The Unwanted Wife Demands A Divorce

The sound of the shower running behind the locked door was like water torture. Every drop was a reminder that he was in there, washing her sister's perfume off his skin, while she stood out here, trapped and humiliated.

Adina didn't move. She didn't go to the guest room. She didn't unpack her bag. She walked over to Dorman's side of the bed-the side with the navy blue silk sheets that were always perfectly made-and sat down.

She pulled out her phone. The screen was filled with texts from Arely.

Arely Cross: Are you okay?

Arely Cross: Did he hurt you?

Arely Cross: Addie, please answer me.

Adina typed back with trembling fingers: I'm fine. I'm handling it.

She put the phone down and waited. Five minutes. Ten minutes. The shower shut off. The silence stretched, thick and tense.

Finally, the bathroom door opened. Dorman stepped out, a black silk robe tied loosely at his waist, his hair damp and slicked back from his face. He looked like a panther, sleek and dangerous, even in loungewear.

He stopped short when he saw her sitting on his bed. His eyes narrowed, a flash of irritation crossing his features. "I thought I made myself clear."

"You did," Adina said, standing up. She pulled the towel tighter around herself, refusing to feel vulnerable. "And so did I. I'm not dropping this, Dorman. I want a divorce."

He walked past her, picking up a towel to dry the ends of his hair. "There is no divorce. There is only a contract that you are bound to fulfill."

"This isn't a contract!" Adina shouted, her voice bouncing off the high ceilings. "This is my life! You treat me like a piece of furniture, Dorman. You ignore me for months, and the second your ex-girlfriend steps off a plane, you run straight to her hotel!"

Dorman stopped drying his hair. He tossed the towel onto a chair and turned to face her, his expression hardening. "Cierra has nothing to do with this."

"She has everything to do with this!" Adina took a step closer, jabbing a finger in his direction. "You think I'm stupid? You think I don't know why you really skipped dinner tonight?"

Dorman's eyes turned to ice. "I skipped dinner because I have a company to run. A company, I might add, that is the only thing keeping your family from bankruptcy."

"Don't change the subject!" Adina screamed, the control she had been clinging to finally snapping. "You were with her! I can still smell her on you!"

Dorman went very still. The silence in the room was absolute, broken only by the sound of Adina's ragged breathing.

"You're being hysterical," he said softly, the words dripping with condescension. "You're projecting your own insecurities onto a situation you know nothing about."

"I know you were at The Carlyle!" she yelled, the words spilling out before she could stop them. "I know you were with her this afternoon!"

Dorman didn't flinch. He didn't look surprised or guilty. He just stared at her, his face an unreadable wall. Then, a cold, mocking smile touched his lips. "Your sources are impressively fast. But your conclusions are wrong."

"Wrong?" Adina laughed, the sound brittle and harsh. "You're a liar, Dorman. You're a cold, calculating liar, and I'm done playing the dutiful wife."

She turned on her heel and marched toward her suitcase. She grabbed the handle, intent on walking out that door and never looking back.

She barely made it two steps.

A hand clamped around her wrist like a vise. The grip was tight, unyielding, the pressure immediate and bruising. Adina gasped, dropping the suitcase handle as she was spun around.

Dorman yanked her backward, pulling her flush against his chest. His other arm wrapped around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides. He was breathing hard, his chest heaving against her back, his face inches from hers.

"I said," he growled into her ear, his voice no longer calm but rough and dangerous, "we are not discussing divorce."

Adina struggled, trying to twist out of his grip, but he was too strong. His arm was like a steel band across her ribs. Panic flared in her chest, mixing with the anger.

"Let me go!" she shrieked, kicking her legs. "You can't keep me here!"

"Watch me," he snarled.

He walked her backward, his long strides forcing her to stumble, until her back hit the cold, hard surface of the bedroom wall. He pinned her there, his hands flat against the wall on either side of her head, caging her in.

He was so close she could feel the heat radiating off his skin. His eyes were dark, turbulent pools, swirling with an emotion she couldn't name. It looked like rage. It looked like fear. It looked like something desperate and wild.

"You are my wife," he said, his voice low and intense. "You are not going anywhere."