by her.

The shock morphed into something else. A desperate, cornered rage. A rage born of panic.

He moved like a striking snake. He grabbed Edith by the shoulders and slammed her back against the wall. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs.

"You are not going anywhere," he hissed, his face inches from hers, his eyes bloodshot and wild. "This isn't over."

He pressed his body against hers, pinning her to the wall. His hands were rough, bruising. Edith didn't fight him. She just closed her eyes, turning her face away. The physical pain was nothing compared to the deadness inside her.

Then, the shrill ringtone of Giovanni's phone shattered the silence.

He froze, his breathing ragged in her ear. He pulled the phone from his pocket and looked at the screen.

The caller ID read: Harold Baldwin.

Giovanni stared at the phone, the color completely gone from his face. The ultimate authority was calling. The man who demanded results.

He released Edith, stepping back as if she had burned him. He answered the phone, his voice a hoarse rasp.

"Father."