Jilted Ex-wife? Billionaire Heiress!

'Regina's in the hospital. She needs a blood transfusion. Come to Hagen General. Now.'

'Where are you? You are fifteen minutes late.'

'If you are unhappy about the price, it's been upped to one hundred thousand dollars. Check your bank account.'

'Darya Miller, I expect your presence at the hospital within the next twenty minutes. A deal's a deal.'

Darya scrolled through the messages with a sneer, her knuckles turning white.

Instead of texts from her husband-which these actually were-they sounded more like orders issued to an underling by a hard taskmaster.

Which summed up her relationship with Micah perfectly-her the subordinate, him the superior.

When he gave instructions, Micah Cavanaugh expected to be obeyed without question or delay.

The fact that Darya had already given blood three times in just as many weeks was a trifling detail he couldn't be bothered to remember.

Or care.

"Suck it up. A deal's a deal."

She could almost hear him, as if he were right there in the room, looking down his aquiline nose at her.

Darya shivered, rubbing her arms.

Dizziness, nausea, and cold sweat were common symptoms after giving too much blood in too short a time.

She had to wear wide bell sleeves to prevent chafing of the bruises where they'd stuck the giant needle into the crook of her arm, repeatedly.

Micah didn't notice the bruises, of course.

In fact, he'd rarely-if ever-touched her when they were in the same room.

When he wasn't busy running his business empire, he spent his time by the side of another woman-Regina Fischer.

The exact nature of their relationship remained a cause for much speculation, but Darya never confronted Micah about it.

She was just the wife, after all.

A nominal one, at that.

Micah and Darya maintained separate bedrooms, exchanged perfunctory greetings when their paths crossed, and could go days without talking to each other.

When he did reach out, it was mostly for the sake of Regina.

Darya happened to share the same extremely rare blood type as Micah's alleged mistress-AB negative.

In fact, her blood was the only reason Micah agreed to marry her three years ago.

Regina needed a blood transfusion back then, just like she needed one right now.

Less than one percent of the country's population had AB-negative blood, and hospital blood banks were perpetually understocked.

"You want me to marry you?"

In the hospital corridor, stinking of antiseptic and someone else's blood, Micah had stared fixedly at the girl who dared to use Regina's medical condition to blackmail him.

Heart in mouth, Darya had nodded.

"Fine, but only if you agree to become a blood donor for Regina, 24/7. If and when she needs it, you are to make yourself available-no questions asked, no backing out for any reason. Monetary compensation can be arranged."

Darya had jumped at the offer, thinking it was the deal of a lifetime.

How naïve she had been.

She swiped away the latest message from her husband-no doubt another sternly worded reminder demanding her to hustle her ass down to Hagen General.

She tapped on her phone and brought up a photo.

It was a candid shot, sent anonymously.

Even sleeping, Micah looked incredibly, ridiculously handsome.

His face seemed carved by the loving hands of angels on a day they were feeling particularly generous.

His mouth, though thin-lipped, was exquisite and made for kissing-not that Darya ever had the occasion to taste it.

His eyes, the colour of flawless brown topaz, were piercing and commanded attention.

His long, thick lashes were the same raven black as his short hair, cut with military precision.

And he had a jawline most men were willing to go under the knife for.

Darya had fallen for him the moment she saw that face.

Her heart still did a nervous flutter every time she set eyes on him.

They didn't share a bed, but from the few times she caught him coming out of the shower, wearing just a towel wrapped loosely around his waist, she knew there was a powerfully built body hidden underneath that crisp shirt and meticulously buttoned-up suit jacket.

Just like the one he was wearing in the candid shot.

But that wasn't what caused Darya to stare at the photo for ten minutes straight.

It was Regina's head snuggled against Micah's broad shoulder.

He was reclining in a deep maroon armchair, his long legs stretched out in front of him, hands folded neatly over his lap, eyes closed.

Regina appeared to be sleeping as well, though a corner of her mouth was curved upwards.

The smirk also gave away the identity of the anonymous sender.

Who else could it be but Regina?

It would also explain the smug, gloating tone in the message accompanying the photo.

"Look how well-matched they are! You should bow out. Prince Charming deserves to be with a real princess, not the chambermaid."

Darya turned on the front-facing camera, checked out her reflection, and decided that maybe, just maybe, Regina had a point.

She was by no means ugly, but persistent blood loss had drained her cheeks and lips of all colour.

Constant lack of sleep gave her the hollow-eyed, sallow-skinned look of a malnourished anaemic.

Was that why Micah never spared her a second glance?

Was Regina, with the bedroom eyes and bee-stung lips, his preferred type?

Darya touched Micah's face onscreen and finally made up her mind.

She had given herself three years to try to win his heart.

She knew he saw her as just a stranger who had exploited an unfortunate situation.

Essentially, he'd married her under duress.

Which was why she had swallowed her pride-of which there was a considerable amount-packed away the memory of a privileged life, and learned to play the role of a biddable wife and dutiful daughter-in-law.

She'd sucked up to his snobbish family, abased herself in front of his friends, and did all the things *Housewife* magazine suggested.

She'd hoped he would eventually see that although her entry into his life had been abrupt and calculated, her feelings for him were genuine.

Still, he never warmed up to her.

In all three years, the number of times they'd had something resembling a friendly conversation could be counted on the fingers of one hand.

In contrast, Micah's texts requesting Darya to show up at the hospital-with sleeves rolled up and a vein picked out-had flooded her WhatsApp inbox.

Bit by bit, message by message, he'd chipped away at the wall she had built around herself to shield her from the ugly, crushing reality-he didn't love her.

Never did, never would.

She had seen their marriage as a way to share a life with the man she loved.

He had probably seen it as a transaction.

"A deal's a deal," he'd often say.

Regina's photo was the wrecking ball that finally brought the entire wall crumbling down.

Darya rose to her feet, closed her eyes to wait for the dizzy spell to pass, and tried to ignore the dull ache in her heart.

She was normally a resolute sort.

Still, to write off three years of her life, to acknowledge they had been an abject failure, was a bitter pill to swallow.

Darya's eyes were red-rimmed but remained dry.

She would not cry.

She stood there a moment, collecting her thoughts and emotions.

The front door of the house burst open.

Micah, tall and elegant in a charcoal grey suit, strode in on his long legs.

Annoyance flickered in his eyes when he saw her in the living room.

It intensified into fury when he noted the iPhone clutched in her hand.

"If your phone's working, why didn't you answer my texts or calls?"

Darya took in his expression, committed his striking features to memory.

This would probably be the last time they stood this close together.

Micah, a man of action, grabbed her wrist and started moving toward the door.

"You are needed at the hospital, pronto."

"I know." Darya dug in her heels, had to hold on to the sofa's headrest to prevent herself from being dragged off.

"Then why aren't you moving?" Micah blew out an impatient breath.

"I'll go to the hospital. I'll give blood. But there's one thing I need from you first."

"Money? It's already been transferred into your account." Micah thrust both hands into his pockets. "Check it."

"It's not about the money."

"Then what is it? Get to the point. We are wasting time here."

"I want a divorce." Darya's icy tone matched his.

Carefully, she made her face blank, tried to hide the anguish in her voice.

Micah took a second, more careful look at his wife.

He knew his hearing worked fine, but he wasn't so sure of it for a brief moment.

Did she just ask for a divorce?

Wasn't she the one who had coerced him into marriage in the first place?

What changed?

He spoke his mind. "I need an explanation."

"I don't have one. If you want me to give blood to Regina, that's the condition."

"That wasn't the deal we agreed on."

"I know. I broke my word. Sue me." She shrugged.

Surprise flitted across his face.

Micah had never seen his wife so... confrontational.

She appeared to be calm, but he'd detected what might be anger smouldering in her big, round, bloodshot eyes.

Yet, in his mind, there was no logical reason for her to be mad.

Things were what they had always been.

An idea popped into his head.

Could this be one of those mood swings women were famous for during their time of the month?

A friend had once told Micah-likely from personal experience-that there was simply no reasoning with a woman being visited by Aunt Flo.

Micah considered it politic to go along with her suggestion for now.

Maybe she would cool down in a couple of days and back-pedal, which would give him the upper hand in the negotiation of their new deal.

"Okay." He nodded. "Have you drawn up the papers?"

"Uh, no." Darya hadn't expected him to agree to it so quickly.

But then, he had always been the decisive sort.

"I'll print out a sample divorce settlement agreement. We'll both sign it, mail it to Family Court. Since it's going to be a no-fault divorce, I assume it'll be approved by the court fairly quickly."

He was already moving toward the winding staircase.

His study was located on the second floor.

In a daze, Darya waited for him to come back down with two printed copies of the agreement, then signed both.

As Micah put down his name on the dotted line, a vague feeling of unease niggled at the back of his mind.

But he pushed it aside.

"Done." Micah slid one copy into a manila envelope and sealed it. "I'll drop this off at the post office on the way to the hospital. Let's go."

Darya stuffed the other copy into her purse, fought to keep down the lump rising at the back of her throat.

He'd made it seem so easy.

Had he been waiting a long time for this moment?

She followed him out of the house, into his Bugatti La Voiture Noire, and stared out the window during the entire ride.

Micah glanced at her from time to time, rubbed at the tension between his brows, and battled the urge to second-guess his decision to sign the divorce papers.

Was her impetuosity really triggered by PMS?

Would things really go back to normal after two days?

He hoped so.

Neither of them said a word until the car pulled up outside Hagen General.

Regina was sitting up in the single bed of the VIP private room Micah had booked for her, looking fragile like a delicate flower.

A doctor in a white lab coat was sitting in a chair nearby, dozing off.

Regina's eyes lit up when she saw Micah enter the room, but her face fell as Darya stepped inside.

Darya didn't miss the flash of resentment in those beautiful, kohl-lined eyes.

"Micah, I told you, I'm fine." Regina complained to him in a tone of familiar intimacy. "You didn't have to bring Darya all the way here."

She covered her mouth with a hand and coughed daintily.

"She's already here. Might as well be useful." Micah turned to Darya. "Roll up your sleeve."

Darya moved up to the bed, stood right in front of Regina.

The latter offered a weak smile. "Darya, thank you for coming. I-Aah!"

She screeched in pain as Darya ripped off the white gauze wrapped around her forehead.

"What are you doing?" both Micah and Regina demanded in unison.

"Are you out of your mind?" Micah yanked Darya back before she could do more damage.

Regina recovered quickly.

Irritation morphed into bafflement as she worked some hurt into her voice. "I... Darya, I don't understand. Why did you...?"

Darya held up the length of pristine white gauze. "No blood."

Micah knitted his brows.

Darya pointed to Regina's exposed forehead. "No wound. Not even a scratch."

She turned to Micah. "You said she got into an accident, banged up her head pretty bad, lost a lot of blood." She sneered. "Must be invisible blood."

Micah whirled toward the doctor. "What's going on? You diagnosed head trauma, ordered a transfusion."

Doctor Patel, as his nametag pinned above the left breast pocket indicated, slowly rose to his feet.

He was sweating visibly.

"I, ah, we simply... I simply did as instructed."

"Who instructed you?" Micah dropped the volume of his voice, upped the intimidation level.

"You did, Mr. Cavanaugh." The doctor trained his eyes on the floor.

"When did I ask you to fake a diagnosis?"

Darya leaned against a wall, crossed her arms, watched the drama unfold with disinterest.

Micah caught amused derision in her fleeting smile.

He balled his hands into fists, stared a hole through the doctor's balding pate.

"Um, ah, uh, Miss Fischer said..."

"Speak up!" Micah bellowed.

"She told us you wanted the diagnosis to be severe so Miss Miller would have to give blood!" the doctor blurted.

He cast an apologetic glance at Regina. "Sorry."

"Micah, don't listen to him!" Regina sat up straighter, anxious. "He's making this up!"

Micah raised an arm, palm out, a gesture for silence.

Regina shut up.

"Explain," Micah looked pointedly at the doctor.

"Every time, before Miss Fischer comes to the hospital, she would give me a heads-up, make sure I know what, ah, what diagnosis to give, get our story straight. It's normally some kind of injury that would require a blood transfusion."

"And you just went along with it."

The doctor had the decency to look ashamed. "She said she would have my job if I didn't fall in line."

And, since Regina didn't actually need the blood, he could sell it off on the black market.

AB negative was as rare as it could get, pricier than gold.

He had been making a nice little pile of cash on the side and thought it was a mutually beneficial arrangement-though, to be honest, he wasn't sure what benefit Miss Fischer was getting out of it.

"Micah," Regina wrung her hands. "I can explain."

Since her fake wound was exposed, some colour had magically returned to her pale cheeks.

"To give you more time to cook up a plausible story," Darya interjected, "why don't I show him this? You might as well concoct something that explains both the fake wound and the photo."

She tapped a few keys on her screen, looked up at Micah. "I just sent you a photo, annotated."

Micah stared at his own face onscreen.

The background of the candid shot looked familiar.

What was unfamiliar was Regina's face pressed up against his.

"Your company has a pretty decent tech department," Darya said casually. "You can probably get a couple of your people to verify if the photo's doctored, and to trace its sender."

"Who sent you this?" Micah raised his head.

"That's for you to find out, and for her to explain." Darya flashed Regina a feral smile. "By the way, the deal I made with him has been revoked. You're gonna have to find someone else to suck blood from."

She sauntered out of the ward, leaving the past three years of her life behind.

Doctor Patel seized the opportunity to slink off.

Micah gripped his phone.

The comment about Prince Charming and the chambermaid stung.

He'd never thought of Darya as a maid.

In fact, he'd never thought of her, period.

The snarky comment added to the sinking feeling in his stomach-Darya hadn't asked for the divorce on the spur of the moment.

The photo was probably the last straw.

She was really leaving him. Permanently.

A sharp pang stabbed at his heart.

He spun toward the door. "Darya!"

Regina chose this moment to fall off the bed.

Her knees hit the vinyl floor with an audible thud.

She clutched at her chest. "I... I don't feel so well."

Micah paused, hesitated briefly, then turned back. "What's wrong?"

"I... I feel faint." Her face was scrunched up in pain. "I think I'm going to pass out."

"I'll go get the doctor."

"No, don't leave me, please!" She gripped his arm, sobbed. "I miss Lucian. I wish he were here."

Micah froze.

His army buddy's final moments flashed across his mind.

Out of the corner of her eye, Regina caught the mournful look on Micah's face and hid a satisfied smile.

To make sure he stayed with her, she held her breath until she successfully passed out.

Darya stopped in front of the lift, pressed the call button, strained her ears, but heard no hurried footsteps coming down the hallway towards her.

She stretched her lips into a bitter smile.

The man she'd been married to for three years couldn't even take a moment to say goodbye.

She wondered if that was more of a reflection on his lack of sentimentality, or on her failure to etch out even a tiny corner of existence in his heart.

He'd probably already dismissed her from his mind and was on the hunt for the next blood donor.

Darya stepped into the lift.

The doors slid shut.

She came out into the underground carpark.

Micah's black Bugatti was parked in its reserved spot.

She walked past it without a backward glance, stopped in front of a Rolls-Royce Phantom in Smokey Quartz, bowed her head.