Mr CEO, You're Dumped

A bolt of lightning illuminated the twisted metal and shattered glass.

Elodie screamed, the sound swallowed by the deafening screech of tires and the shattering of her world.

Blackness.

Another flash.

Cold rain stung her face, the metallic tang of blood filling her nostrils.

She struggled to open her eyes, catching a horrifying glimpse of her parents, their bodies still, faces contorted in pain.

A whimper escaped her lips, a fragile sound lost in the chaos.

Another flash.

Rough hands pulling her, dragging her from the wreckage.

The world spun, a kaleidoscope of pain and fear.

Then, silence.

The sterile smell of disinfectant replaced the metallic tang.

Muffled voices, a woman's worried tone, the word 'concussion' echoing in the vast emptiness.

Then, a deep, booming voice, her uncle's, promising to take care of the family, a promise that felt as cold and hollow as the hospital room. 'You focus on Elodie, we'll handle the funerals and keep an eye on the company. Raymond and Madeline are gone now, Gabriel, you must look after your sister.'

Elodie's heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat of fear and confusion.

She wanted to scream, to deny his words, but her body remained paralysed, trapped in the limbo between sleep and wakefulness.

***

Elodie's eyes snapped open, the dark room coming into sharp focus.

The memory of the nightmare flooded back, vivid and terrifying, yet with a new clarity she hadn't possessed before.

Uncle Cyrus' words, the way he'd said them, the strange glint in his eyes – it all felt wrong.

A seed of doubt had been planted, a suspicion that refused to be silenced.

Elodie threw back the covers and grabbed her phone before it vibrated off the nightstand.

She had been jolted awake by the sharp buzz of an unknown number.

It was just past 4 am, the digital clock on her nightstand mocking her futile attempt at sleep.

With a sigh, she clicked on the text, already bracing herself for the familiar sight.

As expected, the message contained a single image: Dashiell, fresh out of the shower, a towel precariously clinging to his sculpted physique. Water droplets glistened on his bronzed skin, tracing lazy paths down the defined lines of his back. A masterpiece of masculine allure, his silhouette exuded both strength and vulnerability.

There was no text accompanying the image, but the message was clear. Dashiell, hers in name only, was flaunting his infidelity, a cruel game that had stretched for weeks.

Elodie deleted the photo, the anger churning in her gut like a hungry beast.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore, this ever-present reminder of her husband's betrayal and the crumbling foundation of their marriage.

The nightmares, once a nightly occurrence, had become less frequent, haunting her sleep only a couple of times a week. But the memory of that fateful car crash, the icy grip of fear, the crushing loss of her parents – these lingered, etched into the very fabric of her being.

With renewed determination, Elodie jumped out of bed.

Sleep was a luxury she couldn't afford, not with the confrontation looming ahead.

The five cars parked in the garage, each a symbol of their opulent life, were of no use to her.

Elodie didn't have the keys to any, a testament to her husband's careful control.

Undeterred, she pulled on her clothes, the silence of the massive house amplifying the turmoil within her.

It was a long walk to the edge of the gated community, the chilly morning air stinging her face.

A solitary taxi, a beacon of hope in the predawn darkness, finally appeared.

The ride to The Sapphire Suites was a blur of conflicting emotions.

Anger, hurt, and a steely resolve battled within her. Elodie knew what she had to do.

The anonymous sender, a silent accomplice in her misery, had provided the final piece of the puzzle.

They'd tipped her off about Dashiell's whereabouts – the luxurious presidential suite, a haven for his illicit trysts.

Entering the opulent lobby, Elodie bypassed the bewildered receptionist, her eyes fixed on the bank of elevators.

The private kitchen featured in one of the texts confirmed her suspicions. They were in the penthouse.

With trembling fingers, she pressed the button, the gilded cage carrying her closer to the inevitable confrontation. The doors opened, revealing a plush hallway leading to a large, double oak door.

It was time.

Elodie took a deep breath and knocked, the sound echoing in the quiet corridor.

A moment of silence passed, broken only by the pounding of her heart.

Finally, the door snicked open, revealing a surprised Dashiell. 'Can't you see the Do Not Disturb sign? We don't want-'

His initial frown quickly morphed into confusion at the sight of his wife. 'What are you doing here?' he demanded.

'Your girlfriend invited me,' Elodie replied, her voice laced with icy calm.

She tried to peer past him, but his broad frame blocked the view.

A saccharine voice chimed in from within the room. 'Elodie? Oh dear, we didn't mean for you to find out this way. It's just that-'

Elodie cut her short. 'Oh please, Selene. Spare me the fake apologies. You wouldn't have sent me all those texts if you didn't want me to know.'

Dashiell shifted uncomfortably, his face a mask of annoyance. 'What texts?'

Elodie stepped past him, taking in the luxurious suite with a sardonic smile.

The king-sized bed, the scattered rose petals, the lingering scent of sex – it all painted a vivid picture of their betrayal.

She looked up at Dashiell, her gaze unwavering. 'I want a divorce.'

The words hung heavy in the air, shattering the fragile illusion of their marriage.

Elodie felt a surge of relief, a sense of closure washing over her like a cleansing wave.

The game was over.

It was time to reclaim her life.

Dashiell reacted to the unfamiliar situation as he always did: shoulders back, arms folded, eyes narrowed as if trying to physically pull the truth out of the person he was staring down.

But Elodie was unfazed.

She stared right back. 'I said, I want a divorce.'

The scowl worked its way back into Dashiell's face. 'We had a deal.'

'Which was voided the moment you decided to jump into the sack with Miss Patton here.'

Selene, ever the picture of innocence, chimed in, 'Elodie, we were going to tell you, but could never find the right time. You know how Miriam could react if she finds out. She has a weak heart. We don't want to-'

'Miriam is Dashiell's mother, not mine,' Elodie said pleasantly. 'And how she reacts to Dashiell's infidelity would be Dashiell's problem - oh, and also yours now - but not mine, as soon as Dashiell here signs the divorce papers.'

Dashiell looked genuinely puzzled now.

The woman standing in front of him looked like his wife, dressed like his wife, but sure as hell didn't act like his wife.

Gone was the vacant look from her almond-shaped eyes, replaced by a look of casual defiance.

Those Cupid's bow lips, often turned down in a perpetual pout, were now turned up on one side in a smirky half-smile.

And what was she saying?

'You want a divorce?' Dashiell echoed, bewildered.

Elodie met his gaze unflinchingly. 'That's right. And I've brought the necessary paperwork to expedite the process.'

She produced a thin folder from her purse, her movements deliberate. 'Here you go,' she said, placing a pen beside the document. 'Just sign here, here, and here, and we can both be on our way.'

Dashiell's eyebrows shot up in surprise. 'You came prepared?'

'Always.' Elodie smiled. 'One of the reasons your mother hired me.'

There was a moment of silence as Dashiell stared at the papers, his mind racing. A divorce was what he wanted, but not on her terms. He had planned to initiate it himself, but Elodie's unexpected boldness had thrown him off balance.

He cleared his throat. 'Are you sure about this?'

Elodie's smile widened. 'Absolutely.'

As Dashiell signed his name, a strange feeling washed over him. It wasn't sadness or regret, but a sense of finality. This chapter of his life was closing, and with it, the carefully constructed facade of his marriage.

Elodie watched him like a hawk, her hand outstretched once he finished. 'It's been...interesting doing business with you, Mr Kellan.'

Dashiell stared at the extended hand, his jaw clenched. 'Since it's I who breached the terms, I'll offer compensation, as per our agreement. How does a million dollars sound?'

'No need,' Elodie said, placing the signed papers in her purse. 'Getting out of this marriage two years early is compensation enough.'

'Enjoy the rest of your evening.' With a final, sardonic bow, she turned and walked away, leaving her ex-husband and his childhood sweetheart to their amorous privacy.

The sunrise found Elodie back at the mansion. She surveyed her room, the sterile opulence a stark reminder of the life she was leaving behind. This room had never felt like home, just a temporary shelter. Now, it was time to move on.

She grabbed a suitcase, but then paused. There was nothing here that truly belonged to her. A smile curved her lips. This liberation was better than any material possession.

Elodie left the room, her steps light and purposeful. She wrote a cheque, placed it on her nightstand, and let out a satisfied sigh. 'The bill's settled,' she whispered to the empty room.

At 5:58 AM, as the first rays of sunlight kissed the horizon, Elodie walked out of Dashiell Kellan's house, newly divorced and free. She walked back into her old life, leaving behind a past she never wanted and a future full of possibilities.

Her only souvenir from the marriage was the expensive phone Dashiell had given her, not so much a gift as a tether, something to keep her on a short leash so that she would be available to answer his demands twenty-four/seven.

She made one last call before tossing it into a trashcan. 'Hey, it's me. I'm leaving Danning. Can you send someone to pick me up?'

A taxi took her to the private terminal at Danning International Airport, where she boarded a sleek, shining G650 without a single piece of luggage. She sank into a plush seat, anticipation bubbling within her.

One flight attendant offered her a glass of champagne while another held out a phone.

She took it.

'The flight to Los Montical will take slightly under an hour,' a warm voice greeted her. 'Welcome home, Elle.'

***

Dashiell paced the opulent suite, a restless energy thrumming beneath his skin. He glanced at the doorway where Elodie had stood just minutes ago, her departure leaving a void that felt strangely unsettling.

He tried to focus on Selene, who sat perched on the edge of the coffee table, her eyes sparkling with a joy that didn't quite reach his. But even the warmth of her touch and the familiar scent of her perfume couldn't extinguish the strange disquiet that gnawed at him.

He downed the remainder of his champagne, the cold liquid failing to numb the ache in his chest. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He had envisioned a sense of liberation, a soaring feeling of freedom now that the shackles of his marriage were broken. Instead, he felt a hollowness, a void that couldn't be filled by Selene's laughter or the luxurious surroundings.

'Maybe it's for the best,' Selene murmured.

Dashiell forced a smile, but the words rang hollow in his ears. Was it truly for the best? Had he just let go of something more than a convenient arrangement, something that held a hidden depth he had never bothered to explore?

The memory of Elodie's eyes, devoid of emotion yet filled with a quiet strength, flashed before him. The way she stood tall, a new confidence radiating from her, a stark contrast to the timid girl he thought he knew. And that final look, devoid of regret or anger, simply a calm acceptance of her decision.

He had never seen that side of her before. It was as if the divorce had stripped away a layer, revealing a woman he had never known existed, a woman who stood on her own two feet, unafraid to walk away from the gilded cage he had inadvertently built around her.

Dashiell shrugged off his bathrobe and grabbed his clothes.

'Where are you going?' Selene's eyes widened.

'Home.'

Dashiell stepped into the grand foyer, the silence echoing off the marble floor. The house felt strangely empty, devoid of the faint hum of Elodie's presence that had become a familiar background noise over the past year. He hesitated, a sense of unease creeping into his gut.

Her room, usually meticulously tidy, was bare. Drawers gaped open, half-packed clothes strewn across the floor. A single suitcase lay abandoned by the bed, its emptiness a stark contrast to the overflowing wardrobe that usually occupied the space.

He picked up the cheque lying on the nightstand, the seven-figure sum making his jaw drop. A million dollars? Where had she gotten this kind of money?

He remembered the day his mother, Miriam, had brought Elodie home. A quiet, unassuming girl with large, expressive eyes, she'd been hired as his private nurse after the car crash that had nearly shattered his life. Miriam had been desperate, willing to do anything to help her son recover.

When the doctors had painted a bleak picture, Miriam, in her desperation, had offered Elodie a hefty sum of money to become his wife. Dashiell had overheard the conversation, shock and anger mixing with a bitter sense of defeat. He knew he could never attract Selene, the woman he truly loved, in his current state.

He had agreed to the marriage, a hollow agreement fuelled by despair and a misplaced sense of obligation. But from the moment Elodie stepped into his life, she became a ghost in his own home.

She diligently performed her duties, administering his medications, assisting with physical therapy, all the while keeping a respectful distance. He couldn't deny that she was an excellent nurse, her gentle touch and unwavering dedication contributing significantly to his recovery.

He recovered much faster than expected. Eight months after the accident, he ditched the wheelchair, the feeling of independence intoxicating. Then, like a beacon in the darkness, came the news that Selene was returning to Danning.

Their rekindled romance painted his life with vibrant hues. He would meet Selene every chance he got, their stolen moments filled with laughter and a shared history. He knew it was time to end his charade with Elodie, to finally offer her a divorce and some form of compensation.

But he hadn't anticipated her being the one to initiate the break. The audacity of it stung, a challenge to his fragile sense of control. And the money, who did she think she was to walk away from such a fortune?

A wave of curiosity, unfamiliar and unwelcome, washed over him. If not for money, why had she agreed to this strange arrangement in the first place? What was her story, the one hidden behind her gentle facade?

He sat down on the edge of the bed, the cheque burning a hole in his pocket. For the first time, he saw Elodie not as a ghost in his home, but as a woman with her own desires, her own secrets. And for the first time, he felt a pang of something that resembled regret.

He knew he couldn't bring her back. But perhaps, just perhaps, he could understand why she chose to leave. He needed answers, not just for her, but for himself. He needed to know the woman he had shared a year of his life with, the woman who had walked away from a million dollars and the life she had seemingly craved.

He found the butler polishing silver in the drawing room. 'Alfred, where is Elodie?' he demanded, his voice tight with suppressed fury.

Alfred paused, his brow furrowed in confusion. 'Mrs Kellan, sir? She left this morning, just after sunrise.'

Dashiell's jaw clenched. 'Left? Where did she go?'

Alfred shook his head. 'I don't know, sir. She didn't say.'

Dashiell's anger simmered. 'Call her phone,' he barked.

Alfred retrieved his phone from the pocket of his waistcoat and dialled the number. They both listened intently as it rang, the silence punctuated only by the anxious thumping of Dashiell's heart.

Then, a voice answered. Not Elodie's voice, but a man's, gruff and unfamiliar. 'Hello?'

Dashiell grabbed the phone from Alfred's hand. 'Who is this?' he demanded.

'This is John,' the voice replied. 'I found this phone in the trash this morning. Is it yours?'

Dashiell's blood ran cold. The phone in his hand, the one he had given Elodie, the one that was supposed to tether her to him, was now in the possession of a stranger.

***

While Dashiell wondered where on earth his ex-wife had disappeared off to, the Gulfstream touched down on the sun-drenched tarmac 450 miles away, the whirring of the engines fading into a gentle hum. As the door opened, Elodie stepped out, the warm Los Montical air washing over her like a long-lost embrace.

Her brother Gabriel was waiting, a wide smile splitting his face. He swept her into a hug, his warmth a welcome contrast to the sterile environment she had left behind.

'Welcome home, little sis!' he exclaimed, his eyes twinkling. 'Done playing nurse?'

Elodie chuckled, a hint of the old spark returning to her eyes. 'I'm done with games, Gabe. Done with hiding. It's time to get back to my life.'

Gabriel laughed again, the sound warm and inviting. He ushered her towards a sleek black limousine, its windows tinted to shield them from curious eyes.

'First, a little checkup,' he announced, slipping into the back seat beside her.

Elodie rolled her eyes. 'I thought we were going to a restaurant. I'm starving.'

'We will, after you've seen Doc Thorne.'

Elodie's smile faded.