The Unwanted Wife Is A Zillionaire Heiress

The wind whipped through the rows of granite headstones, carrying a sharp bite that settled deep into Audrey Bishop's bones.

She pulled the collar of her black trench coat tighter against her neck. Her fingers were stiff, the skin pale and numb from the November chill. She stood completely still, her boots sinking slightly into the damp, freezing earth of the private Long Island cemetery.

She leaned down. Her knees popped in the quiet air.

She placed a bouquet of pure white roses against the cold base of the headstone. Her bare fingertips traced the carved letters of the name.

Cole Christian.

Her chest tightened. A familiar, suffocating pressure built behind her ribs, making it hard to pull oxygen into her lungs. She swallowed hard, forcing the lump in her throat down.

She straightened her back and lifted her left wrist. The metal of her watch was like ice against her skin.

Three o'clock.

Two full hours had passed since the time they had agreed upon. Two hours of standing in the freezing wind, staring at her dead son's name.

Audrey reached into her deep coat pocket and pulled out her phone. The screen lit up, illuminating her pale face. There were no missed calls. There were no text messages. The notification center was completely blank.

She took a shallow breath, her chest aching, and dialed Colton Christian's private number.

She held the phone to her ear. The plastic was freezing.

One ring. Two rings. Three. Four. Five.

The line clicked, and the mechanical, heartless voice of the automated voicemail system filled her ear.

"I am waiting for you."

She spoke the words mechanically, her voice rough and dry. She pressed the end button and dropped the phone back into her pocket.

A dead, brown leaf blew across the grass and landed directly on the pristine petals of the white roses. Audrey knelt again and brushed it away. Her hand lingered over the flowers for a second longer.

Then, she heard it.

The distinct, rhythmic crunch of tires rolling over the gravel path behind her.

Audrey's heart slammed against her ribs. A sudden rush of heat flooded her frozen veins. She spun around, her eyes wide, searching the long, winding road leading to the burial site.

A black car pulled up and shifted into park.

Audrey's shoulders instantly dropped. The heat drained from her body, leaving her colder than before. It wasn't Colton's silver Aston Martin. It was a black Mercedes sedan.

The driver's side door opened. A man stepped out into the freezing wind. He was wearing a dark, custom-tailored suit. He popped open a large black umbrella and began walking toward her.

Jerry Barrera.

Audrey's stomach sank. Jerry was Colton's closest friend, his right-hand man in the social circles, and supposedly, one of the few people Audrey could tolerate in her husband's world. But seeing him here, right now, made a sour taste rise in the back of her throat.

Jerry walked up the gravel path, his expensive leather shoes crunching loudly. He stepped right up to Audrey and tilted the large umbrella, shielding her from the biting wind.

He held out a paper cup. Steam rose from the small opening in the plastic lid.

"Drink this, Audrey," Jerry said. His voice was thick with what sounded like sympathy. "You look like you're going to freeze to death."

Audrey took the cup. The heat burned her numb palms, but she gripped it tightly. Her knuckles turned stark white.

"Why isn't Colton here?" she asked. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the wind.

Jerry let out a long, heavy sigh. He adjusted his grip on the umbrella handle, his eyes shifting away from hers for a fraction of a second.

"There was an emergency at the kindergarten," Jerry said. "Willow had a massive meltdown. Colton had to rush over there. You know how he is when it comes to her. He couldn't get away."

Audrey's fingers clamped down on the paper cup. The cardboard buckled under her grip, forming a deep dent. Hot coffee sloshed against the lid.

Her vision blurred for a second. The suffocating pressure in her chest turned into a sharp, stabbing pain.

"An emergency," Audrey repeated. She bit down on her lower lip so hard she tasted copper. "So, a living daughter throwing a tantrum is more important than a dead son?"

Jerry reached out with his free hand and patted her shoulder. The weight of his hand felt heavy and wrong.

"Audrey, seeing you like this truly breaks my heart," Jerry said, his voice dropping into a register of profound, practiced empathy. "Colton... he's under an immense amount of pressure lately. The corporate merger, Willow's behavioral issues... sometimes he handles his emotions like a fool. Maybe... maybe you two just need a little space to breathe."

Jerry reached into the inner pocket of his tailored suit jacket. He pulled out a crisp, white rectangular card and held it out to her.

"I know a phenomenal family relationship counselor in Manhattan," Jerry lied smoothly, his eyes conveying a sickeningly fake warmth. "Call him. Talk it out. Figure out what's best for your own mental health before this destroys you."

Audrey stared at the business card. The black ink seemed to blur against the white background. A wave of pure nausea rolled through her stomach.

She didn't reach for it.

Jerry didn't wait for her to accept it. He grabbed the edge of her trench coat and shoved the thick card deep into her pocket.

"Just take the help and go, Audrey," he muttered.

Audrey took a sudden, sharp step backward. She jerked her shoulder away, breaking physical contact with him. Her eyes, usually soft and accommodating, turned entirely cold.

She turned her back to Jerry and looked down at the granite headstone one last time.

"Mommy will come see you tomorrow," she whispered to the cold stone.

She didn't look at Jerry again. She walked past him, stepping out from under the shelter of the black umbrella, and headed straight into the freezing wind toward the parking lot. Her old Volvo was parked a quarter-mile away.

Jerry stood perfectly still next to the grave. He watched her retreating figure until she was just a dark speck against the gray sky.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and typed a quick text message. A cold, satisfied smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.

Audrey sat in the driver's seat of her ten-year-old Volvo. The engine hummed loudly, struggling against the freezing temperature.

Lukewarm air blew from the vents, hitting her frozen face, but she couldn't stop shivering. Her hands gripped the worn leather steering wheel. She squeezed it so hard her joints ached.

She shifted the car into drive and pulled out of the cemetery parking lot.

The tires hit the highway. Tiny, sharp flakes of snow began to fall, hitting the windshield like grains of sand. The wipers squeaked as they dragged across the glass.

Her mind dragged her back to a memory she had spent three years trying to bury.

The lawyer's office in Manhattan. The smell of expensive leather and lemon polish. The heavy, fifty-page document sitting on the mahogany desk.

Colton had sat across from her, his face completely unreadable. He had pushed the thick stack of papers toward her with a single finger.

The prenuptial agreement.

It was a brutal, airtight contract. It stated clearly that in the event of a divorce, Audrey would have zero claim to the Christian family trust, zero claim to his corporate shares, and zero right to any property acquired during the marriage. She would leave with exactly what she brought in: nothing.

She had picked up the pen and signed her name on every single page. She had done it because she loved him. She had believed they were building a life, not a business transaction.

A blaring car horn shattered the memory.

Audrey flinched. Her foot slammed down on the brake pedal. The Volvo jerked forward, the seatbelt biting violently into her collarbone.

She was back in Manhattan. The car was stopped at a red light on Fifth Avenue.

Audrey rubbed her temples. A dull, throbbing headache was starting to pulse behind her eyes. She turned her head, looking out the passenger side window to distract herself from the pain.

Across the busy street, a large, striped awning stretched over the sidewalk. It was a high-end French bakery.

A man was standing under the awning.

Audrey's breath caught in her throat. She pressed her finger against the window switch. The glass rolled down, letting the freezing, snowy air rush into the warm cabin.

She squinted through the falling snow.

It was Colton.

He was wearing his signature dark gray cashmere overcoat. He wasn't at a kindergarten dealing with a screaming child. He wasn't in a boardroom.

He was standing on the sidewalk, holding two delicate pink cake boxes by their string loops.

The glass door of the bakery swung open. A little girl in a prestigious private school uniform ran out onto the sidewalk.

Willow.

Audrey's heart leaped. She opened her mouth to call out her daughter's name, but the sound died in her throat.

Willow didn't run to Colton. She ran straight past him and threw her arms around the legs of a woman walking out of the bakery right behind her.

The woman was wearing a beige cashmere coat. Her long, dark hair fell perfectly over her shoulders. She looked down at Willow and smiled. It was a soft, gentle smile.

Audrey's stomach dropped so fast she felt physically sick. The air was sucked out of her lungs.

Colton stepped closer to the woman. He shifted the pink boxes into his left hand. With his right hand, he reached out and naturally, effortlessly, wrapped his arm around the woman's waist.

The woman turned her head and said something to him. Colton looked down at her.

His face softened. The harsh, cold lines of his jaw relaxed. He smiled.

It was a genuine, warm smile. A smile Audrey hadn't seen directed at her in three years.

Willow grabbed the woman's hand. The three of them turned and began walking down the sidewalk, moving together in perfect harmony toward Colton's silver Aston Martin parked at the curb.

Audrey's hands began to shake violently. She reached over to the passenger seat, her fingers fumbling blindly for her phone. She needed a picture. She needed proof that she wasn't losing her mind.

Her numb fingers brushed the smooth metal of the phone, but her hands were shaking so violently she couldn't secure a grip. The device slipped, clattering against the leather passenger seat. "No," Audrey gasped, her breath hitching in her throat. She frantically clawed at the seat, her fingernails scraping the leather until she finally managed to snatch it up. She yanked the device to eye level, her thumb desperately swiping to unlock the screen and open the camera app.

She looked out the window.

The sidewalk was empty. The silver Aston Martin was already pulling away from the curb, its taillights glowing bright red as it merged into the heavy Manhattan traffic.

The cars behind Audrey began to honk furiously. The light had turned green.

Audrey sat frozen for three seconds. The shock in her chest morphed, twisting and hardening into a hot, blinding rage. The blood roared in her ears.

She dropped the phone into her lap, gripped the steering wheel with both hands, and slammed her foot on the gas.

The Volvo lurched forward. She yanked the steering wheel hard to the right, cutting off a yellow taxi. The taxi driver slammed on his brakes and laid on the horn, but Audrey didn't care.

She kept her eyes locked on the silver Aston Martin two car lengths ahead.

The silver Aston Martin slowed down and turned right, disappearing down a ramp into the underground parking garage of The Sovereign, one of the most exclusive luxury apartment buildings on the Upper East Side.

Audrey hit the brakes. Her old Volvo idled on the street. She didn't have a resident keycard to access the underground garage.

She threw the car into drive, sped down to the next block, and jerked the wheel, pulling into an open-air pay lot. She didn't bother grabbing a ticket. She shoved the gearshift into park, killed the engine, and practically threw herself out of the car.

The snow was falling harder now, sticking to the pavement. Audrey walked fast, her heels clicking sharply against the wet concrete. She crossed the street, ignoring the crosswalk, her eyes fixed on the towering glass and stone structure of Building D.

She reached the heavy brass-and-glass double doors of the main entrance. Through the glass, she saw the private elevator doors sliding shut. Colton, the woman, and Willow were already inside.

Audrey pushed through the heavy doors.

The lobby was silent, smelling of expensive oud wood and burning logs from the massive stone fireplace.

A man in a crisp, dark uniform stepped out from behind the marble concierge desk. He moved quickly, placing himself directly in Audrey's path. His expression was polite but entirely unyielding.

"Excuse me, ma'am," the concierge said. "Do you have an appointment? This is a private residential building."

Audrey stopped. Her chest was heaving. She forced herself to take a deep breath, pushing the panic down into her stomach.

"I am here for Colton Christian," Audrey said. Her voice was flat, cold, and demanding.

The concierge's eyes flicked over her damp coat and wind-blown hair. He picked up a tablet from the desk and tapped the screen.

"Mr. Christian is a primary resident here," the concierge said slowly. "But he hasn't authorized any guests for today."

Primary resident.

The words hit Audrey like a physical blow to the chest. Her fingernails dug so hard into her palms that the skin nearly broke. He lived here. He had a second home.

Audrey lifted her chin. She channeled every ounce of the cold, corporate arrogance she had seen Colton use a thousand times.

"I am his wife, Mrs. Christian," Audrey stated, her voice laced with the sharp, defensive arrogance of a wealthy spouse pushed to her absolute limit. "We had an urgent agreement to meet here, but his phone is turned off. This is a severe family emergency."

The concierge hesitated. His finger hovered over the phone on his desk. He knew Colton Christian's reputation. The man was a ruthless workaholic who fired people for breathing too loudly.

"Are you seriously questioning me right now?" Audrey demanded, stepping closer to the marble desk, her eyes blazing with a desperate, aristocratic fury she didn't know she possessed. "Do you have any idea what the consequences will be if you delay Colton Christian during a family crisis?"

The concierge set the tablet down.

"Of course. My apologies," he said. He stepped over to the guest elevator and swiped a master keycard against the panel. "He is in suite 507. Fifth floor."

"Thank you," Audrey said, stepping into the wood-paneled elevator.

The doors slid shut. The elevator began to rise.

Audrey stared at the digital numbers above the door. Two. Three. Four. Her heart was beating so violently it felt like it was going to crack her ribs. Her mouth was completely dry.

Ding.

The doors opened. The fifth-floor hallway was dead silent. The floor was covered in a thick, cream-colored wool carpet that swallowed the sound of her footsteps.

She walked slowly down the hall, her eyes scanning the brass numbers on the walnut doors.

505. 506.

507.

Audrey stopped.

As she approached, the heavy double doors of suite 507 suddenly clicked and began to swing open. A uniformed building staff member backed out into the hallway, pulling a silver room-service cart. "Have a wonderful evening, Mr. Christian," the worker said politely, turning and pushing the cart toward the service elevator without noticing Audrey frozen in the shadows. The heavy walnut door began to glide shut on its hydraulic hinge. Audrey's heart leaped into her throat. She darted forward, her hand shooting out to catch the heavy wood just a fraction of a second before the latch engaged. She held her breath until her lungs burned, her fingers trembling against the cold brass, leaving a mere two-inch gap.

She crept closer, pressing her shoulder against the doorframe, and positioned her eye near the crack.

Warm, golden light spilled out from the apartment. The soft, rhythmic sound of a jazz record played from high-end speakers.

Through the narrow gap, her eyes immediately tracked to the entryway floor. A pair of women's house slippers sat neatly on the rug. They were the exact same brand and style Audrey wore at the Long Island mansion, just in a different color.

She shifted her gaze further into the room.

In the center of the massive living room sat a custom velvet sofa. The woman in the beige coat-Kelsey-was sitting on it. She had a small fork in her hand.

She scooped up a piece of pink cake and fed it directly into Willow's mouth.

Willow chewed, her face lighting up with pure joy.

"Thank you, Mommy Kelsey," Willow said. Her voice was loud, clear, and incredibly happy.

Audrey's pupils dilated. A violent shudder ripped through her entire body. The blood drained from her face so fast she felt dizzy.

Then, Colton walked into her line of sight.

He had taken off his overcoat and suit jacket. He was wearing just his white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He walked up behind the velvet sofa.

He leaned down, resting his hands on the back of the couch, and pressed his lips softly against the side of Kelsey's neck.

"Happy birthday, my girl," Colton murmured. His voice was deep, intimate, and dripping with affection.

Audrey's stomach violently convulsed. The bile rose hot and acidic in the back of her throat. She slapped her hand over her mouth to muffle the gagging sound and stumbled backward, her heel catching on the thick carpet.