Reborn Heiress: Divorcing The Ruthless Billionaire

Alondra Lang pushed the heavy oak door of the private hospital room. It was cracked open just an inch.

Her fingers gripped the handle of the insulated thermos so tightly her knuckles were white. She had spent three hours making the soup inside.

Through the narrow gap past the privacy screen, she saw Gerard Arnold. Her husband.

He was sitting on the edge of the hospital bed. His large hands, the ones that usually pushed her away, were gently holding Cecil Barber's pale fingers.

"I'm four weeks pregnant, Gerard," Cecil said. Her voice was soft, trembling with practiced fragility.

A loud ringing exploded in Alondra's ears. The sound drowned out the hum of the hospital ventilation.

Her fingers went numb. The thermos slipped from her grasp.

It hit the polished linoleum floor with a sharp, deafening crash. Hot soup splashed violently across the room and pooled on the sterile, gleaming surface.

Gerard's head snapped toward the door. The tender look in his eyes vanished the second he saw Alondra. It was replaced by a familiar, freezing disgust.

He dropped Cecil's hand and strode across the room.

Before Alondra could speak, his hand clamped down on her upper arm. His grip was brutal. He yanked her out into the harsh fluorescent light of the hallway.

Gerard shoved her away. Her back hit the cold wall.

"Don't you dare upset her," Gerard warned. His voice was a low, dangerous hiss. "She needs rest."

Alondra's chest heaved. Her throat burned as if she had swallowed glass. "What about our marriage, Gerard? Three years. What does that mean to you?"

"It was a convenience," Gerard said flatly. He adjusted his expensive silk tie. "She saved my life five years ago. I owe her. You were just a placeholder."

He turned to his assistant, who was standing a few feet away. Gerard snatched a manila folder from him and slammed it against Alondra's chest.

She reflexively caught it.

"Sign it," Gerard ordered.

Alondra looked down. The bold black letters on the top page read: Divorce Agreement.

Her stomach dropped. The air in her lungs turned to ice.

Her hands shook violently, her entire body trembling as the weight of his betrayal crushed her fragile spirit. She looked down at the bold black letters, tears spilling over her lashes and staining the crisp white paper. "Gerard, please..." she whispered, her voice breaking into a pathetic sob. She couldn't do it. She couldn't just throw away the only life she knew. When he shoved a cheap plastic pen into her trembling hand, her fingers went limp. The pen clattered to the polished floor. She didn't sign it. Instead, she let out a choked cry, turned her back on his freezing disgust, and ran blindly toward the elevator, her heart shattering into a thousand irreparable pieces.

Ten minutes later, the Manhattan rain was soaking through her thin trench coat. The icy water plastered her hair to her cheeks.

She pulled open the door of her Porsche parked on Fifth Avenue and slid into the driver's seat.

Her vision was completely blurred by tears. She jammed the key into the ignition. The engine roared to life.

She pulled out onto the slick asphalt. The windshield wipers thrashed back and forth, struggling against the downpour. She took a deep, shuddering breath and aggressively wiped the tears from her stinging eyes. She forced herself to sit up straight, gripping the steering wheel tightly to regain control of her racing mind. Her vision cleared just as the traffic light up ahead turned red. With deliberate focus, Alondra pressed her foot firmly on the brake pedal. Instead of the familiar tension, it went straight to the floorboard with terrifying ease. There was no resistance.

Panic seized her throat. She pumped the pedal frantically. Nothing happened.

The screech of tires ripped through the rain. The Porsche spun out of control, sliding sideways into the oncoming lane.

A massive delivery truck was barreling straight toward her.

The impact was deafening. Metal crumpled like paper.

The airbag exploded against her face. A sharp, agonizing crack echoed in her chest as her ribs snapped. Warm blood filled her mouth.

Her vision faded to black at the edges. Through the shattered driver's side window, she saw a black Maybach pull up to the curb.

The rear window rolled down. Gerard's face appeared.

He stared at the mangled wreckage of her car. His expression was completely blank. He didn't reach for his phone. He didn't open his door.

He simply pressed a button. The tinted window rolled back up.

The Maybach pulled away, its taillights disappearing into the rain.

A raw, suffocating hatred burned in her chest, hotter than the pain in her crushed bones. Then, her lungs stopped moving. Everything went dark.

A violent sensation of falling jerked her awake.

Alondra gasped for air. Her eyes flew open.

Blinding sunlight stabbed her pupils through the gap in the heavy blackout curtains.

She shot up into a sitting position. Her chest heaved as she dragged oxygen into her lungs. Her hands clawed at the soft leather sheets beneath her.

She looked around frantically. The massive, minimalist space. The dark gray walls.

This was the master bedroom of the Arnold penthouse. The apartment she had moved into two years ago.

She looked down at her hands. There was no blood. No broken bones.

Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs. She was alive. She was back. She recognized this morning. This was the exact day, two years ago, right after she had foolishly called Cecil to beg her to leave Gerard. It was the very morning she was supposed to go to the hospital to deliver her pathetic apology soup.

Alondra threw off the duvet. Her bare feet hit the cold hardwood floor.

She ran to the floor-to-ceiling mirror in the walk-in closet.

The woman staring back at her was twenty-four. Her skin was flawless. There were no bruises, no cuts, no blood.

She pinched the soft skin of her forearm. Hard.

A sharp sting radiated up her arm. It wasn't a dream. The pain was real. The air in her lungs was real.

A loud bang echoed through the room.

The heavy bedroom door was shoved open, hitting the wall behind it.

Gerard stood in the doorway. He wore a perfectly tailored charcoal suit. His jaw was clenched, and his eyes held that same familiar, freezing disgust.

He tugged at his tie, a gesture he always made when she annoyed him.

"Why the hell did you call Cecil last night?" Gerard demanded. His voice was a low growl. "Are you out of your mind?"

Hearing that name sent a jolt of pure adrenaline through Alondra's veins. The memory of the crushed Porsche and his cold stare through the Maybach window flashed in her mind.

She didn't cry. She didn't beg.

She just stared at him. Her face was completely devoid of emotion.

Gerard frowned. His brow furrowed slightly. He stepped further into the room. This wasn't her usual reaction. He expected tears. He expected a hysterical apology.

"If you ever harass her again," Gerard warned, pointing a finger at her, "I will end this marriage immediately."

Alondra's lips twitched. A short, dry laugh escaped her throat.

"I agree," Alondra said. Her voice was steady and clear. "Let's divorce."

Gerard froze. His hand dropped to his side. He stared at her, waiting for the punchline.

When she didn't take it back, a sneer curled his upper lip.

"Is this your new game?" Gerard scoffed. "You think threatening me will get my attention? Fine. Play your little game. Get the hell out of my apartment."

Alondra turned her back on him.

She walked over to the top shelf of the closet and yanked down a black leather suitcase. It hit the floor with a heavy thud.

She unzipped it. She grabbed a handful of her basic t-shirts, jeans, and a few business suits. She tossed them inside.

She walked right past the velvet display cases holding the diamond necklaces Gerard had bought her. She ignored the row of custom haute couture dresses.

Gerard watched her fluid, efficient movements. The sneer on his face slowly stiffened.

"You won't last a day outside without the Arnold name," Gerard mocked. His voice was louder now.

Alondra grabbed the zipper and pulled it shut. The sharp metallic sound cut off his words.

She grabbed the handle, popped it up, and walked over to him. She looked at him the way one looks at a dead rat on the sidewalk.

"My lawyer will contact you on Monday," Alondra said.

She walked past him, her shoulder brushing his arm, and headed straight for the living room.

Arthur, the head butler, was standing by the marble kitchen island, arranging white lilies in a vase. He dropped a stem when he saw her dragging the suitcase.

"Mrs. Arnold?" Arthur stammered. "Are you leaving? Should I call the driver?"

Alondra stopped. She offered the old man a polite smile.

"Goodbye, Arthur," she said. "And please, don't call me Mrs. Arnold anymore."

Gerard stormed out of the bedroom. He stood at the end of the hallway, his face flushed dark red.

"If you walk out that door, you are never coming back!" Gerard roared. His fists were clenched at his sides.

Alondra didn't even break her stride.

She reached the heavy oak front door, pulled the handle, and stepped out into the private elevator lobby.

She let the door slam shut behind her. The massive boom echoed in the hallway, cutting off Gerard's voice completely.

The heavy oak door clicked shut. Alondra didn't look back.

She walked out of the luxury building and raised her hand. A yellow cab pulled over immediately.

"Long Island," she told the driver, sliding into the cracked leather seat.

An hour later, the cab pulled up to the grand entrance of a high-end luxury hotel. The doorman tipped his hat and opened her door.

Alondra walked straight to the front desk. She pulled out a black credit card-the one linked to her personal trust fund, completely separate from the Arnold accounts.

"Your best suite," she told the clerk.

Once inside the massive room, she stripped off her clothes and stepped into the shower. She turned the water as hot as she could stand. The scalding spray turned her skin pink, washing away the lingering scent of Gerard's cologne.

She stepped out, dried off, and put on a sharp, tailored black business suit she had packed.

She sat down in the leather chair by the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the ocean. She picked up her phone and dialed a Manhattan number.

An hour later, she pushed open the glass doors of a top-tier family law firm in Midtown.

A senior partner handed her a cup of black coffee across a polished mahogany desk. "What are your terms, Ms. Lang?"

Alondra took a sip. The bitter liquid burned her tongue.

"Strict enforcement of the prenuptial agreement," Alondra said. "I waive all rights to alimony. I want zero dollars from the Arnold estate. I just want the marriage dissolved as fast as legally possible."

The lawyer blinked, stunned by her bluntness. He quickly turned to his computer and began typing furiously.

Twenty minutes later, the printer spit out a thick stack of papers. The terms were brutal, leaving no room for negotiation or reconciliation.

Alondra flipped to the last page. She grabbed a pen and signed her name with aggressive, sweeping strokes.

"Send this to Gerard's office immediately," Alondra instructed, sliding the papers back. "Hand-deliver it to him."

Across the city, in the top-floor boardroom of the Arnold Global building, the air was suffocatingly tense.

Gerard sat at the head of the long glass table. His face was a mask of cold fury as he listened to a terrified VP give a quarterly report.

The heavy boardroom doors opened. Leland Vance, Gerard's executive assistant, hurried in. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

Leland walked up to Gerard and leaned down, handing him a thick manila envelope with a law firm's logo stamped on the front.

Gerard frowned. He ripped the seal open and pulled out the document.

The words "Divorce Agreement" stared back at him.

His pupils contracted. He flipped directly to the back page. There it was. Alondra's signature. Crisp. Unhesitating.

The executives around the table stopped talking. They exchanged nervous glances as the temperature in the room plummeted.

A hot, irrational anger flared in Gerard's chest. She was actually trying to push his limits. She thought this piece of paper would make him chase her.

He scoffed. He grabbed the thick stack of papers with both hands.

With a violent jerk, he ripped the entire document in half. The loud tearing sound echoed sharply in the silent room.

He threw the shredded pieces into the metal trash can by his feet.

He turned his glaring eyes to Leland. "If that firm sends anything else, reject it at the front desk."

"Yes, sir," Leland stammered, taking a step back and wiping his brow.

Gerard turned his attention back to the VP, but the words blurred. His mind kept flashing back to the image of Alondra pulling that suitcase out the door.

He yanked at his tie, loosening it roughly. He slammed his palm flat against the glass table.

"Meeting suspended," Gerard snapped.