The Billionaire Husband Who Faked Bankruptcy

The elevator arrived. I stepped in. "She's smarter than you."

He jammed a hand against the door to keep it open. "What did you offer her? I'm the one paying her salary."

"You pay her salary. I provide it."

His hand slackened.

The doors started to close. He shot his arm out again. "Wait."

"Let go."

"At least tell me where you're going."

"None of your business."

The doors closed.

He shouted something through the gap. I didn't catch it.

A neighbor heading down to take out the trash crossed paths with me, eyes dropping to my suitcase.

I gave a small smile. "Business trip."

He nodded and didn't ask more.

The wind poured down my collar the moment I cleared the entrance, and only then did I remember my coat was still inside.

I couldn't be bothered to go back for it. I called a car on my phone.

While I waited, his call came through. I cut it off.

It came again. I blocked him.

Then my phone died.

The heat in the car was on full. The driver glanced at me twice in the rearview mirror. "Where to, miss?"

"Just drive for now."

He laughed. "Running away from home?"

"Getting divorced."

He cleared his throat and turned the mirror back.

I gave him Megan's address.

When I got there she opened the door, hair a mess, half asleep. "At this hour? What are you doing here?"

"It's done."

That woke her up.

She poured me a glass of water. "What did he say?"

"Not much. He signed."

She stared at me for three full seconds. "Could you cry, just a little? You're scaring me like this."

I didn't cry.

I finished the water and splashed my face. She followed and leaned against the bathroom doorframe. "You got the shares?"

"Sixty percent."

"He agreed?"

"His assistant handed me the reports."

She whistled. "That girl's got nerve. Won't he go after her when he finds out?"

"She's already gone."

"Gone where?"

"Don't know. I told her to leave."

She didn't ask again.

The next morning she made porridge. I'd had two spoonfuls when my hand started shaking again.

I set the bowl on the table. She watched and said nothing.

"I'm fine," I said.

"Fine, my ass."

She took the porridge away. "You're going to the hospital."

"No."

"Then you're not staying here."

I looked at her.

She glared right back. "Your hand's shaking like you've got Parkinson's. I mean it."

I went in the afternoon anyway.

The doctor asked a string of questions, then wrote out an order for tests.

While I was in line, I borrowed her phone to log in to my messages. They blew up.

In the company group he'd tagged me a dozen times, asking if anyone had seen me.

No one answered.

I scrolled down. There was one private message, from his assistant. He didn't come to you, did he?

I replied: No.

She wrote back in a second: He called me seventeen times yesterday.

I thought it over. Block him.

She sent back a smiley face.

The tests ran almost until dark. The doctor looked at the results and said I wasn't resting well and wasn't eating enough, and prescribed some vitamins.

I'd just stepped out of the exam room when the phone rang. Megan's number. I picked up, and it was his voice.

"Where are you?"

I hung up.

He called again. I just turned her phone off.

Back downstairs at her place, I saw his black car parked at the curb.

She pulled me toward the side door. He got out and came after us.

"So this is how it is? You're just going to hide from me?"

I turned around. "Are you following me?"

"I've been looking for you all day."

His eyes were ringed dark, like he hadn't slept all night. "I won't go after the assistant. Come back and let's talk this through."

"There's nothing to talk about."

"The money—" He stepped closer. "I'll give you every cent, you keep the shares too, just come back. Can you do that?"