The Divorced Heiress: Too Late For Regrets

nd echoing like a gunshot in the cavernous space. Hadley stood silhoue

on Julian's lap. Her designer dress was hiked up her thighs, her arms wrappe

ith a rough, impatient movement. She stumbled, catching herself on the edge of the desk. He stood

ing?" he snapped, his voice a low gro

ew to her mouth, her eyes wide with fabricated shock. "Hadd

d for three years, the man she had crossed an ocean for while injured and in pain, was

and pulled the silk scarf from her neck. The fabric slid away to reveal the grotesque, purple

ing shifted in his gaze-a flicker of shock, maybe something else-but it w

rward as if to inspect the wound. Her perfectly

he sidestepped Eleanor's advance with a look of such profound

d dramatically, collapsing into a leather armchair. Her eyes immediately well

de over to Eleanor, placing a protective hand on her shoulder. He looked ba

lly severed the last, frayed thread of hope in Hadley's heart. The pain in

ary data from her last dive, the discovery of a new bioluminescent microb

quarters. The crisp sound of ripping paper filled the tense silence. She let the pie

tantrum. "If this is about money," he said, his voice dripping with condescension, "just tell me

e lifted her chin, her eyes locking onto his. Her voice, wh

t a di

crystallize. Even Eleanor's

s a short, ugly sound of disbelief. "A divorce? Is this your new g

ff him was suffocating. "Do you have any idea what you're saying? You leave me, you leave this family, and you have

is still begging, Julian," she

abbed her chin, his fingers digging into her skin,

ck, slapping his hand away. Her fingernail caught

on his skin, then back up at her, his eyes t

hin toward the armchair where Eleanor was watching with wide, calculating eyes. "I'm setting you f

, finally dropping the pretense

nger at the door. "Get out of my office. You want a divorce? Fine. You'll get it.

e turned, her back straight, her head held high. She walked

she paused but d

ing clearly back into the room. "If he doesn't, I'll be calling the New York Post

, past the horrified face of Felix, and stepped into the waitin