The Billionaire's Ex-Wife Is A Queen

Crawford pulled out his phone. The screen showed the emergency contact number for the private nurse.

The hostility vanished from his face. He turned his back and answered the call. His voice dropped low, carrying a trace of panic.

Holly's hand holding the scissors shook slightly. She heard him ask about Delphine's vital signs.

His back radiated a kind of tension she had never seen before. A cold, ironic sadness washed over Holly.

He hung up the phone. He turned back to face Holly. The aggressive predator was gone, replaced by a cold corporate negotiator.

He straightened his suit jacket. His voice was stiff as he announced that the divorce hearing had to be postponed.

Holly frowned. She tossed the scissors back onto the desk. She demanded to know why he was breaking the agreement.

Crawford used his father as the excuse. He said Arthur Morris had a heart condition and could not handle the shock of a family scandal right now.

Holly let out a dry laugh. She tore right through his lie. She pointed out that he was just terrified the divorce would crash the Morris Group's stock price this quarter.

The truth hit a nerve. Crawford's eyes darkened. He warned her not to act too smart.

He ordered Holly to attend a major charity gala with him tonight. They needed to maintain the illusion of a loving couple.

Holly crossed her arms. She refused flat out. She told him she was no longer his free PR prop.

Crawford lost his patience. He ripped a blank check from his checkbook and slapped it on the table. He told her to fill in the number.

The act of throwing money at her made Holly's blood boil. But then she remembered the massive final payment due for her studio's fabric order.

Holly changed her mind. She picked up the tablet on her desk and typed rapidly.

She pulled up a basic electronic contract and handed it to Crawford. The title read PR Appearance Service Agreement.

Crawford glanced at the screen. The billing rate was set at ten thousand dollars an hour.

He let out a harsh laugh. He mocked her, saying she finally showed her greedy true colors, just like her trailer park mother.

Holly kept her face blank. She replied that this was the market rate. If he didn't want to pay, he could get out.

Crawford ground his teeth. For the sake of the bigger picture tonight, he snatched the tablet and signed his name aggressively with his finger.

He tossed the tablet back to her. He viciously told her to dress like a proper Mrs. Morris tonight.

Holly checked the screen. The notification for the deposit pinged. A professional, fake smile touched her lips.

She gestured toward the door, kicking him out like a plague.

Crawford got back into the Maybach. He stared through the tinted window at the rusted iron gate rolling down. He yanked his tie loose.

At eight o'clock, a bulletproof SUV parked outside the studio.

Holly walked out. She wore a black, backless evening gown she had designed herself. The cut was sharp and aggressive.

The car window rolled down. Crawford looked at her wild, striking appearance. A flash of shock and deep displeasure crossed his eyes.

He coldly criticized the dress for being too revealing and against the family's conservative standards.

Holly slid into the backseat. She pressed herself against the far door. She coldly reminded him that the contract did not include a dress code.

The car pulled away, heading toward the Hamptons. The air inside the cabin grew heavy with their deliberate distance.