Chapter 7

The Maybach swerved sharply into the emergency drop-off lane at Mount Sinai Hospital. The driver slammed on the brakes. The heavy tires shrieked against the concrete.

Bartholomew shoved his door open before the car completely stopped. He sprinted toward the sliding glass doors. Casey pushed her door open and followed him.

The harsh, fluorescent white lights of the hospital lobby hit Casey's eyes, making her blink rapidly. The air smelled strongly of bleach and sterile alcohol.

They ran down the main corridor and turned the corner toward the intensive care waiting area. The entire Hendricks family was gathered there. Men in expensive suits and women in designer coats stood in tight, anxious clusters.

Genevieve Hendricks was pacing near the double doors. Her eyes were red and swollen. She looked up and saw Bartholomew approaching.

Genevieve let out a sharp cry and rushed forward. Her high heels clicked violently against the linoleum floor. She reached Bartholomew, but she did not hug him. Her eyes darted behind him and locked onto Casey.

Genevieve's face twisted into a mask of pure hatred. She lunged past Bartholomew.

She raised her right hand high in the air and swung it down with all her strength. Her palm cracked against Casey's left cheek.

The sound of the slap echoed like a gunshot down the quiet hospital corridor. Everyone stopped talking. Every head turned to stare.

The physical force of the blow snapped Casey's head to the side. A sharp, burning pain exploded across her skin. Five bright red finger marks instantly swelled on her pale cheek. She tasted the warm, metallic tang of blood pooling in the corner of her mouth. Her teeth had cut into her inner lip.

"You vicious little rat!" Genevieve screamed, pointing her shaking finger at Casey's face. "You caused this! Ever since you married into this family, we have had nothing but absolute misery! You must have done something behind our backs to upset him! You drove his blood pressure up! You did this to him!"

Casey stood perfectly still. Her ear was ringing loudly. She pressed her tongue against the cut inside her mouth. She did not raise her hand to touch her face. She did not shed a single tear.

She slowly turned her head and looked at Bartholomew. He was standing less than two feet away from her. He was her husband. He was supposed to protect her.

Bartholomew was staring at her red cheek. His eyebrows were pulled together in a tight frown. But he did not step between them. He did not yell at his aunt. He did not check to see if Casey was bleeding.

He looked around at the staring family members. Before Genevieve could raise her hand to strike again, Bartholomew stepped forward and grabbed his aunt's wrist. His grip was rough, forcefully pulling her away from his wife. He turned his head, his dark eyes briefly sweeping over the bright, swollen handprint blooming on Casey's pale cheek. A muscle in his jaw ticked violently, a fleeting flash of complex, unfamiliar conflict tightening his chest. He leaned close to Genevieve. "Stop it," Bartholomew hissed under his breath. "We are in a public hospital. Do you want the tabloids to write about us acting like animals?"

The words hit Casey harder than the physical slap. He did not care that she was hurt. He only cared about the family reputation. The last microscopic thread connecting her to him snapped completely.

Leland Hendricks, Bartholomew's uncle, stepped forward and grabbed Genevieve's arm, pulling her back. Leland glared at Bartholomew. "Where were you? You are the heir to this family, and you were unreachable when he was dying."

Bartholomew ran a hand through his hair, looking stressed and defensive as he argued with his uncle. He completely forgot Casey was standing there.

The red light above the surgical doors suddenly clicked off. The heavy doors pushed open. A surgeon in green scrubs walked out and pulled down his mask.

"He is stabilized," the surgeon announced. "The blockage was cleared. He needs absolute rest, but he will survive."

A collective sigh of relief swept through the hallway. Shoulders dropped. People hugged each other. Bartholomew closed his eyes and let out a long breath, the tension leaving his body.

The family started moving toward the recovery room doors.

Casey did not move with them. She reached up and wiped the drop of blood from the corner of her mouth with her thumb. She swung her backpack off her shoulder and unzipped the main compartment.

She pulled out a thick stack of papers secured in a brown folder.

She walked directly up to Bartholomew. He turned to look at her, a warning glare already forming in his eyes.

Casey slammed the heavy folder directly into the center of his chest.

Bartholomew grunted from the impact and instinctively brought his hands up to catch the folder. He looked down at the cover page. The bold black letters read: DIVORCE SETTLEMENT AGREEMENT.

His pupils dilated. He snapped his head up and glared at her.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Bartholomew whisper-shouted, his face turning red. "You are doing this right now? Here?"

Casey looked at him with dead, empty eyes. "I already signed it. It stipulates a net-zero split. I am walking away with nothing. I do not want a single penny of your family's money."

The family members standing nearby heard the words 'net-zero'. They froze. Genevieve stopped walking and stared at Casey with her mouth wide open. A gold digger never walked away with nothing.

Bartholomew gripped the edges of the folder. His knuckles turned white. He felt completely humiliated. He felt like she was stripping him naked in front of his entire family. He raised his hands, preparing to rip the document in half.

"Tear it up," Casey said, her voice cutting through the silence like a knife. "If you do not sign it by tomorrow morning, I will send a digital copy to the front page of the Wall Street Journal. Let the world know I gave up billions just to get away from you."

Bartholomew froze. His hands shook with rage, but he did not tear the paper.

Casey turned her back on him. She walked away from the crowd and pressed the button for the elevator. The metal doors slid open. She stepped inside and turned around.

The doors slowly closed, cutting off the sight of Bartholomew's furious, panicked face. Casey looked at her reflection in the metal doors. Her cheek was swollen and bruised. Her lip was bleeding. But she smiled. It was a broken, beautiful smile of absolute freedom.