Too Meek For High Society, Too Deadly To Cross

Alexander's face flushed a violent red, fury hardening every line of his expression.

"Natalia, have you completely lost your mind?" he barked. "For three years you've stayed home, with no career, no income, not a cent set aside. What exactly makes you think you have anything to bargain with when you ask me for a divorce? The moment you walk out that door, you will not even be able to pay rent."

Certainty weighed down his words, the arrogance in his tone unmistakable. "You will regret this."

Natalia's crimson lips lifted into a faint curve, the smile sharp and openly derisive. "Regret this? And who, exactly, do you think you are?"

Her eyes flicked from him to Aimee, revulsion making no attempt to hide itself. "You could put a hundred million dollars in front of me, and I still would not waste another second tied to a man as disgusting as you. Standing beside you alone makes my skin crawl."

The naked contempt in her stare struck Alexander like a slap. Anger boiled over as he snatched the pen from the cabinet, dragging it across the page as he scrawled his signature at the bottom of the document, the motion sharp and unhesitating.

He hurled the papers back in her direction. "Do not come crawling back later."

Natalia caught the thin stack effortlessly. Her eyes skimmed the signatures, her name finally disentangled from Alexander's, and satisfaction curved her lips.

She raised her gaze, letting it pass over his livid face before settling on Aimee, pale and trembling against the hospital bed.

"Oh, right," Natalia said casually, lifting her phone and giving it a small, deliberate shake. "Aimee, that photo you sent, the pregnancy test, and that smug little message you added. Every one of them is safely saved. I hope you and the child you are carrying are prepared for what it feels like to be examined by the entire internet. This will be posted. Everywhere."

With that, she turned on her heel and walked away, the sharp click of her heels echoing down the corridor.

...

Natalia returned to a modest apartment she owned in the heart of Egonio, a place she had kept carefully separate from her married life.

Alexander had never once known this apartment existed.

Three years earlier, she had only just stepped back into the country, barely finding time to steady herself before her grandmother swiftly arranged a marriage alliance with the Douglas family.

Back then, exhaustion weighed heavily on her. After years of skirting danger and enduring an unrelenting pace, the idea of marrying Alexander and settling into a calm, ordinary life with someone she believed she loved had seemed almost comforting.

Because the union had been arranged by both families, she had taken it for granted that Alexander viewed the marriage the same way she did.

The truth only surfaced after the wedding ceremony ended. His heart had long belonged to Aimee, yet he had still gone ahead and married her.

Once married, he behaved as if Natalia barely existed within his world.

What a piece of trash.

Without ceremony, Natalia tossed the divorce papers onto the entryway cabinet, opened the refrigerator, and retrieved a bottle of icy water.

She drank it down in long swallows, the cold washing through her chest and finally dousing the last sparks of irritation.

In the study, she switched on a laptop that looked unremarkable on the surface but hid layers of top-tier encryption beneath its casing.

Light bloomed across the screen, revealing a file the organization had sent, sitting quietly on the desktop.

The filename read "Top-Secret Encrypted File Theft."

Threads of clues twisted together in chaos, yet every single one led back to the same destination, the Evans family residence in Egonio, Khustin.

Her long fingers began to move with speed and precision, pulling up every scrap of publicly available information on the Evans family within moments.

Among the dense layers of data, a recruitment notice abruptly caught her attention. "Evans Group is seeking a Senior Nutritionist with attractive compensation to take full charge of Christopher Evans' daily dietary needs."

Christopher stood at the helm of the company. Stories about him circulated widely, describing a man who made decisions without hesitation, enforced his will ruthlessly, and tolerated no opposition.

Recently, a major car accident had left both of his legs gravely injured, altering his physical condition overnight.

Light flashed briefly in Natalia's eyes, and a subtle, self-assured smile appeared at the edge of her mouth.

She shut the laptop and headed into the walk-in closet. The restrictive dress was discarded, replaced with a crisp white shirt and fitted black trousers. Her long hair was gathered high and secured neatly. In moments, the familiar sharpness returned, the composed presence of an elite operative settling back into place.

The next day, at Evans Manor, seated on a sofa in the formal living room, Natalia finally came face to face with Christopher.

He remained in a wheelchair, dressed in a tailored black shirt with two buttons left undone at the collar, exposing the clean line of his collarbone.

There was an edge to his appearance that bordered on intimidating. The sharp bridge of his nose, the firm set of his mouth, and eyes colder than ice allowed him to dominate the space without effort, pressing down on the room with sheer presence alone.

The lines of muscle were clearly defined beneath the fabric. Even seated in a wheelchair, his frame gave away nothing of weakness. With that build, it was easy to imagine him standing well over six foot two, broad and imposing.

Natalia set a neat stack of credentials on the table before him.

"Senior Nutritionist certification. International Master Chef license. There are a few additional qualifications as well," she said evenly. "You may examine them at your convenience, Mr. Evans."

Christopher lifted his eyes slowly from the documents, his gaze settling on her composed expression. A faint curve touched the corner of his thin lips.

When he finally spoke, his voice came out low and magnetic, carrying a trace of casual amusement.

"So," he said, "even the wife of the Douglas Group's CEO needs to step out and earn her own money now?"