Too Late, CEO: Your Ex-Wife Is Gone

Arielle pushed open the heavy mahogany door of the penthouse. Her hands shook so violently that the metal keys rattled against the lock. The lingering adrenaline from the plane crash pumped through her veins, making her chest tight and her breaths shallow.

Rainwater dripped from the hem of her designer trench coat, its sleeve torn and stained with spilled coffee from the violent turbulence. It pooled silently on the pristine white marble floor of the foyer. The cold wetness soaked through her clothes, sticking to her skin like ice.

Her trembling fingers fumbled with the keys, finally letting them fall with a loud, messy clatter into the silver entry bowl. The metallic clink echoed loudly in the quiet space.

Arielle looked down. A pair of unfamiliar, cheap pink stilettos sat haphazardly near the entrance. They were kicked off carelessly, entirely out of place in the minimalist, expensive hallway. A cold, bitter certainty settled in her stomach. So, the anonymous tips that prompted her to hire a private investigator four months ago were true.

Her gaze shifted to the console table. A discarded silk tie lay there. It was the dark blue tie she had gifted Julian for their anniversary last month.

A soft, high-pitched female giggle drifted from the sunken living room. The sound pierced the silence.

Arielle's breath hitched. Her stomach clamped down hard. The playful giggle clashed violently with the ringing still echoing in her ears-the screams of the passengers, the terrifying drop of the aircraft just two hours ago.

She took a quiet, agonizing step forward. Her legs felt like lead. She leaned her weight against the cold corridor wall to keep from collapsing.

Peering around the corner, her vision blurred momentarily. She blinked hard, forcing her eyes to focus on the living room sofa.

Karli Lee, the new network intern, sat on the expensive leather couch. She was dangerously close to Julian.

Karli held a crystal glass of bourbon. She leaned in, her chest brushing Julian's arm, and whispered something near his ear.

Julian did not pull away. He sat back, relaxed. A faint smirk played on his usually stoic lips. He adjusted the cuffs of his tailored shirt, looking entirely comfortable with the proximity.

Arielle's mind flashed back to the plunging aircraft. The oxygen masks dropping. The absolute certainty that she was going to die.

A violent wave of nausea hit her stomach. Acid rose in her throat. She swallowed hard, forcing it down.

Her trembling arm slipped against the wall. Her elbow bumped the drywall with a dull thud.

The sudden noise drew Julian's sharp, predatory gaze toward the hallway.

His relaxed smirk vanished instantly. A cold, displeased stare replaced it as he saw his wife standing there.

Karli jumped up from the sofa. She spilled a drop of bourbon on the rug. She clutched her chest, acting startled and perfectly innocent.

"Oh! Mrs. Sinclair," Karli stammered. She played the timid, respectful intern caught off guard. "I was just... dropping off some files for Mr. Sinclair."

Arielle completely ignored Karli. Her deadened eyes locked directly onto Julian's face. She felt no anger, only a freezing numbness spreading from her chest to her fingertips.

Julian frowned deeply. He looked at the puddle forming around her shoes.

"Why are you dripping wet?" Julian asked. His tone was harsh and irritated. "You are ruining the imported Persian rug."

Arielle stood frozen. She waited for a single second. She waited for him to ask about her delayed flight from Boston. She waited for him to notice her pale face or her shaking hands.

"Your tardiness embarrassed me," Julian continued, his voice dropping in temperature. "I had to attend the charity dinner alone. You know how important those optics are."

Arielle realized it with absolute clarity. He had no idea about the crash. Or worse, he didn't care enough to check.

"Did you watch any news channels today?" Arielle asked. Her voice was hollow and raspy.

Julian dismissed the question irritably. He adjusted his heavy Patek Philippe watch.

"I had back-to-back board meetings, Arielle. I don't have time for trivialities," he said.

Karli interjects softly. She bit her lower lip, looking between them.

"I can go fetch a warm towel for you, Mrs. Sinclair," Karli offered, playing the helpful guest in Arielle's own home.

Arielle turned her icy gaze to Karli.

"Get out of my house immediately," Arielle said coldly.

Karli gasped softly. She looked at Julian with wide, teary, victimized eyes, seeking his protection.

"Arielle, stop this," Julian reprimanded sharply. He stood up, his tall frame dominating the room. "There is no need for this unprovoked hostility. She is a guest."

The words hit Arielle's chest like a physical blow. He defended the intern. He scolded his wife who had just survived a brush with death.

The last remaining thread of Arielle's love for him snapped. The sound was silent, but the finality in her chest was absolute.

She didn't argue. She didn't scream. Arielle turned away from the living room and began walking down the hallway toward the nursery.