The Tycoon's Awakening: Losing My Wife

Camelia pressed her hand against the top of the nightstand. She forced her shaking legs to straighten, ignoring the burning pain radiating from her spine and her ankle. Duke pointed a blood-stained finger right at her face. "You are a sick, bottomless psycho," he spat, his teeth clenched. Camelia didn't look at him. Her cold, calculating eyes were locked on the bloody fruit knife resting on the floor. She reached her hand deep into her coat pocket. She pulled out her smartphone. She unlocked the screen. Her thumb hovered over the keypad. Her voice was terrifyingly calm. "I am calling the NYPD right now," Camelia announced to the room. She didn't blink. "Once the police dust that knife handle for fingerprints, we will know exactly whose hand was holding it when that cut was made." On the bed, Christabel's dramatic sobbing stopped instantly. It was as if someone had flipped a switch. Christabel's pupils dilated in pure, unadulterated panic. She shot her uninjured right hand out and grabbed a fistful of Duke's suit sleeve. Her knuckles turned white. "Duke, please!" Christabel begged, her voice trembling for real this time. "Don't call the police! I can't handle a scandal right now, please!" Duke looked down at Christabel's terrified face. He looked back at the knife on the floor. A flicker of hesitation crossed his dark eyes. He wasn't stupid. But he turned back to Camelia. "Put the phone away," Duke ordered. "The Morrow family cannot afford a police investigation over a domestic dispute." Camelia let out a dry, humorless laugh. Her thumb stayed hovering right over the nine. She didn't move an inch. Seeing Camelia hold her ground, Christabel started gasping for air. She clutched her chest with both hands. She began hyperventilating, faking a massive panic attack. The heart monitor next to the bed started beeping rapidly, a shrill, piercing alarm filling the room. The sound of the medical alarm shattered Duke's logic. He stepped directly in front of Camelia, using his massive frame to block her view of the bed. He loomed over her, a dark shadow of authority. "Apologize to her right now, and get out of this room," Duke demanded. "Or face the consequences." Camelia tilted her head up. "Why should I apologize for a crime I didn't commit?" Duke leaned in close. His voice was a lethal whisper. "If you do not apologize right now, I will instantly freeze every single corporate resource, budget, and contact you have as the PR Director of Morrow Group." Camelia's hand began to shake. The joints in her fingers turned white as she gripped the phone. Her mind raced. She needed that job. She needed those resources to secure her exit plan before the four-month divorce deadline. If she lost her income now, she would leave with absolutely nothing. She swallowed the metallic taste of blood in her mouth. She slowly lowered the phone and slipped it back into her pocket. She closed her eyes and took one deep, shuddering breath. She opened her eyes. She looked past Duke's shoulder. Her voice was flat, mechanical, and entirely devoid of emotion. "I am sorry," Camelia said. Behind Duke's back, Christabel lowered the towel from her mouth. A wicked, victorious smirk curled her lips. Duke pointed a stiff finger toward the hospital door. "Get out." Camelia turned around. She didn't look back. She dragged her injured right leg across the floor and pushed through the heavy door. She walked down the hall and pushed open the fire door to the stairwell. The stairwell was dark, damp, and freezing cold. Camelia's legs finally gave out. She collapsed onto the hard concrete landing. She pulled her knees to her chest. She closed her eyes. The image of Joseph Yang's warm, smiling face filled her mind. It was the only safe place left in her world, and she hid inside it while her body trembled in the dark.