My Coldhearted Ex-Husband Demands A Remarriage

"Wait."

Taryn's voice cracked like a whip.

Erika stopped. She didn't turn around.

Footsteps clicked rapidly down the hallway. Alex, the receptionist, came jogging out of the private elevator, clutching an iPad to his chest. He was out of breath.

"Ms. Slattery," Alex panted, shoving the screen toward Taryn. "You asked me to dig up the old files on the ex-wife. Look."

Taryn ripped the iPad from his hands.

Erika turned slowly. Her heart slammed against her ribs, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of her neck.

Taryn stared at the screen. It was a five-year-old gossip column about the Morgan family scandal, explicitly detailing the disgraced former designer, Erika Stanton, who had married into the dynasty. There was a blurry photo of Erika.

Taryn looked at the screen, then at the engraved 'E.S.' on the back of the brooch, and finally at Erika's face.

The color drained from Taryn's face, instantly replaced by a dark, ugly red.

"You," Taryn breathed, her voice shaking with rage. She hurled the iPad at Erika's feet. The glass screen shattered across the marble floor. "Erika Morgan."

Erika didn't look at the broken glass. She met Taryn's furious gaze head-on. "It's Erika Stanton now. Do you need something else?"

The calm indifference in Erika's voice snapped the last thread of Taryn's sanity. She realized she had just bragged about Doyle's love to the woman who actually designed the jewelry.

Taryn spun around, grabbed a mug of steaming black coffee from the entryway console, and hurled the liquid straight at Erika's face.

Erika's instincts kicked in. She twisted her body violently to the right.

The scalding coffee missed her face but splashed heavily across her left forearm.

The cheap polyester of her sleeve instantly melted against her skin. A searing, blistering agony shot up Erika's arm. She sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth, her knees buckling for a fraction of a second.

Alex gasped, his hand flying to his mouth, but his eyes danced with cruel amusement.

Taryn stepped forward, her face twisted in hatred. "You cheap, cheating whore. How dare you come here and mock me?"

Erika clutched her burning arm, her breathing shallow.

"You think you're so special?" Taryn shrieked. "You're trash! And that bastard child you birthed is going to end up in the gutter just like you!"

The pain in Erika's arm vanished, replaced by a rush of adrenaline so pure it made her vision blur.

Ice flooded her veins.

Erika lunged forward.

Before Taryn could blink, Erika grabbed the lapel of the expensive silk robe. With one violent yank, she ripped the sapphire brooch free.

The sound of tearing silk echoed loudly in the hallway.

Taryn screamed, stumbling backward, throwing her hands up to protect her face.

Erika stood over her. She squeezed the brooch in her fist. The sharp metal pin sliced into her palm, but she didn't feel it.

"Listen to me very carefully," Erika said. Her voice wasn't loud, but it was deadly quiet. "If you ever mention my son again, I will make sure the press finds out exactly how you got your last three movie roles. Do you understand me?"

Taryn's mouth opened and closed. She was trembling, terrified by the absolute murder in Erika's eyes.

Erika looked down at the brooch in her bloody hand. "I designed this. You don't deserve to wear it."

She turned on her heel and slammed her hand against the elevator button.

The doors slid open instantly. Erika stepped inside, her spine rigid.

Taryn finally found her voice as the doors began to close. "I'll have Doyle fire you! You'll be on the streets!"

Erika let a cold, mocking smile touch her lips just as the metal doors sealed shut.

The moment she was alone, her legs gave out. She slid down the wall of the elevator, hitting the floor hard.

She ripped her sleeve up. The skin on her forearm was bright red, and angry blisters were already bubbling to the surface.

She squeezed her eyes shut, clutching the bloody brooch to her chest. She had to get Connor out of this city. She had to survive.