The Tycoon's Awakening: Losing My Wife

Camelia Drake woke up in the center of the massive king-sized bed.

The Star Bay penthouse was dead silent. The air conditioning blew a steady stream of cold air over her bare shoulders. She stared blankly at the pristine white ceiling.

Her fingers brushed against the mahogany nightstand. The cold metal of her smartphone vibrated once against the wood.

She picked it up. The screen brightness pierced her retinas in the dim room. It was a multimedia message from an unknown number.

Camelia swiped the screen open.

The first image loaded. It was a hospital VIP room. A custom-tailored dark suit jacket hung over the back of a plastic chair. She recognized the stitching on the lapel. It was Duke's.

She swiped her thumb across the glass. The second photo appeared.

A pale, thin hand with an IV drip taped to the back was tightly gripping a man's large, distinctively veined hand.

A sharp, physical ache pierced the center of Camelia's chest. Her lungs constricted. Her fingers clamped down on the edges of the phone hard enough to make her joints pop.

An image flashed behind her eyes. A gentle face. A small mole near the corner of a smiling eye. Joseph. Her breathing turned shallow and rapid. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force oxygen into her tight chest.

A heavy thud echoed from the front entryway of the penthouse. The front door opening.

The rhythmic sound of expensive leather shoes hitting the hardwood floor grew louder. The footsteps were moving straight toward the master bedroom.

Camelia shoved the phone face-down under her pillow.

The double doors of the bedroom swung open. Duke Morrow walked in. He was yanking his silk tie loose. His jaw was set in a hard, rigid line. His eyes were bloodshot and completely devoid of warmth.

The smell hit her instantly. A clinical wave of hospital rubbing alcohol mixed with the sickeningly sweet scent of vanilla perfume. Christabel's perfume.

Duke stopped at the foot of the bed. He stared down at Camelia. She was still wearing her thin silk pajamas.

"Get up," Duke ordered. His voice was a low, gravelly rasp. "Go to the kitchen."

Camelia pressed her lips together. The inside of her mouth tasted like copper. "What for?" she asked, her voice flat.

"Christabel is being discharged today," Duke said. He didn't blink. "Her stomach is weak. You are going to make her a gluten-free breakfast. From scratch."

A wave of pure absurdity washed over Camelia. Her stomach twisted into a tight knot.

"Since when did I become the maid for the Morrow family?" Camelia asked.

Duke's eyes narrowed. The air in the room instantly dropped ten degrees. He took a slow, deliberate step toward the side of the bed.

He reached out. His large fingers clamped around Camelia's jaw. His grip was like a steel vice, forcing her chin up to meet his cold gaze.

"Do not forget the prenuptial agreement you signed," Duke said. His breath smelled of stale coffee.

His thumb pressed hard into her cheekbone. "You have four months left until the divorce deadline. Remember your place until then."

The blood drained from Camelia's face. A freezing sensation spread from her neck down to her fingertips. She swallowed the massive lump of humiliation blocking her throat.

She gave a slow, stiff nod.

Duke let out a short, dismissive scoff. He released her jaw. He turned his back to her and walked straight into the master bathroom.

The heavy glass shower door slid shut. The sound of running water filled the room.

Camelia threw the duvet off her legs. Her bare feet hit the cold hardwood floor.

She walked out of the bedroom and down the long hallway to the open-concept kitchen. She pulled open the heavy stainless steel door of the refrigerator.

She grabbed a carton of organic eggs and a loaf of gluten-free bread. She slammed them down onto the marble island.

She picked up a heavy chef's knife. She sliced into a ripe avocado. Her motions were stiff, robotic, and overly forceful. The blade hit the cutting board with a loud thwack.

She dropped a square of butter into the hot frying pan. The loud sizzle drowned out the heavy sigh she had been holding in her lungs.

Camelia looked up. Her reflection stared back at her in the polished metal of the range hood. For a moment, the dull hurt in her eyes was replaced by something sharp and cold, a flicker of hardened resolve hiding deep within, before she quickly blinked it away, burying it under a mask of practiced indifference.

Camelia slid the last slice of avocado onto the toasted gluten-free bread. She reached out and twisted the stove dial, killing the blue flame.

A sharp, electronic chime echoed from the entryway. The doorbell.

Camelia wiped her damp hands on her apron. She walked out of the kitchen and down the wide corridor toward the front door.

She grabbed the heavy brass handle and pulled the solid wood door open.

Christabel Barron stood on the welcome mat. She was wearing a pristine white Chanel tweed suit. A victorious, mocking smile stretched across her pale face.

Without waiting for an invitation, Christabel pushed her shoulder past Camelia and stepped into the penthouse.

Christabel's eyes dragged up and down Camelia's flour-dusted apron. "Look at you," Christabel sneered. "You look exactly like a cheap nanny."

Camelia kept her face completely blank. She turned her back on Christabel and started walking toward the living room. She didn't have the energy to waste breath on her.

Christabel's high heels clicked sharply against the floorboards, following right behind Camelia.

They reached the edge of the sunken living room. Three deep marble steps led down to the plush white rug by the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Christabel stepped closer. She lowered her voice into a breathy, intimate whisper.

"He was so gentle last night," Christabel murmured. "His hands were all over me in that hospital bed. He couldn't get enough."

Camelia stopped dead in her tracks. She turned her head. Her eyes locked onto Christabel's. "Shut your mouth," Camelia warned, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

Down the hall, the master bedroom door clicked open. Heavy footsteps started moving toward them. Duke was coming.

A flash of dark calculation sparked in Christabel's eyes.

Christabel lunged forward. Her hand shot out and clamped down hard on Camelia's wrist. Her fingernails dug into Camelia's skin.

Christabel opened her mouth and let out a blood-curdling scream.

Before Camelia could react, Christabel threw her own body weight backward.

Christabel tumbled down the three marble steps, dragging Camelia with her.

The sudden, violent pull threw Camelia entirely off balance. She pitched forward into the empty air.

Camelia's right knee slammed into the sharp edge of the second marble step. A sickening crunch echoed in her ears.

Her right ankle twisted violently outward as she hit the bottom floor. A blinding spike of pain shot up her leg. Camelia collapsed onto the rug, gasping for air.

Duke sprinted out of the hallway. His dress shirt was half-buttoned. He stopped at the top of the stairs, taking in the scene.

He didn't even glance at Camelia. He leaped down the steps, bypassing her completely.

Duke dropped to one knee beside Christabel. His hands hovered over her, frantic and trembling. "Christabel. Where does it hurt?"

Christabel buried her face in Duke's chest. She began to sob hysterically. "She pushed me, Duke! She was so jealous, she just shoved me down the stairs!"

Camelia gritted her teeth against the throbbing agony in her ankle. She pressed her palms flat against the rug, trying to push herself up. "Duke, I didn't-"

Duke's head snapped toward her. His eyes were blazing with pure, unadulterated hatred.

"You vicious bitch," Duke roared. The veins in his neck bulged. "She is a sick patient! How could you put your hands on her?"

Duke slid his arms under Christabel's knees and back. He lifted her effortlessly against his chest. He turned and marched toward the front door.

The heavy door slammed shut behind them. The sound vibrated through the floorboards. The penthouse fell into a dead, ringing silence.

Camelia grabbed the edge of the marble step. She dragged her body up, putting all her weight on her left leg.

She limped back to the kitchen island, dragging her swollen right foot behind her. She picked up a silver fork. She stared straight ahead at the blank wall, mechanically chewing a bite of the cold, rubbery fried egg.

Camelia sat on the tall leather barstool in the kitchen. She pressed a blue gel ice pack hard against her swollen right ankle. The skin was already turning a dark, angry purple.

The screen of her phone, resting on the marble counter, lit up. A loud ringtone shattered the quiet room.

Camelia glanced at the caller ID. It was Joy Jacobs. She tapped the green accept button and put it on speakerphone.

"Hey," Camelia said. She sucked in a sharp breath as the ice hit a tender spot.

"What was that noise?" Joy demanded instantly, her voice sharp through the speaker. "Are you hurt?"

Camelia kept her voice flat. She stared at her bruised skin. She recounted the entire incident at the sunken stairs, word for word.

A loud, piercing shriek of pure rage exploded from the phone speaker.

"That blind bastard!" Joy screamed. "I swear to God, Camelia, I am going to castrate him!"

Joy didn't stop to take a breath. "He is legally blind! He treats you like garbage because he actually believes you're just a gold-digger after the Morrow family money! He is a pathetic, arrogant piece of shit!"

The front door of the penthouse clicked open.

Duke walked in. He had left his confidential files in the study and came back to retrieve them.

His leather shoes stopped dead at the edge of the hallway.

Joy's voice continued to blast through the kitchen, echoing off the high ceilings. Every insult, every curse word, rang crystal clear.

The muscles in Duke's jaw locked. His face turned the color of thunder.

He marched into the kitchen area. The air around him felt like a physical weight.

Duke lunged forward. His large hand snatched the phone right off the marble counter.

His thumb slammed down on the red end-call button. Joy's voice cut off instantly.

Duke threw the phone back down onto the hard stone counter. The glass screen protector cracked with a sharp snap.

He stood over Camelia, his chest heaving. "Not only are you malicious," Duke spat, "but you also sit around badmouthing your husband to outsiders."

Camelia lowered the ice pack. She looked straight up into his furious eyes. "She is my best friend. And she is telling the truth."

"Get dressed," Duke snapped, cutting her off. "You are going to the hospital."

He pointed a long finger at her face. "You are going to stand beside Christabel's bed, and you are going to apologize for pushing her."

"No," Camelia said. Her voice was ice-cold. "I am not going anywhere."

She enunciated every single word. "I did not push anyone."

Duke slammed his open palm down on the marble island. The water glasses rattled violently.

"Her kidneys are failing!" Duke yelled, his teeth bared. "She is too weak to stand, let alone throw herself down a flight of stairs just to frame you!"

A short, harsh laugh scraped its way out of Camelia's throat. It was a sound of pure mockery.

The sound of her laughter snapped the last thread of Duke's control. He reached across the counter and grabbed her uninjured left arm.

His fingers dug brutally into her bicep. "Do not test my patience, Camelia."

Camelia ignored the burning pain in her arm. She tilted her chin up, her eyes maintaining a flat, impenetrable calm. "If my presence is so offensive, Duke," she said, her voice dropping to a quiet, passive murmur, "perhaps you should consider how to end this arrangement sooner rather than later."

Duke's entire body went rigid. His grip on her arm loosened for a fraction of a second.

Then, a cruel sneer twisted his lips. He shoved her arm away. "Nice try. You won't get a single dime of alimony early."

He turned on his heel. He stormed into the study, grabbed a manila folder off the desk, and marched out of the apartment.

The front door slammed shut again. Camelia sat alone in the kitchen, slowly rubbing the red, finger-shaped marks blooming on her left arm.