The Unwanted Wife Demands A Divorce

only light came from the city skyline filtering through the floor-to-c

wling over the entire top floor, but it felt like a tomb. Every piece of furniture was perfectly

crystal chandelier in the foyer bl

vodka, not bothering with a glass, and took a long swallow. The alcohol burned a trail of fire down her esopha

ed Dorman's number again. It rang

Dorman Cannon.

ialed the only ot

professional, and utterly unflappable. Dorman's ch

, her voice tight. "Wher

"Mr. Cannon is currently in a late-night conference reg

ed lie. It was like being

tightening until the plastic casing creaked. "Is he i

nnon is occupied with company business. I can lea

Adina snapped, a

leather sofa. It bounced once and f

iece above the gas fireplace. There was only one item sitting o

eir weddi

echoing in the empty space. She picked up the

e was stiff, her eyes hollow. And beside her stood Dorman, impeccable in his Tom Ford tuxedo, looking like he was attending a fun

monument

e hated the photo. She hated the memory it represented. Sh

ith every ounce of strength in her bod

nd glittering shards that rained down onto the hardwood floor. The photo itself fluttered to the ground, la

Adina stood there, her chest heaving, her breath coming in short, r

She didn't cry. The tears had dried up somewhere on t

ed three words into the searc

red at charity galas, a name that always followed the spectacular downfall of a powerful man: Julian

Cr

divorce from Dorman Cannon. I have evidence of infidelity and I need to under

cer

a Ca

-guess herself. The whoosh of the ou

as d

ving area, past the shattered glass on the floor. She wasn't going to spend another night in

cally, revealing rows of designer clothes, shelves of expensive handbags, and

er, grabbing only the practical things-cotton underwear, comfortable bras, socks. She bypassed the rows of Dior and Chanel

d bought her. Not the Birkin bags. N

hut. It was light. I