Adina dragged the suitcase off the bed and rolled it into the master bathroom. The space was ridiculous-larger than her first apartment, all white marble and brushed gold fixtures. She locked the heavy oak door behind her, the click of the latch offering a sliver of false security.

She needed to wash the stench of the day off her skin.

She turned the shower dial to the hottest setting, stripping off the designer dress and letting it pool on the floor like a discarded skin. Steam filled the room, fogging the glass enclosure. She stepped under the water, letting it pound against her shoulders, turning her skin pink.

She leaned her forehead against the cool tile, her eyes closed. The heat was supposed to relax her, but her muscles remained coiled tight. She reached for her phone on the counter, turning it on speaker.

Arely answered on the first ring. "Addie? Where are you?"

"I'm at the apartment," Adina said, her voice barely audible over the rush of water. "I'm leaving. I packed a bag. I'm going to stay at a hotel tonight."

"Good!" Arely's voice was fierce, supportive. "You shouldn't spend another second under that roof. You know my door is always open. Come to my place."

Adina managed a weak smile. "Thank you, Arely. I just... I can't believe this is happening. I feel like an idiot."

"You're not the idiot, he is," Arely said firmly. "He's the one throwing away a woman like you for a cheap hotel room with his sister-in-law."

"I don't even want to look at him," Adina said, gripping the phone tighter. "I swear, if he walks through that door right now-"

She stopped mid-sentence.

A sound echoed through the apartment, muffled by the bathroom door but unmistakable. The heavy, electronic click of the front door disengaging. Then, the thud of it swinging shut.

Adina's heart stopped. She reached out and turned off the water, the sudden silence ringing in her ears.

"Addie?" Arely's voice crackled from the phone. "What's wrong?"

Footsteps. Slow, deliberate footsteps crossing the hardwood floor of the living room. The crunch of glass. He had stepped on the broken picture frame.

"He's back," Adina whispered, her voice trembling.

"Do you want me to come over?" Arely asked, panic lacing her tone. "I can be there in twenty minutes."

"No," Adina said, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "No. This is my fight. I have to do this."

She hung up and tossed the phone onto the counter. Water dripped from her hair, running in cold rivulets down her back. She stood frozen, listening.

The footsteps moved down the hallway. They paused outside the bedroom door. Then, she heard the creak of the floorboards in the closet. He had seen the empty hangers. He had seen the missing suitcase.

A new sound. Footsteps approaching the bathroom door. They stopped, inches away from where she was standing.

Adina's chest tightened until it hurt to breathe. She looked around the steamy room, her eyes landing on the thick, white bath sheet hanging on the wall. She grabbed it, wrapping it tightly around her body, tucking the edge securely over her chest and took her phone. The terrycloth was heavy, damp, but it felt like armor.

She stood there, dripping onto the marble floor, staring at the door handle. She could see the shadow of his feet beneath the door.

A knock. Sharp, authoritative.

"Adina." His voice was flat, devoid of any warmth or concern. It was a command. "Open the door."

She didn't move. Her hands were shaking, but her jaw was set. She wasn't going to hide in the bathroom like a scared child. She had the photo. She had the truth. She had nothing left to lose.

She took a step forward. Her hand reached out, her fingers wrapping around the cold, brass handle. She paused, gathering every ounce of courage she possessed.

Then, with a violent twist, she yanked the door open.

Dorman stood in the doorway, filling the frame. He was still wearing his suit pants, but his jacket was gone, and his tie was loosened at his throat. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, and he looked at her with an expression of cold, hard irritation.

But what hit Adina like a physical force wasn't his expression. It was the smell.

Faint, but unmistakable, clinging to the fabric of his shirt and the skin of his neck. A floral, musky scent she hadn't smelled in two years, but one she could never forget. It was the same perfume Cierra had worn the night she announced her engagement to Dorman, all those years ago.

Adina's nostrils flared. She looked up from his chest into his dark, unreadable eyes. The war had begun.

Dorman's gaze swept over her, taking in the wet hair, the damp bath towel clutched to her chest, the defiance blazing in her eyes. Then, his focus shifted past her shoulder, landing on the Louis Vuitton suitcase sitting on the bathroom floor.

His jaw tightened, a muscle feathering beneath his skin. But his expression remained otherwise blank.

Adina didn't give him time to speak. She stepped forward, forcing him to take a step back into the bedroom.

"I packed my things," she said, her voice raw but steady. "I'm leaving, Dorman. I want a divorce."

She waited for the explosion. She waited for the shock, the anger, the denial. She had just dropped a bomb on their two-year marriage, and she expected a crater.

Dorman simply looked at her. Then, without a word, he turned his back and walked toward his walk-in closet.

The dismissal was worse than a shout. It was a vacuum, sucking the air right out of the room. Adina stood frozen, the towel suddenly feeling flimsy and inadequate.

"Are you deaf?" she yelled, chasing after him. She planted herself in the doorway of the closet, blocking his path. "I said I'm leaving you!"

Dorman was unbuttoning his cuffs, his movements slow and methodical. He didn't even glance at her. "I heard you."

"Then what the hell is this?" Adina gestured wildly at his nonchalance. "You act like I just told you I'm changing my shampoo!"

He pulled the cufflinks from his shirt, setting them on the velvet tray with a soft click. "Adina, you had a bad day. Don't mistake your insecurity for a valid grievance."

"Insecure?" The word was a slap. "This isn't about insecurity! This is about you and Cierra-"

"Stop." He cut her off, his voice dropping to that dangerous, low register that always made her skin prickle. He turned to face her, his eyes hard and unyielding. "Stop this dramatic performance. What is it you actually want? A new Birkin? The apartment in Paris? Just tell me the price and stop wasting my time."

Adina recoiled as if she had been struck. The air left her lungs in a sharp gasp. He thought this was a shakedown. He thought her pain was just a negotiation tactic.

"I don't want your money," she spat, her voice shaking with fury. "I want out. I want a divorce, and I want what I'm entitled to."

Dorman paused. A slow, cold smile touched the corners of his mouth, completely devoid of humor. "Entitled? Have you forgotten the prenuptial agreement you signed? You walk away, you get exactly what you came in with. Nothing more."

He took a step toward her. The sheer size of him, the oppressive force of his presence, forced her to step back into the bedroom.

"And let's not forget," he continued, his voice silky and menacing, "your father's company is currently surviving on a line of credit extended by Cannon Industries. You push this divorce, that credit line disappears. Ayers Group goes under. Your parents lose everything. Is that what you want?"

The threat hung in the air between them, toxic and paralyzing. Adina felt the ground shift beneath her feet. He wasn't just refusing her; he was holding her family hostage.

She felt dizzy, the edges of her vision blurring. She swayed, and the towel around her chest loosened slightly.

Dorman's gaze dropped to her bare shoulder, the strap of the towel slipping down her arm. Something flickered in his eyes-something dark and intense that vanished before she could identify it.

He reached out, his fingers hovering near the edge of the towel as if to pull it back up.

Adina flinched violently, slapping his hand away. "Don't touch me!"

Dorman's hand hung in the air for a fraction of a second. Then, he pulled it back, his face resetting to that infuriating, impenetrable mask.

"Go to bed, Adina," he said, his tone final. "In the morning, the housekeeper will unpack your bag. We're done discussing this."

He turned his back on her and walked into his en-suite bathroom. The door closed with a decisive click, followed by the sound of the lock turning.

Adina stood in the middle of the bedroom, her chest heaving, her nails digging into her palms so hard she drew blood. He had dismissed her. He had threatened her. And then he had locked the door as if she were a pet that had misbehaved.

She stared at the closed door, a red haze of rage descending over her vision. He thought he had won. He thought he could just buy her off or scare her into submission.

He had no idea who he was dealing with.

The sound of the shower running behind the locked door was like water torture. Every drop was a reminder that he was in there, washing her sister's perfume off his skin, while she stood out here, trapped and humiliated.

Adina didn't move. She didn't go to the guest room. She didn't unpack her bag. She walked over to Dorman's side of the bed-the side with the navy blue silk sheets that were always perfectly made-and sat down.

She pulled out her phone. The screen was filled with texts from Arely.

Arely Cross: Are you okay?

Arely Cross: Did he hurt you?

Arely Cross: Addie, please answer me.

Adina typed back with trembling fingers: I'm fine. I'm handling it.

She put the phone down and waited. Five minutes. Ten minutes. The shower shut off. The silence stretched, thick and tense.

Finally, the bathroom door opened. Dorman stepped out, a black silk robe tied loosely at his waist, his hair damp and slicked back from his face. He looked like a panther, sleek and dangerous, even in loungewear.

He stopped short when he saw her sitting on his bed. His eyes narrowed, a flash of irritation crossing his features. "I thought I made myself clear."

"You did," Adina said, standing up. She pulled the towel tighter around herself, refusing to feel vulnerable. "And so did I. I'm not dropping this, Dorman. I want a divorce."

He walked past her, picking up a towel to dry the ends of his hair. "There is no divorce. There is only a contract that you are bound to fulfill."

"This isn't a contract!" Adina shouted, her voice bouncing off the high ceilings. "This is my life! You treat me like a piece of furniture, Dorman. You ignore me for months, and the second your ex-girlfriend steps off a plane, you run straight to her hotel!"

Dorman stopped drying his hair. He tossed the towel onto a chair and turned to face her, his expression hardening. "Cierra has nothing to do with this."

"She has everything to do with this!" Adina took a step closer, jabbing a finger in his direction. "You think I'm stupid? You think I don't know why you really skipped dinner tonight?"

Dorman's eyes turned to ice. "I skipped dinner because I have a company to run. A company, I might add, that is the only thing keeping your family from bankruptcy."

"Don't change the subject!" Adina screamed, the control she had been clinging to finally snapping. "You were with her! I can still smell her on you!"

Dorman went very still. The silence in the room was absolute, broken only by the sound of Adina's ragged breathing.

"You're being hysterical," he said softly, the words dripping with condescension. "You're projecting your own insecurities onto a situation you know nothing about."

"I know you were at The Carlyle!" she yelled, the words spilling out before she could stop them. "I know you were with her this afternoon!"

Dorman didn't flinch. He didn't look surprised or guilty. He just stared at her, his face an unreadable wall. Then, a cold, mocking smile touched his lips. "Your sources are impressively fast. But your conclusions are wrong."

"Wrong?" Adina laughed, the sound brittle and harsh. "You're a liar, Dorman. You're a cold, calculating liar, and I'm done playing the dutiful wife."

She turned on her heel and marched toward her suitcase. She grabbed the handle, intent on walking out that door and never looking back.

She barely made it two steps.

A hand clamped around her wrist like a vise. The grip was tight, unyielding, the pressure immediate and bruising. Adina gasped, dropping the suitcase handle as she was spun around.

Dorman yanked her backward, pulling her flush against his chest. His other arm wrapped around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides. He was breathing hard, his chest heaving against her back, his face inches from hers.

"I said," he growled into her ear, his voice no longer calm but rough and dangerous, "we are not discussing divorce."

Adina struggled, trying to twist out of his grip, but he was too strong. His arm was like a steel band across her ribs. Panic flared in her chest, mixing with the anger.

"Let me go!" she shrieked, kicking her legs. "You can't keep me here!"

"Watch me," he snarled.

He walked her backward, his long strides forcing her to stumble, until her back hit the cold, hard surface of the bedroom wall. He pinned her there, his hands flat against the wall on either side of her head, caging her in.

He was so close she could feel the heat radiating off his skin. His eyes were dark, turbulent pools, swirling with an emotion she couldn't name. It looked like rage. It looked like fear. It looked like something desperate and wild.

"You are my wife," he said, his voice low and intense. "You are not going anywhere."