The Unwanted Wife Demands A Divorce

"You simply must tell us where you got that dress, Adina."

Adina Ayers pressed her fork against the edge of her porcelain plate, the silver scraping softly against the fine china. She sat at a round table draped in white linen, surrounded by the perfectly manicured women of Manhattan's Upper East Side. The ballroom of The Pierre Hotel glittered around them, chandeliers casting cold light over diamonds and silk.

"It's a small boutique in Geneva," Adina said, forcing the corners of her mouth upward. "I can text you the name."

"Oh, wouldn't that be lovely?" The woman across from her, a philanthropist whose husband owned half of commercial real estate in Connecticut, leaned forward. "Dorman has such exquisite taste. You are a very lucky woman."

Adina's stomach clenched. She picked up her crystal water glass, the condensation wetting her palm. "I know."

The conversation shifted, the women buzzing about the upcoming auction items and the guest list for the Met. Adina tuned them out. She stared at the elaborate floral centerpiece, feeling the familiar numbness creeping into her limbs. This was her life now. Smiling at strangers who only saw her as an accessory to her husband.

A sharp vibration against her thigh pulled her back. She reached under the table, pulling her phone from her clutch. The screen lit up with a name that always made her chest tight: Eleonora Ayers.

Adina's jaw tightened. She pushed her chair back, the legs scraping against the floor. "If you'll excuse me for a moment."

She didn't wait for their response. She walked quickly across the ballroom, her heels sinking into the thick carpet, and pushed through the heavy glass doors onto the terrace. The November air hit her face, sharp and cold, clearing the heavy scent of expensive perfume from her lungs.

She swiped to answer. "Mother."

"Adina." Eleonora's voice was crisp, clipped, and utterly devoid of warmth. "You need to come out to the house tonight. For dinner."

Adina leaned against the stone railing, the chill seeping through the fabric of her dress. "I'm at the luncheon right now. And Dorman and I have plans for later."

"Cancel them." Eleonora's tone left no room for argument. "Cierra is back. Her flight landed at JFK two hours ago."

Adina's fingers tightened around the phone until her knuckles turned white. The name hit her like a physical blow to the solar plexus, knocking the air out of her. Cierra. Two years. Two years of silence, and now she was just... back.

"Did you hear me, Adina?" Eleonora pressed. "Bring Dorman. It's a family dinner. Don't make a scene."

The line went dead. Adina stared at the blank screen, a dull ache throbbing behind her eyes. She drew in a ragged breath, the freezing air burning her throat. She didn't want to go. She wanted to go back to the apartment, lock the door, and pretend the outside world didn't exist.

But she couldn't. She was an Ayers. And Ayers women did not hide.

She pulled up her contacts and hit the name she had programmed into the phone the day they signed the marriage license. It rang. And rang. And rang. Just as she was about to give up, the line clicked.

"What is it?" Dorman Cannon's voice was low, flat, and stripped of any inflection. It was the voice he used with employees who wasted his time.

Adina swallowed the lump in her throat. "My mother just called. She wants us at the house tonight. Cierra is back in New York."

Silence stretched over the line. It was a heavy, suffocating silence that made Adina's skin prickle. She could hear the faint hum of an air conditioner in the background, the scratch of a pen on paper.

"I have a video conference with the London board in an hour," Dorman said finally. "I can't make it."

Adina's temper flared, hot and sudden. "A video conference? Your wife's sister returns after two years, and you can't even pause your schedule for a family dinner?"

"Adina." His voice dropped a degree, turning to ice. "My decisions in that boardroom affect ten thousand jobs. Your sister's return affects nothing. Don't be unreasonable."

The word 'unreasonable' stung. It was his favorite weapon, reducing her valid emotions to hysterics.

"I'll go alone, then," she said, her voice trembling despite her effort to control it. "I'll tell them you're busy saving the world."

"You do that." The line went dead.

Adina lowered the phone, her hand shaking slightly. She stared at the Manhattan skyline, the buildings blurring through the sudden sheen of tears she refused to let fall. He didn't even say goodbye. He never did.

She turned and walked back into the ballroom. The noise and the heat washed over her again, but she felt nothing. She grabbed her clutch from the table, murmuring an excuse about a headache, and walked out.

The doorman hailed the car immediately. The sleek black Rolls-Royce idled at the curb, a silent behemoth. The driver rushed to open the door for her.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Cannon. Back to the penthouse?"

Adina paused, one foot on the running board. The penthouse. The massive, empty space on Fifth Avenue that smelled like marble polish and Dorman's cologne, but never like home.

"No, Thomas," she said, her voice hollow. "Take me to the Ayers estate in the Hamptons."

She slid into the backseat, the leather cool against her legs. The door shut with a solid, expensive thunk, sealing her inside. As the car pulled into traffic, Adina rested her head against the tinted window. The glass was cold against her temple.

Two years ago, she had sat in a car just like this one, wearing a dress that cost more than most people's houses, driving toward a church filled with people who looked at her like a stock portfolio. She remembered Dorman's face at the altar. Handsome. Cold. Remote. He had looked at her like she was a contract he was obligated to sign.

Fulfill your duty as Mrs. Cannon.

That was the only thing he had said to her on their wedding day. Not 'I do.' Not 'I will.' Just a command.

And now, Cierra was back. The woman he actually wanted. The woman he was supposed to marry before the families renegotiated the terms.

Adina closed her eyes, a bitter taste rising in the back of her throat. She was trapped in a gilded cage, and the door had just slammed shut.

The Rolls-Royce turned onto the private drive lined with ancient oak trees. The Ayers estate emerged from the twilight, a sprawling Georgian revival mansion that looked more like a museum than a home. It loomed against the darkening sky, its windows glowing with a cold, unwelcoming light.

Thomas opened the door, and the damp, salty air of the Hamptons hit Adina immediately. She stepped out, her heels sinking slightly into the gravel.

"Welcome home, Mrs. Cannon," the butler said, appearing at the massive front door. His gaze flicked past her shoulder, scanning the empty driveway behind her. "Will Mr. Cannon be joining you later?"

"No, James," Adina said, keeping her voice steady. "He's detained in the city."

James's expression remained politely blank, but Adina saw the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. The staff always noticed. They always gossiped.

She walked into the grand foyer, the click of her heels echoing off the marble floor. The house smelled like it always did-fresh flowers, polished wood, and quiet desperation.

"In the drawing room, Miss Adina," James said.

She walked down the long hallway and paused at the archway. Her parents, Clyde and Eleonora, were standing by the fireplace. Clyde held a crystal tumbler of scotch; Eleonora held her posture like a weapon. They turned as one when they heard her footsteps.

Eleonora's eyes immediately went past Adina, searching the empty hall. "Where is Dorman?"

Adina walked further into the room, her hands clasped in front of her to hide their trembling. "He has a board meeting. He couldn't get away."

"Couldn't get away?" Eleonora repeated, her lips thinning. "His sister-in-law returns after two years abroad, and he can't be bothered to leave the office? This is exactly the kind of slight that fuels gossip, Adina. You need to manage him better."

"Manage him?" Adina let out a short, humorless laugh. "Mother, I can't even get him to eat breakfast with me."

"Perhaps he just didn't want to see me."

The voice came from the staircase. Adina's head snapped up.

Cierra Ayers stood on the landing, one hand resting lightly on the banister. She wore a red silk dress that clung to every curve, her dark hair swept up in an elegant twist. She looked older, sharper. The two years in Europe had polished her already striking features into something lethal.

She descended the stairs slowly, her eyes locked on Adina. The air in the room seemed to thin out, the tension crackling like static electricity before a storm.

Cierra stopped a few feet away, her red lips curving into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. She opened her arms and stepped forward, pulling Adina into a stiff embrace.

"Long time no see, little sister," Cierra murmured against her ear, her voice like velvet wrapped around barbed wire. "Or should I say... Mrs. Cannon?"

Adina's spine went rigid. She forced herself to step back, keeping her face a mask of polite indifference. "Welcome home, Cierra."

Dinner was a suffocating affair. They sat around the long mahogany table in the formal dining room, the crystal chandelier casting prismatic light over the untouched food on their plates. Clyde and Eleonora hung on Cierra's every word, asking about her flat in Paris, her trips to Amalfi, her plans for the future.

Adina pushed a piece of asparagus around her plate. She felt like a ghost at her own table, invisible and insubstantial.

"So, Adina," Cierra said, breaking a lull in the conversation. She swirled the wine in her glass, her gaze fixed on Adina. "How is Dorman? Cannon Industries stock has been performing exceptionally well this quarter. He must be incredibly busy."

Adina's stomach twisted. The question was innocent enough, but the glint in Cierra's eye told a different story. It was a probe, a test.

"He's fine," Adina said, her voice flat. "Business is good."

Cierra tilted her head, a slow smile spreading across her face. "Good. We wouldn't want him overworking himself. We used to be so good at helping each other... unwind."

The words hung in the air, sharp and deliberate. Clyde cleared his throat loudly, suddenly fascinated by his scotch. Eleonora reached over and placed a portion of lamb on Cierra's plate, completely ignoring Adina.

"You look thin, Cierra," Eleonora said. "You need to eat more."

Adina felt the sting of the dismissal. It was always like this. Cierra was the sun, and Adina was just a planet orbiting in her shadow, desperate for scraps of warmth.

The moment the plates were cleared, Adina stood up. "If you'll excuse me, I have a long drive back to the city."

"Running away already?" Cierra asked, leaning back in her chair.

"I have things to do," Adina said through gritted teeth.

She grabbed her coat from the butler and walked toward the front door. The night air was freezing, but she welcomed the bite of it.

"Adina, wait."

She stopped, her hand on the car door handle. Cierra walked out of the house, wrapping a cashmere shawl around her shoulders. She leaned against the stone pillar, looking effortlessly beautiful in the moonlight.

"Don't take what I said in there to heart," Cierra said, her tone light, almost conversational. "I was just curious if Dorman still hates these boring family dinners as much as he used to."

Adina turned, her eyes narrowing. "I think you know his preferences better than anyone."

Cierra's smile widened, a flash of white teeth in the dark. "True. Some things never change."

The double meaning slammed into Adina's chest. She stared at her sister, the woman who had held Dorman's heart before Adina had been forced into his arms. The woman who, apparently, still held a piece of it.

Adina didn't say another word. She yanked open the car door and threw herself inside. "Drive, Thomas. Now."

As the car sped down the long driveway, Adina pressed her back against the leather seat, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. Cierra's words echoed in her head, mixing with Dorman's cold rejection on the phone.

Some things never change.

A terrible, creeping suspicion began to crawl up Adina's spine. Had they been in contact this whole time? Was Dorman's absence tonight really about a board meeting, or was it about the woman who had just returned to claim what was hers?

Adina slumped against the cool glass of the car window, watching the dark shapes of the trees blur past as the Rolls-Royce sped along the Long Island Expressway. The hum of the engine was the only sound in the cabin, but it did nothing to quiet the noise in her head.

Her phone buzzed in her lap. She looked down, the screen illuminating her pale face.

Arely Cross: How was the dinner from hell?

A tiny fraction of the tension in Adina's shoulders eased. Arely was the only person in this world who understood. The only one who didn't judge her for being trapped in a loveless marriage.

Adina held down the microphone icon. "It was awful. Cierra is back. She was making comments about Dorman. And he didn't even show up. He claimed he had a board meeting."

She hit send and stared out the window. The city skyline was still miles away.

A moment later, Arely's reply came through, her voice dripping with outrage through the speaker. "That bitch! She flies back into town and immediately starts marking her territory? And Dorman just lets her? He's the worst, Addie. I swear."

Arely's anger on her behalf made Adina feel a little less alone. At least someone was in her corner.

Then, a text popped up.

Arely Cross: Addie, there's something I need to tell you. I've been sitting on it all afternoon, but I can't keep it from you anymore. I'm so sorry.

Adina's heart skipped a beat. The casual comfort evaporated, replaced by a cold dread. She typed back with trembling fingers: What is it? Just tell me.

Arely Cross: I hired a PI to follow Dorman. Just to keep an eye on things, you know? He lost him for a bit this afternoon, but an hour ago, he sent me a photo. I didn't want to believe it...

Adina's lungs refused to expand. The car suddenly felt too small, the air too thin. Adina's breath caught. A PI? The idea was insane, a line she never would have thought to cross. But the seed of suspicion Dorman had planted this afternoon had already taken root, choking out reason. 'Arely, are you serious?' she typed, her hands shaking. Before Arely could reply, a wave of cold certainty washed over her. She erased the message. She needed to know. She stared at the three blinking dots on the screen, waiting for the axe to fall.

Arely Cross: I'm so sorry, Addie.

Send it to me, Adina typed. Now.

The screen went dark for a second, then the message notification appeared. A single image file.

Adina tapped it.

The photo loaded in high definition. The background was instantly recognizable to anyone who had ever walked the Upper East Side-the hushed, opulent hallway of The Carlyle hotel. The cream walls, the lacquered doors, the distinct art deco lighting.

And standing in that hallway were two people.

Dorman Cannon stood with his back mostly to the camera, his tall frame unmistakable in a charcoal suit. Facing him, standing in the doorway of a suite with the door half-open, was Cierra Ayers.

Adina's vision tunneled. She zoomed in on Cierra's hand. Her sister was holding a white plastic keycard sleeve, her fingers extending it toward Dorman. An invitation.

The timestamp at the bottom of the image burned itself into Adina's brain: 4:15 PM.

Four-fifteen. The exact time Dorman had claimed to be on a "video conference" with the London board.

The phone slipped in Adina's sweaty grip. She felt the blood drain from her face, a roaring sound filling her ears. It wasn't suspicion anymore. It wasn't a vague feeling of dread. It was proof.

Arely Cross: He went straight to her, Addie. As soon as she landed. I'm so sorry. I wish I had never seen this.

The words blurred on the screen. Adina's throat closed up, a hard, painful lump that made it impossible to swallow. She didn't cry. The pain was too sharp for tears. It was a physical sensation, like a fist squeezing her heart until the muscle threatened to tear.

She thought of his voice on the phone earlier. Don't be unreasonable.

He hadn't been busy. He hadn't been protecting his precious company. He had been with her. He had lied to her face, and then he had gone straight to the hotel room of the woman he actually wanted.

A wave of nausea rolled through Adina. She pressed a hand over her mouth, forcing the bile back down. For two years, she had endured the coldness, the loneliness, the utter lack of affection, all because she thought at least there was respect. At least there was loyalty.

But there was nothing. She was just a placeholder. A legal formality to keep the shareholders happy while he carried on with her sister.

The initial shock faded, replaced by something colder, something harder. The grief was still there, but it was being swallowed by a white-hot, blinding rage.

She wasn't going to be a victim. She wasn't going to sit in this car and cry over a man who treated her like garbage.

She saved the photo to a hidden album. Evidence.

Then she opened her messages and typed back to Arely with steady hands.

Find me the best divorce lawyer in New York. Tonight.