You Cannot Afford Your Divorced Wife Now

The first thing Adeline registered was pain. A sharp, tearing sensation deep in her abdomen that pulsed with every shallow breath she took. The antiseptic smell of the room burned her nostrils.

Her eyes fluttered open. The ceiling was a familiar, sterile white. The medical wing of the Castillo estate.

Then came the second thought, an instinct so powerful it eclipsed the pain.

Isabell.

She turned her head, a wave of dizziness washing over her. The bassinet beside her bed was empty. The soft pink blanket was folded neatly, untouched.

A cold dread, colder than the sweat on her skin, seeped into her bones.

"Isabell?" Her voice was a dry rasp.

She tried to push herself up, but the fire in her core erupted. A strangled cry escaped her lips as she fell back against the pillows, her muscles screaming in protest. The stitches felt like they were ripping apart.

"Don't waste your energy, Adeline."

The voice was Jeremey's. It came from the foot of the bed, flat and devoid of warmth. It was the voice he used in boardrooms, not in the room where his wife had just given birth to their daughter.

Adeline's vision cleared. He stood there, immaculate in a dark suit, his face a mask of indifference. Behind him, clutching his arm, was Hayden Figueroa. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her expression a perfect portrait of fragile sorrow.

"Jeremey? Where's Isabell? Is she okay?" Panic clawed at her throat.

He didn't answer. Instead, he tossed a sheaf of papers onto the bed beside her. They slid across the silk duvet and stopped against her leg.

Divorce Agreement.

Petition for Sole Custody.

The words swam before her eyes, nonsensical. This had to be a nightmare. A postpartum hallucination.

"I don't understand," she whispered, her gaze flicking from the papers to his cold, unreadable eyes.

"It's simple," he said. "You're leaving. And she's staying."

Hayden let out a soft sob, burying her face in Jeremey's shoulder. "Jeremey, please, don't be so harsh. Maybe she didn't mean to do it."

"Do what?" Adeline's voice trembled. She looked at Hayden, then back at her husband. "What did I do?"

A cruel smile touched Jeremey's lips. "You know what you did. You couldn't stand the thought of me caring for anyone else. So you took away Hayden's future."

He gestured to Hayden. "Because of the 'herbal supplements' you put in her tea, she can never have children. The doctors confirmed it. Permanent damage."

The accusation was so absurd, so monstrous, that Adeline could only stare. "No. I would never... I didn't do that."

"Your jealousy has destroyed her life," Jeremey continued, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone. He leaned forward, his hands braced on the mattress on either side of her. "So now, her life will be dedicated to protecting your daughter. A daughter you don't deserve. It's what you owe her."

Adeline shook her head, tears finally breaking free, hot against her cold skin. "It's a lie. Jeremey, you have to believe me. It's a lie!"

He ignored her, straightening up. He flipped open a leather-bound folder. It was their prenuptial agreement. He tapped a specific clause.

"Article seven, section B. 'Should either party be convicted of a felony, or cause grievous, verifiable bodily harm to a family member or their designated associate'-in this case, Hayden-'they shall forfeit all claims to marital assets and waive all parental rights to any children of the marriage.'"

A trap. It had always been a trap. Every smile, every shared meal, every moment had been leading to this.

"I'm not signing it," she said, a spark of defiance flickering in the abyss of her despair.

Jeremey didn't even blink. He nodded to his assistant, Miles, who stood silently by the door. Miles stepped forward and held up a tablet.

He pressed play.

The screen showed security footage from the conservatory, dated two weeks ago. It showed Adeline, her back mostly to the camera, pouring tea for Hayden. The angle was poor, the quality grainy, but it clearly showed her tipping a small vial into Hayden's cup before serving it. It was edited, manipulated, a perfect lie constructed to look like the truth.

"If you don't sign," Jeremey said, his voice like ice, "this video and Hayden's official medical report go to the District Attorney. I'll press charges for aggravated assault. I'll drag your name through the mud until everyone in this country believes you are a monster. I will make sure you never see your daughter again, and she will grow up knowing her mother is a convicted felon."

The fight drained out of her. Not for her own reputation. For Isabell. She couldn't let her daughter live with that shadow.

Her last ounce of strength evaporated, leaving a hollow, aching void.

Jeremey produced a cold, heavy Montblanc pen and pressed it into her trembling hand. The metal was frigid against her skin.

A single tear fell from her eye and landed on the signature line, blurring the ink.

Her hand moved, clumsy and weak. She wrote her name. Adeline Garrett. Each letter was a cut, severing a piece of her soul.

The moment the signature was complete, she felt a profound emptiness, as if her life force had been siphoned out of her.

Jeremey plucked the documents from the bed. He didn't give her a second glance. He turned, wrapped a protective arm around Hayden, and walked out of the room.

As they reached the door, Hayden looked back over her shoulder. Her face, hidden from Jeremey, was no longer tear-streaked and sorrowful.

It was a mask of pure, triumphant malice. A victor's smile.

Then they were gone.

Two large bodyguards stepped into the room.

"You have ten minutes to gather your personal belongings, ma'am," one of them said, his voice impersonal.

They watched as she slid weakly from the bed, each movement sending a fresh wave of agony through her abdomen. She gritted her teeth, her knuckles white as she gripped the edge of the mattress for support. The pain was a dull, constant throb. She was forbidden from taking anything that belonged to the Castillo family. That included the hospital gown she was wearing.

She pulled on the simple dress and worn flats she had arrived in what felt like a lifetime ago. They felt like a costume from a different person's life.

She was escorted out of the house, past the family photos on the walls, past the rooms filled with five years of memories that now felt like poison.

A black car drove her to JFK International Airport. Miles Proctor got out of the driver's seat and handed her a thin envelope.

Inside was a one-way, economy class ticket to a small, insignificant town in the Midwest.

"Mr. Castillo has had all your joint assets frozen, per the prenuptial agreement," Miles said, his tone flat. "This is his final act of mercy."

He got back in the car and drove away, leaving her on the curb of the bustling commercial terminal.

Adeline stood there, the noise of the airport a distant hum. The tears were gone. Her face was a blank, emotionless mask.

She looked at the ticket in her hand, then let it slip from her fingers. It fluttered to the grimy pavement.

She did not walk into the terminal.

Instead, she turned and walked, her steps measured and deliberate, a stark contrast to the fire screaming in her core. She kept one hand pressed against her side, a futile attempt to hold herself together as she made her way not toward a distant service road, but to a discreet private car park near the medical wing's service exit.

A black Maybach purred to a stop beside her. The driver got out, bowed his head respectfully, and held the door open.

Once inside the sanctuary of the leather interior, he handed her a small, encrypted satellite phone.

She dialed a number from memory.

The call connected on the first ring.

"It's ready," she said, her voice steady and cold.

The car didn't head for the commercial terminals. It drove her not to a gate, but to a private hangar on the far side of the airfield.

Inside, gleaming under the hangar lights, a Gulfstream G650 sat waiting. Its engines were already whining, ready for departure.

Ready to take its owner home.

Three years later, the grand ballroom of the Castillo estate glittered with a thousand champagne-colored lights. It was a scene of opulent perfection, a carefully curated display of wealth and power for New York's elite.

The occasion was Isabell's third birthday.

Jeremey Castillo stood near the towering French doors, a crystal glass of whiskey in his hand. He was in a bespoke Tom Ford suit, his expression as cool and remote as ever as he nodded along to something a banking magnate was saying.

Hayden, draped in a shimmering Oscar de la Renta gown, moved through the crowd with practiced grace. A breathtaking diamond necklace, a recent gift from Jeremey, rested against her collarbones. She was the perfect hostess, the doting mother, the lady of the manor.

A nanny led Isabell by the hand through a sea of smiling adults. The little girl was dressed in a frilly princess gown, her dark hair done up in perfect ringlets. She accepted the polite coos and birthday wishes with a quiet, doll-like stillness. There was no joy in her wide, dark eyes.

Jeremey's gaze drifted to his daughter. A flicker of something complex-unease, perhaps-crossed his face before it was smoothed away.

"Darling," Hayden's soft voice said beside him. She linked her arm through his, her touch light and proprietary. "Look at Isabell. She's so happy."

He looked at Hayden's flawless profile, at the gentle smile on her lips. He pushed down the sliver of doubt. He had made the right choice. This life, this protection, was what they both deserved.

Then, the great oak doors at the end of the ballroom swung open.

A hush fell over the chattering crowd.

A woman stood framed in the doorway. She wore a floor-length gown of scarlet silk, the color of blood and fire. It was a jarring, defiant slash of color in the room's muted elegance.

She was tall and slender, with a cascade of dark hair falling over her shoulders. A pair of oversized sunglasses hid her eyes, and her lips, painted the same shade as her dress, were curved into a faint, mocking smile.

Behind her stood a man, equally imposing, his presence radiating a quiet, dangerous confidence. Gilmer Garrett.

Whispers erupted through the ballroom. Who was she?

Jeremey's hand tightened on his glass, the crystal groaning under the pressure. The air in his lungs seemed to freeze.

Three years had passed. She looked different, carried herself with an entirely new, unbreachable aura. But he knew. He would know her anywhere.

Adeline Garrett.

Beside him, Hayden's smile froze. Her fingers dug into his arm, her manicured nails biting into the fine wool of his suit.

Adeline slowly, deliberately, removed her sunglasses. She revealed a pair of eyes that were no longer soft and filled with love. They were chips of ice, cold and beautiful and sharp.

Her gaze found his across the crowded room.

"Hello, Jeremey," she said. Her voice was not loud, but it carried through the silent ballroom with perfect, chilling clarity. "A birthday party for my daughter. How could I not be invited?"

The statement detonated in the room. Jaws dropped. So this was her. The disgraced ex-wife.

Jeremey's face turned to stone, a dark flush creeping up his neck. He had never imagined she would have the audacity to show her face here again.

"Who let you in?" he snarled.

Adeline's gaze shifted, moving past him to the small girl in the princess dress.

Isabell was staring back at her. Not with fear, or confusion. But with a look of intense, searching curiosity. A flicker of recognition.

Hayden immediately stepped in front of Jeremey, a shield of manufactured vulnerability. Her voice trembled as she spoke to Adeline, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Adeline, why are you here? Why do you insist on hurting us? All we want is a peaceful life for Isabell."

She played the victim flawlessly, tears welling in her eyes.

The sight of Hayden's "distress" fueled Jeremey's rage. He took a menacing step forward.

"Get out," he bit out, his voice a low growl.

Adeline ignored him completely. Her eyes remained fixed on Isabell, and the corner of her mouth lifted in a small, enigmatic smile.

"Security!" Jeremey roared.

Two guards began to move toward the entrance.

The man beside Adeline, Gilmer, took a single step forward, placing himself between her and the approaching guards. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't have to.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he said, his tone mild but laced with steel.

Jeremey's eyes narrowed, finally focusing on the man. A surge of possessive, irrational jealousy burned in his gut.

As he turned to bark a new order at the guards, Hayden's face, for a fraction of a second, was a mask of pure, venomous hatred. The sorrowful act vanished, replaced by a look of such vicious resentment it was startling.

It was there and gone in a blink, an ugly secret revealed and then hidden again.

Adeline saw it. Her calm expression didn't change. She had expected nothing less.

Her return wasn't an impulse. It was a declaration of war. And it had only just begun.

The two bodyguards hesitated, their professional training warring with a primal sense of caution. They stopped a few feet from Gilmer Garrett.

Gilmer didn't even look at them. His eyes were locked on Jeremey. He reached into the inner pocket of his tailored jacket and produced a slim, black business card. He held it out to the head of security.

The guard took it, glanced down, and his posture stiffened. The easy confidence he usually projected vanished, replaced by a look of profound seriousness.

He turned to Jeremey, his voice low and urgent, speaking into his wrist cuff. "Mr. Castillo, my apologies. We have a situation. The guest is Gilmer Garrett, Executive Director of the Garrett Foundation. Please advise."

Jeremey's brow furrowed. Garrett? He'd run a background check on Adeline years ago. She was an orphan from a middle-class family with no connections to speak of.

Hayden was equally stunned. Her own investigation had yielded the same results. A nobody.

Gilmer's voice cut through the tension, cold and sharp. "Castillo. Your personal issues with my sister are your own. Don't involve men who are just doing their job."

My sister.

The words hit Jeremey like a physical blow. He stared at Gilmer, truly seeing him for the first time. The same dark hair, the same determined set of the jaw, the subtle similarity in the high cheekbones.

Rage, hot and blinding, surged through him. It was a complex, ugly thing-fury at being deceived, and a possessive anger that she had a life, a family, that he knew nothing about.

He had wrongly assumed Gilmer was her new lover. The truth was somehow worse.

"Your 'brother'?" Jeremey sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "When did you learn to hide behind a man, Adeline?"

Before Adeline could respond, Gilmer's fist shot out. It was a swift, precise movement, connecting solidly with Jeremey's jaw.

The sound of the impact cracked through the silent ballroom.

Jeremey staggered back, the taste of blood filling his mouth. A collective gasp rippled through the guests.

"Jeremey!" Hayden shrieked, rushing to his side. She glared at Gilmer, her face a mask of outrage. "You hit him! Security!"

But the guards remained frozen, their eyes fixed on Gilmer.

Gilmer flexed his knuckles, his expression unbothered. "That," he said calmly to Jeremey, "was for the way you treated her three years ago."

Adeline placed a restraining hand on her brother's arm. She shook her head slightly. Enough for now.

She turned her cool gaze back to Jeremey, who was wiping a smear of blood from his lip. "I didn't come here to fight, Jeremey. I came to see my daughter."

Her eyes found Isabell again. The little girl's hands were clenched in the nanny's dress, her small face a mixture of fear and a desperate, unspoken longing.

Hayden instantly moved to block Isabell from view, pulling the child behind her skirts. "You will not get near her!" she hissed. "Isabell is my daughter now."

Adeline laughed. It was a soft, humorless sound that sent a chill down Hayden's spine. "Legally, Miss Figueroa, I am her mother. You... are nothing."

The words struck Hayden's most vulnerable point with surgical precision.

The party was in ruins. The guests were no longer pretending to be polite; they were openly staring, soaking in the drama.

Jeremey's composure finally cracked. His eyes, dark with fury, locked onto Adeline and Gilmer.

"This is not over," he said, his voice low and menacing. "Now take your man and get out of my house."

Adeline knew she had accomplished her primary goal: to announce her return in a way that could not be ignored. Pushing further now would be a tactical mistake.

She gave Isabell one last, lingering look. "Mommy will be back for you, sweetheart," she murmured, too quiet for anyone else to hear.

Isabell's lips parted, as if to say something, but Hayden quickly placed a hand over the child's mouth, smiling sweetly as if it were a playful gesture.

Adeline's eyes narrowed. She filed the image away.

She and Gilmer turned and walked out, heads held high, leaving a wake of chaos and speculation behind them.

Minutes later, in the quiet sanctuary of a Rolls-Royce, Gilmer opened a first-aid kit.

"Addy," he said, his voice heavy as he dabbed an antiseptic wipe on a scratch on her arm she hadn't even noticed. "Seeing him again... I still can't believe you were willing to challenge the entire Foundation for that man. Was it worth it?"

The words hung in the air, a partial reveal of a much larger secret.

Adeline stared out the window at the blurred city lights. Her expression was unyielding.

"The past doesn't matter, Gil. All that matters now is getting Isabell back."

Gilmer said no more. He put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb. The Castillo family had no idea what was coming for them. The Garrett family did not forgive. And they never, ever lost.