The Unwanted Wife Demands A Divorce

Adina dragged the suitcase off the bed and rolled it into the master bathroom. The space was ridiculous-larger than her first apartment, all white marble and brushed gold fixtures. She locked the heavy oak door behind her, the click of the latch offering a sliver of false security.

She needed to wash the stench of the day off her skin.

She turned the shower dial to the hottest setting, stripping off the designer dress and letting it pool on the floor like a discarded skin. Steam filled the room, fogging the glass enclosure. She stepped under the water, letting it pound against her shoulders, turning her skin pink.

She leaned her forehead against the cool tile, her eyes closed. The heat was supposed to relax her, but her muscles remained coiled tight. She reached for her phone on the counter, turning it on speaker.

Arely answered on the first ring. "Addie? Where are you?"

"I'm at the apartment," Adina said, her voice barely audible over the rush of water. "I'm leaving. I packed a bag. I'm going to stay at a hotel tonight."

"Good!" Arely's voice was fierce, supportive. "You shouldn't spend another second under that roof. You know my door is always open. Come to my place."

Adina managed a weak smile. "Thank you, Arely. I just... I can't believe this is happening. I feel like an idiot."

"You're not the idiot, he is," Arely said firmly. "He's the one throwing away a woman like you for a cheap hotel room with his sister-in-law."

"I don't even want to look at him," Adina said, gripping the phone tighter. "I swear, if he walks through that door right now-"

She stopped mid-sentence.

A sound echoed through the apartment, muffled by the bathroom door but unmistakable. The heavy, electronic click of the front door disengaging. Then, the thud of it swinging shut.

Adina's heart stopped. She reached out and turned off the water, the sudden silence ringing in her ears.

"Addie?" Arely's voice crackled from the phone. "What's wrong?"

Footsteps. Slow, deliberate footsteps crossing the hardwood floor of the living room. The crunch of glass. He had stepped on the broken picture frame.

"He's back," Adina whispered, her voice trembling.

"Do you want me to come over?" Arely asked, panic lacing her tone. "I can be there in twenty minutes."

"No," Adina said, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "No. This is my fight. I have to do this."

She hung up and tossed the phone onto the counter. Water dripped from her hair, running in cold rivulets down her back. She stood frozen, listening.

The footsteps moved down the hallway. They paused outside the bedroom door. Then, she heard the creak of the floorboards in the closet. He had seen the empty hangers. He had seen the missing suitcase.

A new sound. Footsteps approaching the bathroom door. They stopped, inches away from where she was standing.

Adina's chest tightened until it hurt to breathe. She looked around the steamy room, her eyes landing on the thick, white bath sheet hanging on the wall. She grabbed it, wrapping it tightly around her body, tucking the edge securely over her chest and took her phone. The terrycloth was heavy, damp, but it felt like armor.

She stood there, dripping onto the marble floor, staring at the door handle. She could see the shadow of his feet beneath the door.

A knock. Sharp, authoritative.

"Adina." His voice was flat, devoid of any warmth or concern. It was a command. "Open the door."

She didn't move. Her hands were shaking, but her jaw was set. She wasn't going to hide in the bathroom like a scared child. She had the photo. She had the truth. She had nothing left to lose.

She took a step forward. Her hand reached out, her fingers wrapping around the cold, brass handle. She paused, gathering every ounce of courage she possessed.

Then, with a violent twist, she yanked the door open.

Dorman stood in the doorway, filling the frame. He was still wearing his suit pants, but his jacket was gone, and his tie was loosened at his throat. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, and he looked at her with an expression of cold, hard irritation.

But what hit Adina like a physical force wasn't his expression. It was the smell.

Faint, but unmistakable, clinging to the fabric of his shirt and the skin of his neck. A floral, musky scent she hadn't smelled in two years, but one she could never forget. It was the same perfume Cierra had worn the night she announced her engagement to Dorman, all those years ago.

Adina's nostrils flared. She looked up from his chest into his dark, unreadable eyes. The war had begun.