His Unwanted Wife: The Genius Artist Returns

Instead of going to the penthouse, I took a cab straight to the Estate.

It was a fortress of stone and iron, built to withstand sieges from rival families, but the true enemy was already inside.

I swept through the front doors, ignoring the shocked expressions of the guards. They didn't dare stop me.

I was still the Donna, even if my husband treated me like a mistress.

The house was quiet.

Too quiet.

I headed toward the main staircase. At the top of the landing, the gallery wall stretched out-a space that was supposed to be covered in our wedding photos. They were large, black-and-white prints of the day two crime families merged.

Now, the wall was bare.

The frames lay shattered on the marble floor below, and glass crunched ominously under my heels.

I looked up.

Ilene stood at the top of the stairs. She was wearing one of my silk robes, looking like a wraith-pale and smiling.

"I thought they looked better down there," she said.

Her voice echoed in the cavernous hall.

"Get out of my house, Ilene."

She tilted her head. "Ethan said this is my house now. He said you were going away for a long time."

Rage, hot and blinding, flooded my veins.

I started up the stairs, taking them two at a time. I didn't care about her fragility. I didn't care about her dead father. I was going to drag her out by her hair.

When I reached the top landing, Ilene didn't back away.

Instead, she stepped forward.

She placed her hands on my shoulders. Her grip was surprisingly strong.

"You are in the way," she whispered.

Then, she shoved.

It wasn't a stumble. It was a calculated, forceful push.

My heels slipped on the polished marble, and gravity took over.

I fell backward.

The world spun.

My back hit the edge of a step with a sickening crack.

My head slammed against the banister.

I tumbled down, a ragdoll of limbs and pain, finally crashing through the shards of my own wedding photos at the bottom.

I lay on the cold floor as darkness crept into the edges of my vision. I couldn't move my legs.

Through the haze, I saw the front door open.

Ethan walked in.

He stopped dead.

He looked at me, broken and bleeding on the floor, before shifting his gaze to the top of the stairs.

Ilene was screaming, fake tears streaming down her face.

"She slipped! Ethan! She tried to hit me and she slipped!"

Ethan looked back at me.

He didn't run to check my pulse.

Instead, he pulled out his phone.

"Erase the security tapes in the main hall," he ordered into the device.

Then he looked at his head of security.

"Get the car. We need to get Ilene out of here before the police come."

Without a second glance, he stepped over my body to get to her.