Fifty Million Reasons To Hate Him

The Maybach tore down the empty streets of Manhattan. The air pressure inside the sealed cabin was suffocating. Harrison sat completely still, his dark eyes locked onto Iris's trembling form in the corner. Iris refused to meet his gaze. She wrapped her arms tightly around her bare shoulders. She shivered violently, her teeth chattering as the car's air conditioning blew over her exposed skin. Tears continued to stream down her face in perfect, tragic lines. This leather seat is freezing, her mind complained bitterly. If I knew he was going to kidnap me, I would have worn pants. My legs are going numb. Harrison felt a sudden, exhausting wave of fatigue. He had been ready to scream at her, to demand answers, but hearing her complain about the temperature completely derailed his fury. He let out a hollow, humorless laugh and turned his face toward the window. The car jerked to a halt in the private underground garage of his Tribeca penthouse. Harrison shoved his door open. He reached across the seat, grabbed Iris by the upper arm, and dragged her out of the car. Iris's high heels hit the concrete hard. Her ankle buckled. She let out a soft cry and let her body fall forward, intentionally collapsing against Harrison's chest. She pressed her soft curves against his rigid muscles, hoping the physical contact would spark some lingering affection. Harrison reacted as if she were covered in acid. He shoved her backward with brutal force. Iris slammed hard against the side of the Maybach. The impact knocked the wind out of her, and she let out a genuine groan of pain. "Save the routine," Harrison said coldly. He turned and marched toward the private elevator. Iris gritted her teeth, her eyes flashing with pure hatred at his back, and limped after him. The elevator shot up to the penthouse. The doors slid open. Harrison grabbed her arm again, hauled her into the massive, dimly lit living room, and threw her onto the expensive Italian leather sofa. Iris tumbled onto the cushions. Her wild, wavy hair fell across her face. She slowly pushed herself up. She looked at him with huge, devastated eyes, her chest heaving. Harrison ripped his tie completely off and threw it onto the Persian rug. He leaned forward, planting both hands heavily on the back of the sofa, trapping her in his shadow. "What kind of monster are you?" Harrison hissed, his voice vibrating with disgust. Iris flinched. Fresh tears welled up instantly. "I love you!" she sobbed, her voice breaking perfectly. "I couldn't handle the divorce! I just wanted to drink until I forgot you!" Harrison stared at her flawless performance. If he couldn't hear the truth, he would have fallen to his knees and begged for her forgiveness. Iris watched his face. She needed to hit him where it hurt. She needed to remind him of their bond. She started thinking about the nights they had spent on this exact sofa. Honestly, his technique was always so boring, her inner voice sighed loudly in his head. Every time we did it, it felt like he was just completing a chore. I just treated it as a complimentary clause in our business contract. The words hit Harrison like a physical bullet to the chest. His brain completely short-circuited. For three years, he had prided himself on being a dominant, attentive husband. He thought he controlled every aspect of their marriage, including their physical intimacy. And she had viewed it as a chore. A complimentary clause. A wave of absolute, crushing humiliation washed over him. It burned through his veins, destroying his pride, his ego, his entire sense of self. He stood up straight. The anger drained out of his face, leaving behind a look of profound, sickening revulsion. He looked at her as if she were a piece of rotting garbage on his floor. Iris saw the drastic shift in his expression. She didn't understand what she had done wrong. Panic flared in her chest. She reached out, her fingers brushing the edge of his suit jacket. Harrison took a massive step backward, dodging her touch with violent disgust. He took a deep breath, fighting the urge to vomit. He pointed a shaking finger toward the heavy oak front door. "Get out," Harrison said. His voice was completely dead. There was no anger left, only absolute zero. Iris froze. She had expected him to yell. She had expected him to break things. She had never seen him look this disgusted. Did he figure it out? her mind raced frantically. That look is terrifying. I need to get out of here before he snaps. Iris scrambled off the sofa. She didn't bother fixing her twisted dress. She grabbed her small clutch from the floor and practically ran toward the door. Just before she grabbed the handle, she paused. She turned back, letting one final, perfect tear roll down her cheek. Then she opened the door and fled. The heavy door slammed shut. The massive penthouse plunged into a deafening silence. Harrison's knees gave out. He collapsed onto the sofa, burying his face in his hands. A complimentary clause. The words echoed in his empty apartment. He felt like the biggest joke in the world. He didn't want simple revenge anymore. He wanted complete and utter annihilation. He wanted to prove that without him, she was nothing but a hollow shell. He wanted to give her the rope and watch her hang herself with it. By giving her exactly what she wanted, he would strip away her safety net and watch her true colors bleed out for the world to see. He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed his executive assistant, Elias. "Expedite the asset transfer," Harrison ordered, his voice cold and razor-sharp. "Get her money into her accounts by tomorrow morning. Let her have her millions. I want to see exactly how fast she destroys herself with it."