The Unwanted Wife's Spectacular Revenge Comeback
Chapter 2
Her fingers had just brushed the cold brass of the door handle when a sharp crash erupted behind her.
Alyson stopped.
She turned her head slowly toward the seating area.
Kenton had swiped his arm across the table.
The velvet box lay upside down on the floor, the antique watch spilled out, its delicate glass face shattered into jagged pieces against the marble.
"Take your trash and get out. Stop embarrassing yourself," Kenton ordered, his voice devoid of a single shred of humanity.
Carter and the others let out low, muffled snickers, watching her like she was a stray dog that had wandered into a Michelin restaurant.
Alyson stared at the broken watch.
She had sold the last necklace her biological mother had left her to buy that piece.
Staring at the shattered glass, Alyson felt the last shard of her own heart turn to dust. The pathetic, suffocating hope she had clung to for three years shattered right along with the antique face. The agonizing pain that had been tearing at her chest just moments ago suddenly vanished, replaced by a chilling, liberating clarity. He had finally broken the final chain.
She pulled a slow, deep breath into her burning lungs, forcing the sharp sting of tears back down her throat.
Her eyes turned as flat and dead as still water.
"As you wish."
She turned her body completely, facing Kenton with her chin held high.
"I want a divorce."
The words dropped into the room, freezing the smirks on the faces of the men around the table.
The silence was absolute.
Kenton's pupils contracted for a fraction of a second before a dark, mocking shadow washed over his features.
"A divorce? Alyson, what kind of game are you playing now?"
He leaned back against the leather sofa, crossing his arms over his chest.
"You used every cheap trick in the book to drug me and force your way into the Whitaker family. And now you want to leave?"
Alyson did not offer a single word of defense.
Explaining the truth to a man who chose to be blind was a waste of breath.
"My lawyer will contact you tomorrow."
She spoke with the casual detachment of someone discussing the weather.
Kenton stood up abruptly, his tall frame casting a long, threatening shadow across the table.
"Are you threatening me?"
Alyson gave him one last, cold look.
She turned around, pulled the heavy door open, and walked out.
The cold air of the hotel corridor hit her face, and she quickened her pace toward the elevators.
She needed to get out of this suffocating building before her legs gave out.
She stepped into the empty elevator car and the metal doors slid shut, cutting off Kenton's angry stare.
The sudden drop of the elevator made her stomach lurch.
She leaned her back against the freezing metal wall and pulled her phone from her purse.
Her fingers were shaking slightly, but she unlocked the screen and dialed the number of the top divorce firm in New York.
"Hello, this is Alyson Holt. I need to draft a divorce settlement."
The elevator chimed at the ground floor.
She walked across the grand lobby, the bright gold lights blurring slightly in her vision.
The doorman pushed the heavy revolving door open for her.
The freezing Manhattan rain slammed into her trench coat, the icy drops shocking her system into total clarity.
She slid into the back of a yellow cab.
"Upper East Side," she told the driver, giving the address of the penthouse.
The neon lights of the city streaked across the wet window.
She stared at her own pale reflection in the glass, knowing with absolute certainty that this marriage was dead.
Her phone buzzed against her leg.
It was a text from Kenton.
"Don't think throwing a tantrum will get you what you want. Go back to the estate tomorrow and apologize to my grandmother."
Alyson stared at the words, a bitter laugh escaping her throat.
She tapped the screen, set his notifications to silent, and dropped the phone back into her bag.
The cab descended into the underground parking garage of her building, the tires screeching against the painted concrete.
Alyson pushed the door open.
She walked toward the private elevator, ready to pack her life into a box.
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