The Billionaire Refuses To Divorce Me

Just as her fingers tightened on the doorknob, Kelsey's voice, now laced with a theatrical whimper, drifted from the bed. "Adler, my chest... it suddenly feels so tight..."

Iris internally rolled her eyes. Gastroenteritis didn't cause chest tightness. It was a pathetic, transparent ploy for attention.

She didn't hesitate. She pulled the door open and stepped out, the heavy wood swinging shut behind her, cutting off the sound of the manufactured drama inside.

The hallway was empty, brightly lit and sterile. The sudden quiet was a relief, like coming up for air after being held underwater. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

Her heels clicked sharply on the polished floor as she walked quickly toward the staff elevator. All she wanted was to get home, take a scalding hot shower, and wash the memory of this entire encounter off her skin.

A moment later, the door to the VIP suite opened again behind her. A single set of footsteps, heavy and deliberate, followed.

She didn't need to look back. She could feel his presence, an oppressive weight in the air, a familiar, predatory stillness that raised the hairs on her arms.

She reached the staff elevator and slipped inside, the doors closing just as the heavy footsteps approached. A floor below, she hurried out; her office was just down the hall. If she could just get inside, lock the door...

She swiped her key card, the lock chirped, and she slipped into her office, immediately turning and throwing the deadbolt. The solid thunk of the lock sliding into place was a small, satisfying sound.

Leaning back against the cool wood of the door, she closed her eyes. Her heart was racing, a wild, frantic rhythm against her ribs. It was infuriating.

She pushed off the door, clutching her handbag and the white coat she had just shucked off. There was another exit through the residents' lounge. She could still escape.

Then, the internal office phone on her desk let out a shrill ring.

She stared at it, her jaw tight. She knew who it was. She let it ring twice more before snatching it up.

"What?"

It was Caleb's voice, strained and apologetic. "Iris... uh... Mr. Pope says he needs to have a word with you. Alone."

"Tell him I've already left for the day," she said, her voice like ice.

She slammed the phone down. But before she could take a step, she heard a new sound. The faint, metallic scrape of a key sliding into the lock of her office door.

Her head snapped up in disbelief. She watched, frozen, as the doorknob began to turn slowly. She had forgotten. The dean's assistant had a master key to all the surgical offices.

The door swung open.

Adler Pope stood in the doorway, his tall frame silhouetted against the bright hallway light, plunging her small office into shadow. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, the click of the latch echoing in the sudden silence.

He moved toward her, one slow, deliberate step at a time. The air grew thick, heavy with his unspoken intent. The room, which had always felt functional and spacious enough, suddenly seemed to shrink, closing in around her.

Iris instinctively backed away until the edge of her cold, metal desk pressed into her lower back. There was nowhere else to go.

He stopped directly in front of her, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body. He looked down at her, his face a mask of complex emotions. There was curiosity, a tightly controlled anger, and something else... something she couldn't decipher, hidden deep in the stormy depths of his eyes.

Four years. He was taller than she remembered, or maybe it was just the sheer force of his presence that made him seem to tower over her.

The silence stretched, taut and suffocating.

"Mrs. Pope," he finally said, his voice a low, rough murmur.

The name hit her like a physical blow. A shockwave that traveled from her ears straight to her stomach, which clenched painfully. He remembered. Of course, he remembered.

She forced herself to meet his gaze, constructing a wall of cool indifference. "Mr. Pope," she replied, her own voice clipped and distant. "I believe we need to discuss the divorce proceedings."

She went on the offensive, a desperate attempt to reclaim some semblance of control.

"My lawyer has contacted your team multiple times," she continued, her voice steady despite the tremor she felt deep inside. "I'm ready to sign whenever you are."

A humorless, mocking smile touched the corner of Adler's mouth. "Is that so? My lawyer informed me that when he went to file the papers this afternoon, the court clerk had already gone home for the day."

Iris stared at him, momentarily stunned. That was his reason? A bureaucratic technicality?

He took another step closer, closing the last remaining inches between them. He leaned down, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "So, it seems, Mrs. Pope, that we are stuck with each other for at least one more day."

His scent-a clean, sharp mix of expensive cologne and something uniquely him-enveloped her. It was overwhelming, disorienting. She tried to sidestep him, to escape the cage he had created.

He moved faster, planting a hand on the desk on either side of her, his arms bracketing her body. She was completely and utterly trapped.

A spark of alarm lit in her eyes. "What do you want, Adler?" she snapped, her voice sharp with warning. "For Kelsey Mcknight's sake, shouldn't you be finalizing our divorce as quickly as possible?"