The Billionaire Refuses To Divorce Me

Bang-

The office door flew open without a knock, slamming against the wall.

Minutes before, the clock on the wall had just hit five p.m. precisely.

Iris Weaver closed the final patient file. The crisp sound of the manila folder shutting echoed in the quiet office. It was a sound of finality, of a day's work done.

She slid the file into the out tray, her movements economical and sharp. No wasted motion. No lingering.

The white coat came off next, revealing a simple silk blouse underneath. She folded the coat, a practiced ritual, and placed it neatly over the back of her chair. Her shift was over.

A glance at her phone confirmed what she already knew: no new messages. A small wave of relief washed over her, loosening the tight knot of tension that always gathered at the base of her neck during a shift. She picked up her handbag, the soft leather cool against her fingers, ready to disappear into the New York evening.

And now, the intruder: Caleb Hayes, another surgical resident, stumbled in, his chest heaving. His face was flushed, a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

Iris's brow furrowed, a barely perceptible line of annoyance. She hated interruptions, especially when she had already tidied up and was ready to leave. She remained silent, letting him catch his breath.

"Iris, thank God," he panted, trying to block the doorway. "I need a favor. A huge one."

She looked pointedly at the clock on the wall. "My shift ended a few minutes ago, Caleb."

"I know, I know, but this is an emergency. VIP floor. We have an admit, and she's refusing to be seen by any male doctors."

"Then call Dr. Evans," Iris said, her tone flat. "She's on call tonight."

Caleb's face twisted in desperation. He lowered his voice, leaning in conspiratorially. "It's Kelsey Mcknight. The actress. She just flew in from Europe. Her agent threw Dr. Evans out-insisted on a female attending. You're the only female attending in the building."

Kelsey Mcknight.

Iris knew the name. Not just from the tabloid headlines she glimpsed at grocery store checkouts, but from the photographs-the ones where Kelsey Mcknight hung on Adler Pope's arm at galas and premieres, her smile bright and possessive. The rumored girlfriend. The woman the world assumed he belonged to.

Something bitter and acidic coiled in Iris's stomach. It took everything she had to keep her expression neutral, to not let the sudden tightness in her jaw show. She had no claim to him. She had no right to feel anything. And yet.

She forced the feeling down, burying it beneath a mask of professional indifference.

"Then she can wait for her private physician," Iris said, her voice carefully even. "This isn't my responsibility."

"She doesn't have one in New York," Caleb pleaded, his voice cracking. "And... the call came from the dean's office. You know... the Pope Group is the hospital's biggest benefactor."

The name Pope landed like a second blow. A sudden, sharp coldness shot through her fingertips. Her breath hitched for a fraction of a second, a reaction so small it was invisible to the frantic man in front of her. She quickly forced the feeling down, burying it under layers of professional detachment.

She was silent for a long moment. The clock on the wall ticked, each second a small hammer against her resolve.

It wasn't the dean or the benefactor that made her decision. It was the ingrained, unshakeable core of her training. A patient needed a doctor.

"Fine," she said, her voice clipped. "This one time."

Relief flooded Caleb's face. "Thank you, Iris. Seriously. You're a lifesaver." He immediately turned and started leading the way, chattering his thanks.

Iris slipped her arms back into the starched white coat. It felt heavier than it had a moment ago.

They rode the dedicated elevator to the top floor, the VIP wing. The air here was different-quieter, scented with something floral and expensive. Caleb filled the silence with gossip about Kelsey Mcknight's possible ailment, his voice a low buzz that Iris tuned out. Her mind was a blank slate, a defense mechanism she had perfected over the years.

They arrived at the suite. Before Iris could stop him, Caleb, in his usual clumsy haste, pushed the heavy door open without knocking. A flicker of irritation crossed her face at his lack of professionalism.

She took a deep, steadying breath, pushing all personal feelings into a locked box in the back of her mind. She smoothed the front of her coat, composed her features into a pleasant, neutral mask, and stepped inside.

The room was less like a hospital and more like a suite at the Four Seasons. Plush carpets, designer furniture, and a panoramic view of the glittering Manhattan skyline.

A slender figure in a standard-issue hospital gown was propped up against a mountain of pillows on the bed.

Iris's eyes swept over the patient, her professional gaze taking in the pale face, the slight tremor in her hands. "Ms. Mcknight," she began, her voice calm and clear. "I'm Dr. Weaver. What seems to be the problem?"

The woman on the bed looked up. It was indeed the face plastered across magazines and movie posters-Kelsey Mcknight. Up close, Iris could see the delicate bone structure, the wide eyes, the pout that photographers adored. She looked younger and more fragile in person. Prettier, too.

Iris felt nothing. She refused to feel anything.

Her gaze, however, drifted past the bed toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. It snagged on a figure standing there.

A tall man, his back to her, was staring out at the city. The bespoke suit he wore was impeccably tailored, stretching across a broad back and tapering to a lean waist. The sheer presence of him filled the room, a silent, gravitational pull.

That silhouette.

Even if it were burned to ash, she would know it.

A cold dread, sharp and familiar, coiled in her gut. Her heart, which had been beating at a steady, calm rhythm, suddenly hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage.

As if sensing her stare, the man slowly turned.

A devastatingly handsome face came into view, all sharp angles and stark beauty. His eyes, deep-set and the color of a storm-tossed sea, found hers and held. They were just as she remembered-cold, bottomless, and utterly unreadable.

Adler Pope.

Her husband.

Her husband of four years, in name and on paper only. The man she hadn't seen since the day they signed the documents in a sterile lawyer's office. The man whose rumored girlfriend now lay in the bed between them.

The air in her lungs seemed to evaporate. She felt the invisible hand that had been resting on her heart clench into a fist, squeezing until she couldn't breathe.

She tried to tear her gaze away, to look at the patient, at Caleb, at anything else. But his eyes were like chains, pinning her to the spot.

A soft, weak voice broke the suffocating silence.

"Adler," Kelsey Mcknight murmured, her voice laced with a practiced vulnerability. She looked from Iris to the man by the window. "This doctor... she looks so young. Are you sure she's really good enough to be trusted?"

Kelsey Mcknight's question hung in the air, a petty dart aimed at Iris's professionalism.

Iris didn't flinch. She simply held the actress's gaze, her expression unreadable, and waited. She had dealt with far worse than a spoiled celebrity's doubt.

Adler's eyes, however, moved from Iris's face back to Kelsey, then back to Iris again. A silent, assessing sweep. He didn't speak, didn't move to defend or dismiss. He was watching, gauging her reaction.

This was him. Adler Pope. The man whose name was legally bound to hers. The other half of a four-year contract that had been defined by its emptiness: no contact, no interference, no connection. They were two parallel lines, never meant to cross.

And yet, here he was. Standing beside the woman the world believed he loved. The irony was so thick it was almost suffocating. A bitter, metallic taste filled her mouth.

With a practiced mental shift, Iris slammed the door on her personal history. He was no longer Adler Pope, her husband. He was just a man in a room, a bystander. She was Dr. Weaver.

She turned her attention away from both of them, her gaze landing on Caleb. She gave a slight, sharp nod toward the chart in his hand. He fumbled for a second before handing it over.

Seeing herself ignored, Kelsey's pout deepened. She turned to Adler, her voice taking on a childlike, pleading tone. "Adler, I'm scared."

A humorless smile threatened to touch Iris's lips. She kept her eyes on the chart. Acute Gastroenteritis. The diagnosis was mundane, almost laughable given the drama. A simple case of an upset stomach, likely from travel and a rich diet. Nothing that required a top-floor VIP suite and a team of doctors.

Finally, Adler spoke. His voice was a low, resonant baritone that seemed to vibrate in the air. But he wasn't speaking to Kelsey.

"Dr. Weaver," he said, his eyes fixed on her. "Does Kelsey's condition require surgery?"

He stressed the name, "Dr. Weaver," drawing it out, turning it into a wall between them. A reminder of the roles they were supposed to play.

"No," Iris replied without looking up from the chart. "It's a common stomach bug. IV fluids and a night of observation will be sufficient."

She snapped the chart closed. Her gaze, cool and direct, finally met Kelsey's. "Ms. Mcknight," she said, her voice level. "This isn't the first time we've met."

Kelsey blinked, a flicker of confusion on her perfectly made-up face. She searched her memory, trying and failing to place Iris.

Iris didn't give her time to struggle. "A year ago. In Zurich. You had an emergency cholecystectomy." She paused, letting the words sink in. "I was your lead surgeon."

The statement dropped into the room with the weight of a stone.

Caleb's jaw literally dropped. He stared at Iris as if seeing her for the first time. He'd known her for six months, seen her as a competent, if aloof, colleague. He had never heard a word about Zurich or high-profile surgeries.

Kelsey's face went from pale to ghostly white. The memory surfaced, foggy and distant. She remembered the panic, the sterile Swiss hospital, the intense pain. She remembered being told the best surgeon available had been called in. But she had been heavily sedated; she had never seen the doctor's face.

Adler's reaction was more subtle, but Iris saw it. A flicker of genuine surprise in those cold eyes, quickly masked by a deeper, more intense scrutiny. He hadn't known. For all his supposed closeness to Kelsey, he hadn't known this crucial piece of her medical history.

The knowledge settled something inside Iris. It was a small, hard confirmation of a suspicion. Adler's relationship with Kelsey was complicated, but perhaps not in the way the world assumed.

Iris held Kelsey's gaze, her voice dropping slightly, laced with an undeniable authority. "So, are you questioning whether I did a poor job on your surgery a year ago, or are you questioning my ability to handle a simple case of gastroenteritis?"

The question was a checkmate. Kelsey was left speechless, a flush creeping up her neck. She managed a weak, embarrassed laugh. "No, of course not. I just... I didn't recognize you."

Iris had made her point. She turned to Caleb, her tone all business. "Have the nurse start a saline drip. I'm off the clock."

Without a backward glance at Adler, she turned and walked toward the door. She wanted out of this room, out of this cloying, suffocating atmosphere.

"Doctor," Kelsey called out, her voice suddenly desperate, unwilling to lose the upper hand so completely. "I still have some questions..."

Iris paused, her hand on the doorknob, but didn't turn around. "My colleague will answer them for you."

Caleb watched the entire exchange, a newfound respect for Iris solidifying in his chest. Her composure was unshakable, her authority absolute. He glanced from the powerful, unreadable Adler Pope to the cool, commanding Iris Weaver. They were nothing alike, and yet... there was a matching intensity in their stillness. They felt more like a pair than Adler and the wilting actress on the bed.

Iris's hand tightened on the cool metal of the doorknob, ready to pull it open and end this farce.

Just as her fingers tightened on the doorknob, Kelsey's voice, now laced with a theatrical whimper, drifted from the bed. "Adler, my chest... it suddenly feels so tight..."

Iris internally rolled her eyes. Gastroenteritis didn't cause chest tightness. It was a pathetic, transparent ploy for attention.

She didn't hesitate. She pulled the door open and stepped out, the heavy wood swinging shut behind her, cutting off the sound of the manufactured drama inside.

The hallway was empty, brightly lit and sterile. The sudden quiet was a relief, like coming up for air after being held underwater. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

Her heels clicked sharply on the polished floor as she walked quickly toward the staff elevator. All she wanted was to get home, take a scalding hot shower, and wash the memory of this entire encounter off her skin.

A moment later, the door to the VIP suite opened again behind her. A single set of footsteps, heavy and deliberate, followed.

She didn't need to look back. She could feel his presence, an oppressive weight in the air, a familiar, predatory stillness that raised the hairs on her arms.

She reached the staff elevator and slipped inside, the doors closing just as the heavy footsteps approached. A floor below, she hurried out; her office was just down the hall. If she could just get inside, lock the door...

She swiped her key card, the lock chirped, and she slipped into her office, immediately turning and throwing the deadbolt. The solid thunk of the lock sliding into place was a small, satisfying sound.

Leaning back against the cool wood of the door, she closed her eyes. Her heart was racing, a wild, frantic rhythm against her ribs. It was infuriating.

She pushed off the door, clutching her handbag and the white coat she had just shucked off. There was another exit through the residents' lounge. She could still escape.

Then, the internal office phone on her desk let out a shrill ring.

She stared at it, her jaw tight. She knew who it was. She let it ring twice more before snatching it up.

"What?"

It was Caleb's voice, strained and apologetic. "Iris... uh... Mr. Pope says he needs to have a word with you. Alone."

"Tell him I've already left for the day," she said, her voice like ice.

She slammed the phone down. But before she could take a step, she heard a new sound. The faint, metallic scrape of a key sliding into the lock of her office door.

Her head snapped up in disbelief. She watched, frozen, as the doorknob began to turn slowly. She had forgotten. The dean's assistant had a master key to all the surgical offices.

The door swung open.

Adler Pope stood in the doorway, his tall frame silhouetted against the bright hallway light, plunging her small office into shadow. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, the click of the latch echoing in the sudden silence.

He moved toward her, one slow, deliberate step at a time. The air grew thick, heavy with his unspoken intent. The room, which had always felt functional and spacious enough, suddenly seemed to shrink, closing in around her.

Iris instinctively backed away until the edge of her cold, metal desk pressed into her lower back. There was nowhere else to go.

He stopped directly in front of her, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body. He looked down at her, his face a mask of complex emotions. There was curiosity, a tightly controlled anger, and something else... something she couldn't decipher, hidden deep in the stormy depths of his eyes.

Four years. He was taller than she remembered, or maybe it was just the sheer force of his presence that made him seem to tower over her.

The silence stretched, taut and suffocating.

"Mrs. Pope," he finally said, his voice a low, rough murmur.

The name hit her like a physical blow. A shockwave that traveled from her ears straight to her stomach, which clenched painfully. He remembered. Of course, he remembered.

She forced herself to meet his gaze, constructing a wall of cool indifference. "Mr. Pope," she replied, her own voice clipped and distant. "I believe we need to discuss the divorce proceedings."

She went on the offensive, a desperate attempt to reclaim some semblance of control.

"My lawyer has contacted your team multiple times," she continued, her voice steady despite the tremor she felt deep inside. "I'm ready to sign whenever you are."

A humorless, mocking smile touched the corner of Adler's mouth. "Is that so? My lawyer informed me that when he went to file the papers this afternoon, the court clerk had already gone home for the day."

Iris stared at him, momentarily stunned. That was his reason? A bureaucratic technicality?

He took another step closer, closing the last remaining inches between them. He leaned down, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "So, it seems, Mrs. Pope, that we are stuck with each other for at least one more day."

His scent-a clean, sharp mix of expensive cologne and something uniquely him-enveloped her. It was overwhelming, disorienting. She tried to sidestep him, to escape the cage he had created.

He moved faster, planting a hand on the desk on either side of her, his arms bracketing her body. She was completely and utterly trapped.

A spark of alarm lit in her eyes. "What do you want, Adler?" she snapped, her voice sharp with warning. "For Kelsey Mcknight's sake, shouldn't you be finalizing our divorce as quickly as possible?"