His Unwanted Wife, The Unbeatable Lawyer

Caterina POV:

The hotel room was sterile and anonymous, a forgotten space echoing my own recent past. The only scent was that of industrial-strength cleaner.

After a scalding hot shower, I felt like I'd scrubbed off three years of grime, the suffocating weight of being Mrs. Stanley.

I was just Caterina Quinn again.

My phone rang, an unknown number.

I let it ring four times before answering.

"Mrs. Stanley," a man's voice said.

I recognized it as Zane, one of Jared's most trusted soldiers.

"The Underboss is worried. You need to come home. Think of the Family's image."

The name felt like a slap.

"That is a title I no longer recognize," I said, my voice a razor-sharp edge. "You will address me as Caterina, or Ms. Quinn. Do you understand?"

He stammered for a moment before I cut the connection.

Seconds later, my encrypted phone buzzed.

Jared.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he snarled, his usual controlled facade shattered, replaced by pure fury. "You're trying to destroy me. You want to make me a laughingstock in front of the entire syndicate."

I picked up a file from the small desk.

"I'm looking at your medical report, Jared. Gunshot wound to the shoulder. In Sector Gamma. A sector Don Walsh explicitly ordered you to avoid."

The line went quiet.

"I also have the comms recording," I continued, my voice unwavering. "The full thirty seconds. Your call to Bianca. I can hear her little-girl voice so clearly. 'I'm so scared, you have to come for me.' And your reply... what was it again? Oh, yes. 'I'm coming, baby. Don't worry. I won't let anything happen to you.'"

I could hear his breathing, sharp and ragged.

He was speechless.

He knew I had it: the irrefutable proof of his profound dishonor.

"You talk about professionalism," I mocked, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. "How will your hero status hold up when the Dons on the Commission hear you abandoned your post, your wife, and your duty for an Associate you've been sleeping with?"

For the first time, his voice lost its accustomed edge, replaced by a raw note I hadn't heard in years: pleading.

"Kathy... I made a mistake. It was a moment of weakness."

"A mistake?" I laughed, a bitter, ugly sound. "Tell me, Jared, was it a mistake because you love her? Or was it because she was weaker than me? Did saving the damsel in distress finally make you feel like a real Made Man?"

He didn't answer.

He couldn't.

"I'm petitioning the Commission," I informed him, my resolve hardening into steel. "Not just for an annulment. I'm petitioning for a formal role: Their lead negotiator and interpreter. I'm going to show them what real loyalty and professionalism look like."

I thought of our wedding night.

Of him stepping out onto the balcony to take a call, his back to me in our marriage bed.

He'd murmured reassurances into the phone, the same soft tone he'd used for Bianca in the middle of a firefight.

I had been a fool then, believing it was just Family business.

A naive, blinded fool.

Never again.

With a final click, I disconnected the call and blocked his number, severing the final tie.