The Unwanted Wife's Spectacular Design Comeback

The driver pressed a button. The thick, black soundproof divider slowly rolled up, sealing the backseat into an absolute vacuum. The confined space was immediately flooded with Dominick's scent. It was a heavy mix of cold cedar and custom tobacco. Aubrey slid across the leather seat until her hip hit the door. She needed maximum physical distance from him. Dominick reached up and yanked his tie loose. He unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt. He looked exhausted and dangerous. "A million dollars for outdated emeralds," Aubrey said, her voice dripping with venom. "The Carrillo Group's cash flow must be incredibly healthy." Dominick turned his head. The passing streetlights cast dark shadows over the sharp angles of his face. "It's a tax-deductible charity expense, Aubrey. You don't need to use your pathetic financial knowledge to audit my ledgers," he fired back coldly. The insult hit her right in the chest. It was the exact sore spot she hated most-being treated like a brainless trophy. Her eyes burned. "Is that right?" she snapped. "Was grabbing my waist for the cameras part of your tax avoidance strategy too?" Dominick lunged forward. He planted his arm on the leather seat right behind her head, trapping her in the corner. "That was to stop you from running to those gossiping housewives tomorrow and crying about your neglectful husband. I protect my stock prices." Aubrey's heart hammered frantically against her ribs, but she tilted her chin up and glared right back into his eyes. The Lincoln took a sudden, sharp turn. Aubrey lost her balance. She pitched forward and slammed hard into Dominick's chest. Dominick's arm instinctively wrapped around her. He pulled her tight against his body. His muscles were like solid rock. Aubrey shoved her hands against his chest, pushing him away like he was diseased. "Don't touch me!" Dominick's eyes darkened instantly. He dropped his arm, slid back to his side of the car, and aggressively smoothed down his suit jacket. For the next ten minutes, the car was dead silent. Only the neon lights of Manhattan blurred past the tinted windows. The Lincoln finally rolled into the private underground garage of their Fifth Avenue building. The bodyguard opened the door. Aubrey didn't wait a single second. She grabbed her dress and practically ran toward the private elevator. Dominick shoved his hands into his pockets and followed her, his long strides easily keeping pace. The elevator shot up to the penthouse. The doors slid open to reveal the cold, minimalist black-and-white decor. They owned two floors. They lived entirely separate lives. Aubrey walked into the foyer and aggressively kicked off her Jimmy Choo heels. They clattered against the marble. Instead of walking up the stairs to her floor, she spun around. She planted her bare feet on the floor and blocked his path. Dominick took off his suit jacket and tossed it onto the sofa. He raised an eyebrow at her. "The show is over, Dominick. Now, answer my question," Aubrey demanded. Her voice shook with pure rage. "What tantrum are you throwing now?" Dominick pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked incredibly annoyed. "When exactly did you get back to New York?" She stared a hole straight through him. She dropped the bomb. Dominick was reaching for a whiskey decanter. His hand completely froze in mid-air for half a second. He hadn't expected that. Outside the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, the New York sky ripped open. Thunder cracked, and torrential rain began to smash against the glass.