Zero Assets: Divorcing The Cruel Billionaire

The heavy mahogany door of the VIP suite at The Obsidian Club was sealed shut, but the building's vintage ventilation grates carried the sound perfectly into the quiet hallway.

Erna stood in the dim, flickering light of the corridor. Her fingers were wrapped so tightly around the vintage Patek Philippe pocket watch that the cold metal was biting into her palm. Freezing rainwater dripped from the hem of her cheap trench coat, pooling into a dark, spreading stain on the expensive patterned carpet. Her hair clung to her pale cheeks, soaked through from the storm outside.

This watch was the only thing Apollo had cherished before the car accident. She had spent the last three hours standing in the freezing New York rain, clutching it, praying that the weight of this familiar object might spark a single, fleeting memory in her husband's damaged brain.

The thick scent of expensive cigars drifted through the ventilation grate. It burned the back of Erna's throat, a sharp contrast to the cheap, faded trench coat she wore.

A roar of laughter erupted from inside. The crisp clink of ice against crystal whiskey glasses followed.

"So, what's the deal with the drug stunt at the party last night?" Sterling's voice drifted out, clear and amused. "Is she still playing the victim?"

A cold snort cut through the air. It was a sound so devoid of human warmth that it made the blood in Erna's veins freeze.

"Erna is a bottom-feeding gold digger from Queens," Apollo's voice was a physical blow to her chest. "She'd do anything to keep her claws in the Manhattan social scene. Drugging drinks is exactly her level of pathetic."

Erna's lungs forgot how to process oxygen. Her stomach dropped, twisting into a painful knot.

She took a half-step back. Her shoulder blades hit the freezing wall of the corridor with a soft thud.

"Maybe we shouldn't be so harsh," Brynlee's voice floated out, dripping with a sickeningly sweet sympathy. "She's probably just terrified of losing the Cherry family's protection. People do crazy things when they're desperate, Apollo."

"Don't waste your kindness on trash, Brynlee," Apollo said. His tone shifted instantly. The harshness vanished, replaced by a deep, protective gentleness. "She'll only use it against you."

That gentleness. He used to speak to Erna exactly like that. Hearing him give it to someone else felt like a serrated knife dragging across her ribs.

"I bet her spot at Columbia was bought with your family's black money anyway," another voice chimed in, followed by more laughter.

"Not anymore," Apollo said coldly. "I had my lawyers freeze every trust fund credit card in her name this morning. Cut off the money, and that greedy bitch will be on her knees crying to sign the divorce papers by tomorrow."

Erna looked down at her washed-out coat. A bitter, hollow laugh scraped its way up her throat.

She's still too foolish. She thought a piece of metal could awaken someone who had survived death. But the final result was, the car accident didn't just erase Apollo's memory. It also killed the man who loved her. Now the most familiar stranger in this room, not only has forgotten her, but he also despises her.

A sudden, violent clarity washed over her. The suffocating weight of the past three years vanished, leaving behind a freezing, absolute numbness.

Erna walked over to the brass trash can against the wall. She didn't hesitate. She dropped the Patek Philippe pocket watch inside.

The heavy metal hit the bottom with a sharp, final clatter.

She unzipped her worn canvas tote bag and pulled out a stack of slightly wrinkled papers. She had printed them at the legal aid center just hours ago.

Erna took a deep breath. Her spine straightened, locking into place. The shattered grief in her eyes hardened into shards of ice.

She raised her hand and pushed the heavy mahogany door wide open.

The brass hinges let out a sharp screech, instantly silencing the jazz music and the laughter inside.

Every head in the room snapped toward the entrance. The air turned dead and heavy.

Erna stepped onto the Persian rug, her eyes locked dead ahead. She walked straight toward Apollo, who was sitting in the center of the leather sofa, his face frozen in pure shock.