The Unwanted Wife Demands A Divorce

"You simply must tell us where you got that dress, Adina."

Adina Ayers pressed her fork against the edge of her porcelain plate, the silver scraping softly against the fine china. She sat at a round table draped in white linen, surrounded by the perfectly manicured women of Manhattan's Upper East Side. The ballroom of The Pierre Hotel glittered around them, chandeliers casting cold light over diamonds and silk.

"It's a small boutique in Geneva," Adina said, forcing the corners of her mouth upward. "I can text you the name."

"Oh, wouldn't that be lovely?" The woman across from her, a philanthropist whose husband owned half of commercial real estate in Connecticut, leaned forward. "Dorman has such exquisite taste. You are a very lucky woman."

Adina's stomach clenched. She picked up her crystal water glass, the condensation wetting her palm. "I know."

The conversation shifted, the women buzzing about the upcoming auction items and the guest list for the Met. Adina tuned them out. She stared at the elaborate floral centerpiece, feeling the familiar numbness creeping into her limbs. This was her life now. Smiling at strangers who only saw her as an accessory to her husband.

A sharp vibration against her thigh pulled her back. She reached under the table, pulling her phone from her clutch. The screen lit up with a name that always made her chest tight: Eleonora Ayers.

Adina's jaw tightened. She pushed her chair back, the legs scraping against the floor. "If you'll excuse me for a moment."

She didn't wait for their response. She walked quickly across the ballroom, her heels sinking into the thick carpet, and pushed through the heavy glass doors onto the terrace. The November air hit her face, sharp and cold, clearing the heavy scent of expensive perfume from her lungs.

She swiped to answer. "Mother."

"Adina." Eleonora's voice was crisp, clipped, and utterly devoid of warmth. "You need to come out to the house tonight. For dinner."

Adina leaned against the stone railing, the chill seeping through the fabric of her dress. "I'm at the luncheon right now. And Dorman and I have plans for later."

"Cancel them." Eleonora's tone left no room for argument. "Cierra is back. Her flight landed at JFK two hours ago."

Adina's fingers tightened around the phone until her knuckles turned white. The name hit her like a physical blow to the solar plexus, knocking the air out of her. Cierra. Two years. Two years of silence, and now she was just... back.

"Did you hear me, Adina?" Eleonora pressed. "Bring Dorman. It's a family dinner. Don't make a scene."

The line went dead. Adina stared at the blank screen, a dull ache throbbing behind her eyes. She drew in a ragged breath, the freezing air burning her throat. She didn't want to go. She wanted to go back to the apartment, lock the door, and pretend the outside world didn't exist.

But she couldn't. She was an Ayers. And Ayers women did not hide.

She pulled up her contacts and hit the name she had programmed into the phone the day they signed the marriage license. It rang. And rang. And rang. Just as she was about to give up, the line clicked.

"What is it?" Dorman Cannon's voice was low, flat, and stripped of any inflection. It was the voice he used with employees who wasted his time.

Adina swallowed the lump in her throat. "My mother just called. She wants us at the house tonight. Cierra is back in New York."

Silence stretched over the line. It was a heavy, suffocating silence that made Adina's skin prickle. She could hear the faint hum of an air conditioner in the background, the scratch of a pen on paper.

"I have a video conference with the London board in an hour," Dorman said finally. "I can't make it."

Adina's temper flared, hot and sudden. "A video conference? Your wife's sister returns after two years, and you can't even pause your schedule for a family dinner?"

"Adina." His voice dropped a degree, turning to ice. "My decisions in that boardroom affect ten thousand jobs. Your sister's return affects nothing. Don't be unreasonable."

The word 'unreasonable' stung. It was his favorite weapon, reducing her valid emotions to hysterics.

"I'll go alone, then," she said, her voice trembling despite her effort to control it. "I'll tell them you're busy saving the world."

"You do that." The line went dead.

Adina lowered the phone, her hand shaking slightly. She stared at the Manhattan skyline, the buildings blurring through the sudden sheen of tears she refused to let fall. He didn't even say goodbye. He never did.

She turned and walked back into the ballroom. The noise and the heat washed over her again, but she felt nothing. She grabbed her clutch from the table, murmuring an excuse about a headache, and walked out.

The doorman hailed the car immediately. The sleek black Rolls-Royce idled at the curb, a silent behemoth. The driver rushed to open the door for her.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Cannon. Back to the penthouse?"

Adina paused, one foot on the running board. The penthouse. The massive, empty space on Fifth Avenue that smelled like marble polish and Dorman's cologne, but never like home.

"No, Thomas," she said, her voice hollow. "Take me to the Ayers estate in the Hamptons."

She slid into the backseat, the leather cool against her legs. The door shut with a solid, expensive thunk, sealing her inside. As the car pulled into traffic, Adina rested her head against the tinted window. The glass was cold against her temple.

Two years ago, she had sat in a car just like this one, wearing a dress that cost more than most people's houses, driving toward a church filled with people who looked at her like a stock portfolio. She remembered Dorman's face at the altar. Handsome. Cold. Remote. He had looked at her like she was a contract he was obligated to sign.

Fulfill your duty as Mrs. Cannon.

That was the only thing he had said to her on their wedding day. Not 'I do.' Not 'I will.' Just a command.

And now, Cierra was back. The woman he actually wanted. The woman he was supposed to marry before the families renegotiated the terms.

Adina closed her eyes, a bitter taste rising in the back of her throat. She was trapped in a gilded cage, and the door had just slammed shut.