Beyond Divorce: He Is Not The Same

I woke up in a bedroom that screamed old money, but the body I occupied felt sluggish and fragile. I was now Chris Olson, a man known as a pathetic failure who spent his marriage groveling at his wife's feet for a single look of approval. Elizabeth didn't even wait for me to clear my head before she threw the divorce papers on the nightstand. She stood there in her silk robe, eyes cold as ice, demanding I sign them before breakfast so she could finally go public with her "White Moonlight," Greg. "You're walking away with nothing," she snapped, her voice full of the disgust she'd harbored for years. She reminded me that my family had disowned me and that I'd be on the streets within a week without her charity. As I sat up, a metallic, garlic-like scent on my breath confirmed a terrifying truth: the Olson family hadn't just disowned me; they had been micro-dosing me with arsenic for years. They wanted me weak and mentally unstable so they could split the inheritance without a fight. The original Chris would have cried and begged for her to stay, but I just looked at her like she was a target. I realized then that my "loving" family and my "faithful" wife had been watching me die in slow motion, and neither of them had lifted a finger to stop it. I signed the papers without reading a single line and walked out with nothing but a duffel bag and a rusted sedan. I didn't need her alimony; I had already called her greatest rival, Adelia Cherry, to discuss a merger that would rock the city. "I'm not here to save this marriage," I told Elizabeth as I moved into the mansion right next door to hers. "I'm here to bury it, along with everyone who thought they could poison me and get away with it."

Chapters

Chapter 4

The filing took ten minutes. Chris walked out a free man.

The paparazzi had dispersed, chasing Elizabeth's Rolls-Royce, but one car remained. A cherry-red Bentley Continental GT, idling directly in his path.

The tinted window rolled down. Adelia Cherry sat in the driver's seat. She was wearing oversized Chanel sunglasses and lipstick the color of fresh blood. She was Elizabeth's sworn enemy, a media mogul's daughter who thrived on chaos.

"That was quite a show, Mr. Olson," she purred.

Chris didn't stop walking until his hip was resting against the door of her car. He looked down at her over the rim of her glasses.

"You've been following me, Adelia. That's a dangerous habit."

Adelia paused. She took off her glasses. Her eyes were sharp, intelligent, and currently wide with surprise. No one spoke to her like that. Men usually stuttered or stared at her chest.

"Elizabeth is a fool," Adelia said, tapping her long, manicured nails on the steering wheel. "She traded a wolf for a poodle. I saw Greg's face. What did you say to him?"

"Medical advice," Chris said flatly.

Adelia laughed. It was a throaty, genuine sound. "I like you, Chris. You're... different. The reports said you were a broken man."

"The reports were wrong."

"I want to see the Washington family stock tank," Adelia said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Elizabeth has been walking around like she owns this city for too long."

"And I want to see the Olsons burn," Chris replied.

Adelia smiled. She unlocked the doors. "Get in. Let's discuss a merger."

Chris opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. The car smelled of leather and expensive vanilla.

Elizabeth's Rolls-Royce was stuck in traffic at the exit of the lot. She looked out the back window just in time to see Chris get into the red Bentley.

Her face went white.

"Is that... Adelia Cherry?" Greg asked, squinting. "Why is he with her?"

Elizabeth felt a surge of bile in her throat. Jealousy, hot and acidic, clawed at her chest. "Drive," she snapped at the chauffeur. "Just drive."

In the Bentley, Adelia gunned the engine. She wove through traffic with reckless speed, testing him.

Chris sat perfectly still. He didn't grab the handle. He didn't gasp. He watched the road with the bored detachment of someone who had driven through war zones.

"You're not scared?" Adelia asked, glancing at him.

"I've been in faster cars with people actively shooting at me," Chris said.

Adelia's grip on the wheel tightened. "Who are you really, Chris?"

She pulled over at a scenic overlook high above the city skyline.

"Here's the deal," she said, turning to face him. "We fake a relationship. I get the buzz. I get to humiliate Elizabeth. You get... well, you get to be seen with me."

Chris looked at her. He reached out, his hand circling the back of her neck. He didn't squeeze, but the weight of his hand was heavy, possessive. He pulled her slightly closer.

"Resource is a vague word, Adelia," he said softly. "I don't just want to be seen. I want 200 million dollars in a black account. And full access to your intelligence network."

Adelia gasped. Her heart hammered against her ribs. The audacity. The sheer, unmitigated arrogance.

"200 million? You're expensive for a fake boyfriend."

"I'm not a boyfriend," Chris said, his thumb tracing the pulse point on her neck. "I'm an investment."

Adelia stared into his eyes. She saw darkness there, and power.

"Deal," she whispered.

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