You Cannot Afford Your Divorced Wife Now

Three years later, the grand ballroom of the Castillo estate glittered with a thousand champagne-colored lights. It was a scene of opulent perfection, a carefully curated display of wealth and power for New York's elite.

The occasion was Isabell's third birthday.

Jeremey Castillo stood near the towering French doors, a crystal glass of whiskey in his hand. He was in a bespoke Tom Ford suit, his expression as cool and remote as ever as he nodded along to something a banking magnate was saying.

Hayden, draped in a shimmering Oscar de la Renta gown, moved through the crowd with practiced grace. A breathtaking diamond necklace, a recent gift from Jeremey, rested against her collarbones. She was the perfect hostess, the doting mother, the lady of the manor.

A nanny led Isabell by the hand through a sea of smiling adults. The little girl was dressed in a frilly princess gown, her dark hair done up in perfect ringlets. She accepted the polite coos and birthday wishes with a quiet, doll-like stillness. There was no joy in her wide, dark eyes.

Jeremey's gaze drifted to his daughter. A flicker of something complex—unease, perhaps—crossed his face before it was smoothed away.

"Darling," Hayden's soft voice said beside him. She linked her arm through his, her touch light and proprietary. "Look at Isabell. She's so happy."

He looked at Hayden's flawless profile, at the gentle smile on her lips. He pushed down the sliver of doubt. He had made the right choice. This life, this protection, was what they both deserved.

Then, the great oak doors at the end of the ballroom swung open.

A hush fell over the chattering crowd.

A woman stood framed in the doorway. She wore a floor-length gown of scarlet silk, the color of blood and fire. It was a jarring, defiant slash of color in the room's muted elegance.

She was tall and slender, with a cascade of dark hair falling over her shoulders. A pair of oversized sunglasses hid her eyes, and her lips, painted the same shade as her dress, were curved into a faint, mocking smile.

Behind her stood a man, equally imposing, his presence radiating a quiet, dangerous confidence. Gilmer Garrett.

Whispers erupted through the ballroom. Who was she?

Jeremey's hand tightened on his glass, the crystal groaning under the pressure. The air in his lungs seemed to freeze.

Three years had passed. She looked different, carried herself with an entirely new, unbreachable aura. But he knew. He would know her anywhere.

Adeline Garrett.

Beside him, Hayden's smile froze. Her fingers dug into his arm, her manicured nails biting into the fine wool of his suit.

Adeline slowly, deliberately, removed her sunglasses. She revealed a pair of eyes that were no longer soft and filled with love. They were chips of ice, cold and beautiful and sharp.

Her gaze found his across the crowded room.

"Hello, Jeremey," she said. Her voice was not loud, but it carried through the silent ballroom with perfect, chilling clarity. "A birthday party for my daughter. How could I not be invited?"

The statement detonated in the room. Jaws dropped. So this was her. The disgraced ex-wife.

Jeremey's face turned to stone, a dark flush creeping up his neck. He had never imagined she would have the audacity to show her face here again.

"Who let you in?" he snarled.

Adeline's gaze shifted, moving past him to the small girl in the princess dress.

Isabell was staring back at her. Not with fear, or confusion. But with a look of intense, searching curiosity. A flicker of recognition.

Hayden immediately stepped in front of Jeremey, a shield of manufactured vulnerability. Her voice trembled as she spoke to Adeline, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Adeline, why are you here? Why do you insist on hurting us? All we want is a peaceful life for Isabell."

She played the victim flawlessly, tears welling in her eyes.

The sight of Hayden's "distress" fueled Jeremey's rage. He took a menacing step forward.

"Get out," he bit out, his voice a low growl.

Adeline ignored him completely. Her eyes remained fixed on Isabell, and the corner of her mouth lifted in a small, enigmatic smile.

"Security!" Jeremey roared.

Two guards began to move toward the entrance.

The man beside Adeline, Gilmer, took a single step forward, placing himself between her and the approaching guards. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't have to.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he said, his tone mild but laced with steel.

Jeremey's eyes narrowed, finally focusing on the man. A surge of possessive, irrational jealousy burned in his gut.

As he turned to bark a new order at the guards, Hayden's face, for a fraction of a second, was a mask of pure, venomous hatred. The sorrowful act vanished, replaced by a look of such vicious resentment it was startling.

It was there and gone in a blink, an ugly secret revealed and then hidden again.

Adeline saw it. Her calm expression didn't change. She had expected nothing less.

Her return wasn't an impulse. It was a declaration of war. And it had only just begun.