Too Late, CEO: Your Ex-Wife Is Gone

Arielle pushed open the heavy mahogany door of the penthouse. Her hands shook so violently that the metal keys rattled against the lock. The lingering adrenaline from the plane crash pumped through her veins, making her chest tight and her breaths shallow.

Rainwater dripped from the hem of her designer trench coat, its sleeve torn and stained with spilled coffee from the violent turbulence. It pooled silently on the pristine white marble floor of the foyer. The cold wetness soaked through her clothes, sticking to her skin like ice.

Her trembling fingers fumbled with the keys, finally letting them fall with a loud, messy clatter into the silver entry bowl. The metallic clink echoed loudly in the quiet space.

Arielle looked down. A pair of unfamiliar, cheap pink stilettos sat haphazardly near the entrance. They were kicked off carelessly, entirely out of place in the minimalist, expensive hallway. A cold, bitter certainty settled in her stomach. So, the anonymous tips that prompted her to hire a private investigator four months ago were true.

Her gaze shifted to the console table. A discarded silk tie lay there. It was the dark blue tie she had gifted Julian for their anniversary last month.

A soft, high-pitched female giggle drifted from the sunken living room. The sound pierced the silence.

Arielle's breath hitched. Her stomach clamped down hard. The playful giggle clashed violently with the ringing still echoing in her ears-the screams of the passengers, the terrifying drop of the aircraft just two hours ago.

She took a quiet, agonizing step forward. Her legs felt like lead. She leaned her weight against the cold corridor wall to keep from collapsing.

Peering around the corner, her vision blurred momentarily. She blinked hard, forcing her eyes to focus on the living room sofa.

Karli Lee, the new network intern, sat on the expensive leather couch. She was dangerously close to Julian.

Karli held a crystal glass of bourbon. She leaned in, her chest brushing Julian's arm, and whispered something near his ear.

Julian did not pull away. He sat back, relaxed. A faint smirk played on his usually stoic lips. He adjusted the cuffs of his tailored shirt, looking entirely comfortable with the proximity.

Arielle's mind flashed back to the plunging aircraft. The oxygen masks dropping. The absolute certainty that she was going to die.

A violent wave of nausea hit her stomach. Acid rose in her throat. She swallowed hard, forcing it down.

Her trembling arm slipped against the wall. Her elbow bumped the drywall with a dull thud.

The sudden noise drew Julian's sharp, predatory gaze toward the hallway.

His relaxed smirk vanished instantly. A cold, displeased stare replaced it as he saw his wife standing there.

Karli jumped up from the sofa. She spilled a drop of bourbon on the rug. She clutched her chest, acting startled and perfectly innocent.

"Oh! Mrs. Sinclair," Karli stammered. She played the timid, respectful intern caught off guard. "I was just... dropping off some files for Mr. Sinclair."

Arielle completely ignored Karli. Her deadened eyes locked directly onto Julian's face. She felt no anger, only a freezing numbness spreading from her chest to her fingertips.

Julian frowned deeply. He looked at the puddle forming around her shoes.

"Why are you dripping wet?" Julian asked. His tone was harsh and irritated. "You are ruining the imported Persian rug."

Arielle stood frozen. She waited for a single second. She waited for him to ask about her delayed flight from Boston. She waited for him to notice her pale face or her shaking hands.

"Your tardiness embarrassed me," Julian continued, his voice dropping in temperature. "I had to attend the charity dinner alone. You know how important those optics are."

Arielle realized it with absolute clarity. He had no idea about the crash. Or worse, he didn't care enough to check.

"Did you watch any news channels today?" Arielle asked. Her voice was hollow and raspy.

Julian dismissed the question irritably. He adjusted his heavy Patek Philippe watch.

"I had back-to-back board meetings, Arielle. I don't have time for trivialities," he said.

Karli interjects softly. She bit her lower lip, looking between them.

"I can go fetch a warm towel for you, Mrs. Sinclair," Karli offered, playing the helpful guest in Arielle's own home.

Arielle turned her icy gaze to Karli.

"Get out of my house immediately," Arielle said coldly.

Karli gasped softly. She looked at Julian with wide, teary, victimized eyes, seeking his protection.

"Arielle, stop this," Julian reprimanded sharply. He stood up, his tall frame dominating the room. "There is no need for this unprovoked hostility. She is a guest."

The words hit Arielle's chest like a physical blow. He defended the intern. He scolded his wife who had just survived a brush with death.

The last remaining thread of Arielle's love for him snapped. The sound was silent, but the finality in her chest was absolute.

She didn't argue. She didn't scream. Arielle turned away from the living room and began walking down the hallway toward the nursery.

Arielle walked down the long, dimly lit hallway toward Leo's nursery. Her wet shoes squeaked softly against the hardwood floor. The cold fabric of her coat slapped against her calves with every step.

Behind her, she heard Julian's voice.

"Just leave, Karli," Julian said. His voice carried a hint of impatience now.

The heavy front door clicked shut a moment later. The massive apartment fell into a suffocating silence.

Heavy footsteps sounded behind Arielle. Julian strode down the hallway, his long legs easily catching up to her.

He grabbed her wrist.

The sudden warmth of his large hand shocked her freezing skin.

Arielle flinched violently. She ripped her arm out of his grasp as if his touch physically burned her. She stumbled back a step, her chest heaving.

Julian's brow furrows. Genuine confusion mixed with rising anger at her physical rejection. No one rejected Julian Sinclair.

He stepped forward and trapped her against the wall, his large frame blocking any escape. He leaned his tall frame over her, trapping her in his shadow.

"Are you throwing a tantrum simply because Karli was here?" he asked, lowering his voice.

He looked down at her, his dark eyes searching her pale face.

"She was just dropping off files, Arielle. Your jealousy is irrational," he hinted, his tone dripping with condescension.

Arielle stared at the hollow of his throat. She felt absolutely nothing. No jealousy. No pain. Just a vast, empty wasteland.

Julian reached out. He brushed a wet strand of hair from her pale cheek. It was a manipulative form of intimacy, a habit he used to pacify her.

"Let's go to the master bedroom," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. "I'll help you warm up."

The suggestion of sex as a band-aid made Arielle's stomach churn with revulsion. The thought of his hands on her made her skin crawl.

She turned her face away sharply. His fingertips grazed empty air.

"I am exhausted," Arielle stated flatly. "I only want to see our son, Leo."

Julian sighed heavily. He stepped back, dropping his hand. He ran his fingers through his perfectly styled hair, his frustration peaking.

"You always use Leo as an excuse to avoid your marital duties," Julian accused. His jaw tightened.

Arielle looked up. She met his eyes directly. Her gaze was devoid of the usual warmth and submissiveness he expected from her.

"There are no duties left to fulfill," she told him calmly.

Julian narrowed his eyes. A dangerous glint appeared in his dark irises. He adjusted his cuffs, a telltale sign of his rising temper.

"Excuse me?" he demanded.

Arielle took a deep breath. The cold air filled her lungs, giving her the oxygen she needed.

"Divorce," she said.

The word hung in the quiet hallway. It was heavy, solid, and irreversible.

Julian froze. The muscle in his jaw ticked rapidly as his brain processed the word.

Then, he let out a harsh, mocking scoff. He looked at her as if she were a child throwing a toy out of a pram.

"Stop being dramatic," Julian said. He shook his head. "This female hysteria over a minor slight is getting old."

He stepped closer again. His presence was threateningly soft.

"Sinclair men do not get divorced," he stated. It was a fact, not a negotiation.

Arielle did not back down. Her posture remained rigid against the wall.

"I will have my lawyer contact yours," she asserted. Her voice did not shake.

She turned away from him and grabbed the handle of the nursery door. She was desperate to escape his oppressive aura.

She pushed the door open and slipped inside.

Julian stood in the hallway, watching the door click shut. A deep, unrecognized seed of panic took root in his chest, but he quickly buried it under a layer of arrogant anger.

Arielle stepped into the softly lit nursery. The faint scent of baby powder and lavender washed over her, briefly calming her racing heart.

She approached the toddler bed. She looked down at three-year-old Leo. He was sleeping soundly, his small chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

The door clicked open behind her.

Julian had followed her inside. He was unwilling to let the argument drop. He hated losing control of any conversation.

"What do you want in the settlement to drop this nonsense?" Julian asked. He kept his voice low, but it was demanding and sharp.

Arielle gently pulled the soft blanket up over Leo's shoulders. She did not look back at Julian.

"I want nothing from your empire," she stated plainly. "Only full custody of Leo."

Julian crossed his arms over his chest. A cruel, dismissive smile formed on his lips.

"And how do you plan to provide for a Sinclair heir?" he questioned.

He stepped further into the room, his expensive leather shoes silent on the thick carpet.

"Your producer salary barely covers Leo's private preschool tuition in Manhattan," he reminded her. His tone was laced with financial superiority.

Arielle finally turned to face him.

"Money cannot replace a father who is never present," she countered.

Julian stepped closer to the bed. He looked down at his son. His gaze was analytical, as if inspecting a minor corporate investment rather than a child.

"I provide the best life possible for him," Julian argued. He pointed to the expensive, imported wooden toys scattered around the room. "He lacks nothing."

Arielle looked at him, feeling a deep, aching pity.

"What is Leo's favorite bedtime story?" she asked quietly.

Julian hesitated. His eyes darted to the massive bookshelf filled with colorful spines. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was completely unable to answer.

Arielle pressed further. "What is he severely allergic to?"

Julian frowned, annoyed by the interrogation. "Peanuts," he guessed. It was a standard answer.

He completely missed the mark.

"It's strawberries," Arielle told him. Her voice was laced with pity. "We have known that since he was one year old."

Julian's jaw tightened. A flush of humiliation crept up his neck at his own ignorance. But he refused to show weakness.

"Gena is paid handsomely to know those trivial details," Julian deflected, referring to the nanny. It was a blatant, defensive lie to cover up his sudden flush of embarrassment. He knew a severe allergy wasn't trivial, but his monumental ego refused to let him admit fault in front of the wife he usually dominated.

Arielle shook her head slowly. She realized the man standing before her was a complete stranger to his own child.

Suddenly, Julian's phone buzzed loudly in his suit pocket. The vibration broke the tense silence of the nursery.

Leo stirred in his sleep. He whimpered slightly at the sudden noise, his small hands clenching the blanket.

Arielle quickly leaned over, patting Leo's back in a rhythmic motion. She glared at Julian, silently demanding he silence the device.

Julian pulled out the phone. He glanced at the screen. The name 'Karli Lee' flashed brightly in the dim room.

Instead of declining it, Julian swiped the screen and answered the call right there in the nursery.

"Yes?" Julian said.

His tone shifted instantly. The icy arrogance vanished, replaced by a gentle, accommodating warmth.

"Did you make it to your cab safely?" he asked Karli, completely ignoring his wife's furious glare.

Arielle watched him. She listened to the soft timbre of his voice-a voice he never used with her anymore. The last invisible string tethering her to this marriage snapped silently in her chest.

Julian ended the call a moment later. He slipped the phone back into his pocket and turned back to Arielle as if nothing inappropriate had just happened.

Arielle pointed to the door. Her hand was steady.

"Get out," she whispered. Her voice was deadly and quiet.

Julian smirked. He felt he had regained the upper hand by showing he didn't care about her anger.

He turned and walked out of the room, confident she would yield by morning.