My Divorced Wife Is A Zillionaire

"Check the purchase history. Get the most expensive one."

Cora's hands stopped moving.

Of course. Of *course* the birthday cakes had been his assistant's doing. Three years of candlelit desserts she'd treasured like proof of his hidden affection-all of them selected by a man named Dexter who probably had a template email for the occasion.

Was there anything real? Any gesture, any moment, any whispered word that hadn't been a performance?

The question hit her so hard that her hand slipped. The swab pressed too deep into the wound.

Julian hissed in pain. His head snapped up, eyes narrowing. "Are you even qualified? You've been distracted since you got here."

His gaze dropped to her name badge.

Cora's heart stopped.

She saw the exact moment recognition hit him. His pupils dilated. The arrogant mask of command cracked, just for an instant, revealing something that might have been shock. Or guilt.

"Cora." Her name came out strangled. "What are you-you're supposed to be off tonight."

She couldn't hold the facade anymore. The mask came off. The goggles followed.

Her smile was a slash of bitterness.

"If I hadn't picked up the emergency shift, I never would have known my husband was screwing another woman in a hotel room."

Julian's expression darkened. "Don't be vulgar. Tiffany and I aren't-"

"Don't." The word came out sharp as a scalpel. "Whatever explanation you're about to give, I promise you I don't want to hear it. It'll just make me sick."

She grabbed her kit and walked away before he could see her cry.

Her chest was caving in. Every breath felt like inhaling ground glass. She had to get out of here, had to put distance between herself and the man she'd wasted three years loving-

"-Vance risked his life to save her, apparently. Ran back into a burning building."

Cora froze mid-step. Two nurses were huddled by the supply station, voices low and eager.

"She's *that* Tiffany Reed? The artist?"

"The one and only. They were apparently high school sweethearts. She left for some fellowship overseas, broke his heart. Now she's back, and..." A knowing pause. "Well. You do the math."

"Doesn't he have a wife, though? That doctor from the surgical wing-Cora something?"

"Oh, honey." A pitying laugh. "How long do you think *that's* going to last now that the real thing is back in town?"

Cora kept walking.

She'd never met Tiffany Reed before tonight. But she knew the name. Everyone who'd ever loved Julian Vance knew that name.

Before Julian was the billionaire CEO, before he was the most sought-after bachelor on the East Coast, he was just a young man in love with a girl named Tiffany. The golden couple. Everyone assumed they'd end up together.

Then Tiffany left for her fellowship senior year, and she didn't come back.

A year later, Cora saved Beatrice Vance's life.

The elderly matriarch had collapsed at a charity gala. Cora, a newly minted ER resident who'd crashed the event just to catch a glimpse of Julian, had been the only person in the room with medical training. She'd performed CPR for seven minutes until the paramedics arrived.

Beatrice survived. And she'd been so grateful-so inexplicably, bewilderingly grateful-that she'd asked Cora to marry her grandson.

Julian had agreed. One look, a single nod, and Cora's dream had come true.

She'd spent three years trying to earn his love. Three years of gourmet meals timed to his unpredictable schedule. Three years of canceled plans, missed anniversaries, cold sheets on her side of the bed while he stayed up working. Three years of swallowing her pride, her needs, her entire identity, trying to become whatever he wanted.

She'd loved him with a desperation that shamed her now.

And she'd always known, somewhere deep in the marrow of her bones, that he didn't love her back.

Now she knew why.

Cora moved through the triage zone like a ghost, treating burns and smoke inhalation, her face wet with tears she couldn't stop. No one noticed. Everyone was too busy.

---

It was nearly dawn when she finally made it home.

The bedroom light was on. Julian sat on the edge of their bed in a black silk robe, his dark hair still damp from the shower, the sutured wound at his temple giving him a rakish, dangerous look. He was beautiful. He'd always been beautiful. It was the first thing she'd loved about him.

It had become the least important thing.

"There's still time before midnight." His voice was low, carefully neutral. "The cake's in the kitchen. I'll light the candles."