Divorcing The Tycoon: The Genius Designer

Aletha sat in the cramped breakroom of Fairview Medical Center, staring blankly at the styrofoam cup in her hands.

She took a sip of the black coffee. It was ice-cold and tasted like battery acid, but she swallowed it down, desperate to wash away the exhaustion of a grueling twelve-hour surgical shift. Her muscles ached with a dull, throbbing rhythm.

The breakroom door flew open, hitting the wall with a loud smack.

Chloe, the ER charge nurse, stood in the doorway, breathless.

"Dr. Ward! We have a Board of Directors level VIP in room one. They need an attending right now."

Aletha pressed her thumb hard against her aching brow bone. She stood up, her joints popping, and pulled her white coat over her shoulders. She walked out into the harsh, fluorescent-lit corridor, her sensible shoes squeaking against the linoleum.

She pushed open the heavy door to VIP Room 1.

A white medical privacy screen blocked her immediate view of the examination bed.

"It's okay. I'm right here. You're safe."

The low, gentle baritone voice drifting from behind the screen made Aletha's lungs seize. The air in her throat vanished. She knew that voice better than her own heartbeat.

She stepped around the screen.

Her tall, broad-shouldered husband, Kristopher, was sitting on the edge of the examination bed. He had a woman pulled tightly against his chest.

Dinah Caldwell.

Dinah's eyes were red and swollen. She trembled like a frightened deer, shrinking into the safety of Kristopher's expensive suit jacket.

Kristopher lifted his head. The moment his eyes locked onto Aletha, the tender warmth in his gaze vanished, instantly replaced by a layer of biting frost.

Chloe stepped up from behind Aletha and handed over the metal clipboard. The clatter of the clip breaking the suffocating silence in the room.

Aletha took a deep breath. The sharp smell of antiseptic filled her nose, helping her push down the burning sensation behind her eyes. She flipped open the chart with mechanical precision.

She walked toward the bed.

"I need you to step aside so I can examine the patient's wrist," Aletha said, her voice completely devoid of emotion.

Kristopher's jaw tightened. He took a half-step back, but his large hand remained protectively cupped over Dinah's shoulder.

Aletha turned to the rolling medical cart. She pulled a pair of sterile gloves from the box and snapped them over her fingers. The rubber made a sharp, clinical sound in the quiet room.

She reached out and took hold of Dinah's slender wrist. She examined the skin. It was a minor scratch, barely an inch long, not even deep enough to require stitches.

Suddenly, Dinah let out a loud, exaggerated gasp of pain and violently yanked her arm back.

Kristopher reacted instantly. He swung his arm out and shoved Aletha hard in the shoulder.

Caught off guard by the force of her husband's hand, Aletha stumbled backward. Her spine slammed heavily into the metal instrument cart.

The cart crashed against the wall with a deafening metallic roar. The noise completely swallowed the sharp hiss of pain that escaped Aletha's lips.

Kristopher stood tall, glaring down at her.

"Are you incompetent, Dr. Ward? You can't even manage basic pressure on a patient?" he snapped, his voice lashing out like a whip.

A dull, radiating pain spread up Aletha's spine. She bit down hard on her back teeth and stared straight into her husband's cold, unforgiving eyes.

Dinah tugged gently on the cuff of Kristopher's bespoke suit.

"Kris, please don't be mad at the doctor. I'm sure she didn't mean to hurt me," Dinah whispered, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness.

Aletha lowered her eyelashes. She picked up an iodine swab from the tray.

"This is a standard disinfection procedure," Aletha stated flatly.

Ignoring the murderous glare Kristopher was shooting at the side of her head, she firmly grabbed Dinah's wrist again and quickly swabbed the scratch.

She slapped a piece of medical tape over the wound with efficient speed. She peeled off her gloves and tossed them perfectly into the red biohazard bin in the corner.

"If you ever handle her like that again, I will personally go to the board and have your medical license revoked," Kristopher warned, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

Aletha kept her face completely blank. She signed the bottom of the chart, turned on her heel, and walked out of the room. She kept her spine perfectly straight.

The moment the heavy door clicked shut behind her, she turned the corner into the emergency stairwell.

Her legs gave out. She slumped against the freezing concrete wall.

Her hands shook violently. She couldn't stop them. Her mind was entirely consumed by the image of her husband offering another woman the ultimate, tender protection he had never once shown her.

Hours later, the clock struck 2 AM.

Aletha dragged her exhausted body out of the elevator and swiped her keycard to enter the pitch-black Manhattan penthouse.

She reached out and flicked on the wall sconce.

Before her eyes could adjust to the sudden light, a large figure lunged from the shadows. Kristopher grabbed her by the arms and slammed her back against the heavy oak door.

"Did you run to my grandfather and tell him about tonight?" he demanded, his breath hot and furious against her face.

"It wasn't me..."

"Yeah?"

Christo grabbed her hand and dragged her into the bedroom, pinning her to the bed.

You don't even need to think about what he's going to do.

The blinding morning light pierced through the sheer curtains, stinging Alessa's eyes.

She sat up in the middle of the huge, messy bed, biting her lip to suppress a groan, as the bruises on her shoulders and spine throbbed as if in protest.

The bathroom door clicked open.

Christopher emerged, already wearing a crisp, custom-made shirt. His face wore a mask of utter indifference as he adjusted his dark blue silk tie.

He walked to the dressing table, picked up his wallet, took out a black American Express card with no spending limit, and casually tossed it onto the bedside table.

The cold plastic edge of the card bounced and grazed the back of Alessa's hand. This physical contact sent a sharp pang of humiliation through her.

"Go buy yourself something you like. Consider it a reward for your cooperation last night," Christopher said, without even glancing at her.

"Don't do anything against my will. And don't hurt Della."

Alessa grabbed the black card from the bedside table and slammed it against the bedroom door with all her might.

The plastic card slammed against the wooden door with a dull thud, just as Christopher stepped out. He didn't even stop; he just kept walking.

The heavy silence in the room was broken by the buzzing of Alessa's cell phone on the mattress. The screen lit up, displaying the name of her best friend, Sloan.

Alessa cleared her throat and answered the phone.

"Hello," she said hoarsely.

"You sound terrible. Come to Soho House and have a drink with me. You need to relax," Sloan ordered.

"Okay. I'll be right there."

Alessa walked into her enormous walk-in closet. She skipped over the casual wear and chose a high-necked silk blouse, which she needed to use to cover the new purple bruises on her collarbone.

An hour later, her taxi stopped in front of Soho House, a private establishment in Lower Manhattan.

She went to the front desk, showed her Sloan membership card, and had the receptionist guide her to the private lounge area on the second floor.

Her high heels sank into the thick wool carpet. As she walked down the dimly lit corridor, a familiar, coquettish laugh drifted from one of the rooms.

Alessa stopped in her tracks. Her heart pounded wildly against her ribs as the trauma of the previous night resurfaced.

She peered through the half-open carved wooden door. Through the warm, soft light, her gaze settled on the luxurious velvet sofas.

Diana sat in the center, wearing a flawless white dress, surrounded by a group of wealthy Manhattan socialites.

Diana's long, meticulously manicured fingers were gently stroking a dazzling Cartier panther necklace, which adorned her collarbone.

"My God, Dinah, so glamorous! Which Wall Street billionaire is spending all his money on you?" one of the socialites exclaimed.

Diana lowered her eyes, a shy yet deliberate blush creeping onto her cheeks.

"He treats me like his whole world," Diana whispered.

Alessa's stomach churned violently. Bile rose in her throat. The image of that cold black card being thrown at her this morning clashed cruelly with the millions of dollars worth of jewelry that now shone around Diana's neck.

She felt nauseous. She turned sharply to leave, but the tip of her shoe struck the edge of a heavy brass decorative vase in the hallway.

The vase tilted and crashed against the wall with a hollow bang.

The noise immediately drew the attention of everyone in the private room.

Diana turned her head. When she saw Alessa standing in the corridor, a malicious glint flashed in her eyes.

Diana stood up, smoothed her white dress, and walked to the door. She looked at Alessa with an expression of pure pity.

"Dr. Ward? What are you doing here?" Diana asked, her voice loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

The socialites behind her began to whisper among themselves, casting mocking glances at the ordinary doctor who dared to intrude into their elite circle.

Alessa forced herself to straighten her back. She met Diana's hypocritical gaze with icy calm.

"I was just passing by. I don't need to report my whereabouts to a patient," Alessa retorted, her voice calm.

Tears welled up in Diana's eyes immediately. She dramatically took a half step back, clutching her chest as if she had just been punched.

Christopher emerged from the shadows at the end of the corridor. He held a crystal whiskey glass in one hand, his posture relaxed, yet his aura intimidating.

Christopher's icy gaze completely bypassed Diana and pierced straight at Alessa, who was gripping the shoulder strap of her handbag tightly, trying to remain calm.

He didn't shout, or even raise his voice.

"Security," Christopher commanded, his tone utterly cold. "Take this unauthorized person away from the VIP floor immediately."

Aletha stood on the sidewalk outside Soho House, the biting Manhattan wind piercing her thin trench coat. She pulled the collar tighter against her chest.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket.

She pulled out her phone. It was an urgent call from the private lawyer for the Glenn family trust.

"Mrs. Glenn, I have sent you a supplemental document to your prenuptial agreement via email. According to Clause 4B, this specific supplement requires you to print it out in person and submit it to the CEO for signature immediately. This is urgent; you must act tomorrow," the lawyer stated decisively.

Aletha swallowed the intense humiliation that was stuck in her throat.

"I see."

The next morning, she hailed a taxi and told the driver to go to the Glenn Industries headquarters in Midtown.

She pushed open the heavy revolving glass door and strode toward the huge marble reception desk in the center of the lobby.

"I want to go to the top floor," Aletha said.

The receptionist looked up from the screen, her polite smile completely perfunctory. "Good morning, Mrs. Glenn," she said, her tone disciplined yet tinged with a barely perceptible hint of disdain. "I'm sorry, Mr. Glenn is currently very busy. He has given strict instructions not to be disturbed by anyone. I'm afraid I cannot let you up without his direct confirmation."

Aletha reached into her bag and pulled out her signature black elevator card, which identified her. She swiped it on the security turnstile.

A blinding red light flashed on the scanner. A loud beep of mechanical malfunction echoed through the room.

"Access denied. Card frozen," the machine announced.

Several senior executives walking through the lobby stopped and turned around, casting curious and judgmental glances at the woman who had caused a commotion at the access control.

Aletha bit her cheek hard, tasting the blood. She lowered her head and, as a group of managers swiped their cards to enter, quickly slipped into a regular employee elevator.

The elevator stopped on the fiftieth floor, the highest public access floor. Aletha stepped out, avoiding the patrolling security guards, pushed open the heavy fire door, and entered the emergency stairwell. Her high heels clicked sharply on the concrete floor as she climbed the remaining two floors, her breathing rapid but controlled. She pushed open the heavy door leading to the fifty-second floor and strode towards the CEO's office.

The heavy double mahogany doors were slightly ajar. A warm ray of light fell onto the carpet.

Aletha took a deep breath, pushed open the door, and felt as if her heart had shattered into a thousand pieces.

Dinah was sitting on the edge of Kristopher's huge mahogany desk, playfully swinging her legs.

Kristopher stood between her knees. He leaned down and gently wiped a smear of latte foam from the corner of Dinah's mouth with his thumb.

The sound of the door opening froze them both. Kristopher looked up. The tenderness in his eyes instantly transformed into a chilling, icy rage.

Dinah took a soft breath, slid off the table, and hid behind Kristopher's broad back.

Aletha forced her legs forward. Each step felt like walking on broken glass. She placed the legal folder on the table.

"The trust lawyer needs you to sign this document immediately. I'll take it and leave. I won't stay a second longer," Aletha said, her voice stiff and fragile.

Kristopher picked up the folder. He didn't even look at its contents. He slammed it into Aletha's face.

The sharp edge of the thick paper grazed Aletha's cheekbone. A thin, warm line of blood immediately seeped through her skin.

Kristopher took a large stride, closing the distance between them. He grabbed Aletha's chin, his fingers digging painfully into her jaw.

"Recognize your true identity as a stand-in," he warned, his voice a vicious hiss. "You're not even worth a hair on Dinah's head. Stop making excuses to bother us."

Aletha didn't blink. The absolute stillness in her eyes suddenly ignited a strange unease in Kristopher's chest.

He shoved her roughly, releasing her chin. He slammed his hand on the intercom button on his desk.

"Bring the security supervisor up now."

Seconds later, two burly security guards burst into the office. They grabbed Aletha from both sides, each gripping one of her arms with a tight, painful force.

Dinah spoke from behind her desk, her voice filled with feigned sympathy. "Kris, please don't be so harsh. Perhaps Dr. Ward is just desperate for money."

The security guards dragged Aletha backward. Her high heels screeched on the expensive carpet.

They dragged her into the elevator, through the crowded first-floor lobby in front of hundreds of employees, and then roughly threw her out through the front door.

Aletha stumbled and fell heavily onto the cold concrete pavement.

She sat there, gazing at the supplementary agreement fluttering in the wind. A tear finally slid down her cheek, landing on the back of her hand and shattering.