His Unwanted Wife: The Rival's Secret Weapon

The sharp snip of the shears echoed in the cavernous silence of the penthouse.

April Potts trimmed the last white rose, placing it carefully into the crystal vase. The flowers were perfect, cold, and utterly devoid of fragrance, just like the life she had lived here for one thousand, ninety-five days.

The electronic chime of the lock sliced through the quiet.

Her fingers tightened on the stem, a thorn pricking her skin. She didn't flinch. He was home.

Eligah Madden swept in, bringing a gust of the city's chill with him. He didn't look at her. He never did. He walked straight to the bar, his movements precise and economical, and poured himself a measure of whiskey. The Patek Philippe on his wrist caught the light, a cold, expensive gleam.

He turned, his deep blue eyes finally landing on her, but they held no warmth. They were the eyes of a stranger.

He tossed a manila envelope onto the marble coffee table. It landed with a soft, definitive thud.

"Kinley's back."

The words were quiet, but they felt like a physical blow. A sudden, sharp cramp seized her stomach, making it hard to breathe. She had been expecting this day, rehearsing it in her mind for three years, but the reality was a suffocating weight.

She kept her face a blank mask.

Her gaze dropped to the envelope. The bold, black letters on the cover seemed to burn into her retinas: DIVORCE AGREEMENT.

Eligah took a sip of his whiskey, his expression unreadable. "Sign it."

He expected tears. He expected questions, pleading, a scene. She would give him none of it.

April walked toward the table, her steps even and measured. She picked up the agreement, her hands surprisingly steady. She didn't bother reading the legalese. Her eyes went straight to the last page, the signature line waiting for her like an open grave.

A flicker of something-annoyance? surprise? -crossed Eligah's face. Her placid acceptance was not part of his script.

She saw the settlement clause. A villa in the Hamptons. Ten million dollars. A tidy sum for three years of playing a part.

She picked up the pen from the table. In front of his watchful eyes, she drew a thick, deliberate line through the entire section detailing her compensation. The ink bled into the paper, a final, brutal amputation.

Beside the crossed-out paragraphs, she wrote a single, clear sentence.

I waive all claims.

Then, she signed her name: April Potts. The calluses on her fingertips, a secret legacy from years spent with a cello pressed against her, brushed against the smooth paper. It was a faint, grounding friction, a reminder of who she was before she became Mrs. Madden.

She slid the signed agreement back across the table toward him. "It's done."

Her phone buzzed on the counter, a stark, unwelcome intrusion. A calendar reminder: Ian's tuition payment due. Her brother. The reason for all of this. She silenced it with a quick jab of her thumb.

Eligah's gaze sharpened, becoming more complex, more searching. He picked up the document, his eyes scanning her signature, then the sentence she had added.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.

"I've been well compensated for my role as Mrs. Madden for the past three years," April said, her voice as smooth and cold as the marble beneath her feet. "Freedom is the best severance package."

A muscle jumped in Eligah's jaw. He was a man accustomed to control, to every piece on his board moving exactly as he willed. She had just flipped the table.

"Fine," he clipped out, his voice tight with suppressed anger. He folded the document and tucked it into his jacket. "You have twenty-four hours to be out."

He turned and walked to the door without a backward glance. No goodbye. No final words.

The lock clicked shut, a sound of absolute finality.

April stood frozen, her body rigid, until her legs began to tremble from the strain. She walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows and looked out at the glittering expanse of New York City. A city that sparkled with a million promises, none of them for her.

She took a deep, shuddering breath, the first one that felt truly her own in years. She pulled out her phone and found a number she rarely used. Brylee Coffey. Eligah's doting sister.

She typed a short message.

Congratulations to your brother. He's a free man.

Sent.

She immediately blocked the number.

Her eyes scanned the opulent cage one last time. There was no sadness, no regret. Only the exhilarating, terrifying feeling of release.

April turned and walked into the massive walk-in closet, her steps purposeful. She ignored the racks of designer clothes and rows of expensive shoes. She pulled out a single, worn suitcase from the very back. It was time to pack up April Potts and leave Mrs. Madden behind for good.