His Unwanted Wife Is A Dying Genius

Aretha walked into the cramped guest room. The curtains were drawn tight, blocking out any trace of sunlight.

She opened the bottom drawer of the small dresser, reached all the way to the back, and pulled out a thick, manila envelope.

Her fingers gripped the paper tightly. She turned around and walked out of the room. Her steps were slow, heavy with exhaustion, but completely unwavering.

She walked back to the top of the stairs and began her descent.

The silence in the foyer was suffocating. Every eye in the room was glued to her as she walked down step by step.

Cornelius let out a harsh scoff, his patriarchal pride refusing to bend. He thought this was just an extreme negotiation tactic. A desperate cry for attention.

Anders had handed Kelli off to the family doctor and a few maids. He stood dead center in the foyer, his face dark and stormy.

As Aretha reached the bottom step, Anders let out a cold, mocking laugh.

"You think you can survive out there without this family?" Anders sneered. "With your spending habits, Aretha? You won't even be able to afford a cup of Starbucks by tomorrow morning."

Aretha stopped exactly one step away from him. She listened to his arrogant, condescending humiliation without a single change in her expression.

She didn't argue. She didn't yell.

She simply raised her hand and whipped the manila envelope directly at Anders's handsome face.

The envelope burst open mid-air. Pages of thick, legal document paper rained down like snow, slapping against Anders's chest before scattering across the marble floor.

Anders flinched, taking a half-step back. His eyes dropped to the papers at his feet.

Printed in bold, black ink at the very top of the first page were two words: Divorce Agreement.

And at the bottom of the page, on the signature line, the name Aretha Hines was already signed in crisp, black ink.

Anders's lungs forgot how to pull in air. His chest seized. He snapped his head up, staring at Aretha in absolute disbelief.

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd of guests. No one could believe that Aretha-the woman who had worshipped the ground Anders walked on-was the one demanding a divorce.

Anders clenched his jaw, his voice trembling with a mix of fury and panic. "What the hell is this? Are you doing this to get a bigger settlement?"

Aretha slowly looked around the room. She looked at the massive floral arrangements, the expensive balloons, and the giant banner that read Happy Birthday Kelli.

"You threw a massive party for her," Aretha said, her voice barely above a whisper, yet it cut through the room like a razor blade. "And not a single one of you remembered that today is my actual birthday."

The words hit Meredith and Cornelius like a physical blow. Both of their faces froze in sudden, horrifying realization.

Kelli, leaning against a maid on the sofa, looked panicked. If the media got hold of this, her sweet, innocent image would be ruined.

Anders's Adam's apple bobbed. He opened his mouth to say something, to defend himself against the sudden, crushing weight of guilt, but his throat felt glued shut.

Aretha didn't give him the chance to speak.

She pointed at the papers on the floor. "I am walking away with nothing," she told Anders, her voice devoid of any warmth. "I don't want a single cent of your money."

Walking away with nothing.

Those words completely shattered Anders's delusion that she was just playing hard to get.

Aretha turned on her heel. She pulled the collar of her thin trench coat tighter around her neck and walked straight toward the massive front doors.

Meredith finally snapped out of her shock. "If you walk out that door, don't you ever think about coming back!" she screamed, her voice cracking with desperation.

Aretha didn't pause. She didn't look back.

She pushed the heavy mahogany doors open.

The freezing, biting wind of Long Island howled into the foyer, whipping her dark hair around her face and blowing away the last traces of her existence in this house.

The heavy doors slammed shut behind her with a deafening thud, locking the hypocrisy and the shock inside.

Anders stood frozen in the center of the room. He looked down at the signed divorce papers at his feet. A sudden, sharp pain pierced his chest, completely unexplainable and terrifying.

Outside, Aretha walked alone down the long, tree-lined driveway toward the main highway.

The pain in her stomach was so severe she could barely stand straight, but as the cold wind hit her face, a genuine, completely free smile broke across her lips.