The Genius Heiress Divorces Her Billionaire

Arline reached for the brass doorknob of the master bedroom.

Before her fingers could touch the cold metal, she heard footsteps in the hallway.

She stopped. She kept her face perfectly blank.

The door pushed open from the outside. Agnes O'Shea stood in the doorway. Agnes was the head housekeeper of the Caldwell estate. She was a stern woman in her fifties who only took orders from Edgardo.

Agnes held a silver tray with a glass of water. She stopped dead when she saw Arline.

Agnes stared at the grey business suit. She stared at the heavy leather trunk in Arline's hand.

Agnes quickly forced a polite, fake smile onto her face.

"Mrs. Caldwell," Agnes said. "Mr. Caldwell asked me to tell you he will not be returning to the master bedroom tonight. Miss Kenia has a terrible fever. He must stay in the West Wing to monitor her."

Arline listened to the lie. A cold, sharp smile cut across her face.

She did not lower her eyes. She did not look sad.

Arline stepped forward, forcing Agnes to back out into the hallway.

Arline looked at the walls of the corridor. Expensive garlands of white roses hung from the wall sconces. Edgardo ordered them put up yesterday to show the staff he cared about the anniversary.

Arline turned her head to look at Agnes.

"Wake up the night shift," Arline said. Her voice was flat and hard. It sounded like a blade scraping against stone.

Agnes blinked. "Excuse me, ma'am?"

"Wake up every maid currently on shift," Arline commanded. "I want every single anniversary decoration in this house torn down and thrown in the garbage before the sun comes up."

Agnes stiffened. She lifted her chin, trying to use Edgardo's authority.

"Mr. Caldwell specifically ordered these decorations, ma'am. He will be very angry if we destroy them without his permission."

Arline took one step closer to the housekeeper. She looked down at the older woman.

"Who signs your paycheck, Agnes?" Arline asked.

Agnes opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

The Caldwell family had money, but Arline's personal trust fund paid for the estate's daily operations. Arline controlled the household budget.

"I do," Arline said, answering her own question. "If those flowers are not in the incinerator in twenty minutes, you will pack your bags and leave this property. Do you understand?"

Cold sweat broke out on Agnes's forehead. She nodded quickly. She pulled a walkie-talkie from her belt and began barking orders to the staff.

Arline carried her trunk down the grand staircase.

She walked into the main living room on the first floor. She sat down on a single silk armchair. She crossed her legs. She kept her back completely straight.

Five maids ran into the room. They wore their sleep uniforms. They looked terrified.

They saw Arline sitting there in her grey suit. They saw the dead look in her eyes. No one dared to speak.

Under Arline's silent stare, the maids dragged step-ladders into the room. They began ripping the silk ribbons and white roses off the walls and the fireplace mantle.

A young maid's hand shook. She bumped a heavy crystal vase sitting on a side table.

The vase crashed to the hardwood floor. It shattered into a hundred pieces. The loud noise echoed like a gunshot in the quiet room.

The young maid dropped to her knees. She covered her head with her arms, shaking violently. She waited for Arline to scream at her. The vase cost ten thousand dollars.

Arline looked at the broken glass. Her expression did not change.

"Sweep it into the trash," Arline said calmly. "Do not bother logging it in the inventory."

The absolute lack of emotion in Arline's voice terrified the staff more than screaming ever could. The air in the room felt heavy and suffocating.

In thirty minutes, the living room was stripped bare. The fake romance was gone. Only the cold, empty luxury of the house remained.

Arline stood up. She brushed a piece of invisible dust off her suit jacket. She picked up her trunk.

She walked toward the front entrance.

Agnes ran after her. "Ma'am, where are you going at this hour? Should I wake the driver?"

Arline stopped. She turned her head slightly.

"I am going to the Monroe estate," Arline said. "I do not need a Caldwell car."

She pulled her phone from her pocket. She dialed the number for Cora Finch. Cora was Arline's personal assistant, paid directly from the Monroe trust fund.

Cora answered on the first ring.

"Send a car to the Caldwell estate. Now," Arline ordered.

Arline hung up. She pushed open the heavy front doors.

The rain had stopped. The air smelled like wet dirt and crushed leaves.

Arline stood alone on the massive stone porch. The cold wind blew the loose strands of hair around her face. She did not shiver.

Ten minutes later, a black, bulletproof Maybach cut through the darkness. It parked at the bottom of the stone steps.

Cora jumped out of the driver's seat. She wore a black trench coat. She ran up the steps and took the heavy trunk from Arline's hand. Cora looked at Arline's pale face with deep concern.

Arline walked down the steps. She got into the back seat of the Maybach.

She did not look back at the Caldwell estate. She stared straight ahead.

The windows rolled up. The Maybach drove into the night.