His Unwanted Wife: The Genius Designer

The night air was freezing. Kelsey pulled the collar of Phoebe's cheap black trench coat up around her neck.

She stood in front of the revolving glass doors of The Crown, Manhattan's most exclusive private member's club.

She took one step forward. Two massive bouncers stepped into her path, crossing their thick arms.

They looked her up and down. They sneered at the frayed edges of her coat.

"Show your diamond VIP card," the bouncer demanded.

Kelsey knew her black cards were dead. She kept her face completely blank.

"Locker 001," she said. She rattled off a twelve-digit alphanumeric passcode.

The bouncer rolled his eyes and typed the code into his tablet.

The screen flashed green. A maximum-security clearance alert popped up.

The bouncer's face dropped. He quickly stepped aside and bowed his head.

Kelsey walked past them. She ignored the pounding bass and the smell of expensive liquor coming from the main dance floor.

She walked straight to the dark, quiet corridor at the back of the club.

She found her private locker. She typed the code into the keypad. The metal door popped open.

She reached inside and pulled out a thick, leather-bound design manuscript. Ervin had locked it away a year ago.

She shoved it into her canvas tote bag.

The sharp click of high heels hitting the marble floor echoed down the hall.

Kelsey turned around.

Sylvia Vance walked around the corner. Her arm was wrapped tightly around Ervin's elbow.

Kelsey's stomach did a painful flip. Her fingers dug into the strap of her canvas bag. She forced her face to remain completely still.

She lowered her chin and stepped to the side, trying to walk past them.

Sylvia spotted her. She stepped directly into Kelsey's path, blocking the narrow hallway.

"Look at this," Sylvia laughed loudly. "The dumped wife looks like a beggar from the slums."

Ervin stood with one hand in his suit pocket. His eyes were chips of black ice. He did not say a word to stop Sylvia.

Kelsey lifted her head. Her eyes were dead and empty. She looked straight into Ervin's face.

"Excuse me," she said. Her voice was a flat monotone. She looked at him like he was a complete stranger.

The total indifference felt like a physical punch to Ervin's gut. His jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached.

Sylvia saw Ervin stay quiet. She smiled. She leaned in close to Kelsey's face.

"My baby is going to take your place in the Valdez family," Sylvia whispered.

Kelsey's eyes slowly dropped to Sylvia's perfectly flat stomach. She noted the smooth, unblemished line of the designer dress, finding the exact visual proof that the tabloids' claim of her 'showing' was a complete fabrication.

A cold, sharp smile touched Kelsey's lips.

"Your forged ultrasound report is a pathetic joke, Sylvia."

Sylvia's face drained of all color. Her eyes widened in panic.

Rage took over. Sylvia raised her hand high and swung it hard at Kelsey's face.

Kelsey's hand shot up. She caught Sylvia's wrist mid-air. Her grip was like iron.

Kelsey pulled her other arm back and slapped Sylvia across the face with every ounce of strength she had.

The crack echoed loudly off the corridor walls.

Sylvia screamed and collapsed onto the marble floor, clutching her red cheek.

Ervin's face turned murderous.

He lunged forward. His large hand wrapped around Kelsey's slender throat.

He slammed her back against the wall. The impact knocked the wind out of her lungs.

Kelsey gasped for air. Her hands clawed at his thick wrist. Her eyes burned into his, refusing to look away.

"Do not ever touch what is mine," Ervin hissed through his teeth. "You think you have the right to lay a hand on anyone under my protection?"

Kelsey forced her lips apart. She gathered the saliva in her dry mouth.

She spat directly onto the collar of his custom-made shirt.

"Ervin, you make me sick," she croaked.