“If you don’t want to fire her, how about divorce me?”
The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.
Xander stared at me. He blinked once. Twice. Then, a scoff escaped his lips, incredulous and condescending.
“You can’t be serious,” he said, shaking his head as if I were a child throwing a tantrum over a broken toy. “Asking for a divorce? For this? Because you are jealous? Lyanna, look at yourself. You’re sick. You’re emotional. You’re letting your hormones and this… this petty insecurity ruin everything we’ve built.”
Ria stepped forward, her hands clasped together in a plea that looked rehearsed. Her eyes were wide, shimmering with fake tears.
“Mrs. Lyanna, please, is it because of me?” she whimpered. “I didn’t mean to ruin your relationship. I was just trying to help Xander… Mr. Xander. He’s been under so much pressure. I would never want to come between you two. Please, don’t do this because of me.”
She looked at Xander, her lower lip trembling. Defending him. Acting like the martyr.
“It’s not his fault,” she added softly. “He’s just… he works so hard… for you and the family. We’re not—”
“I don’t care now,” I said. My voice was devoid of emotion. “If you want him, take him. I’m divorcing him.”
Xander’s face went pale. “Lyanna, stop it. You are taking this too far—”
“What the hell is happening here?”
The booming voice echoed from the hallway.
We all froze. Standing in the doorway, leaning heavily on his cane but looking as formidable as a mountain, was Jonathan. Xander’s grandfather.
“Why am I hearing a divorce from my favorite daughter-in-law?” he demanded.
Xander straightened his spine instantly, the arrogance vanishing, replaced by the fear of a little boy caught stealing from the cookie jar.
“Grandfather,” Xander stammered. “It’s… it’s nothing. Lyanna is just… she’s unwell. The dengue fever. She’s confused.”
“Confused?” Jonathan walked up to me. He took my hand, his grip gentle, inspecting my face. “She looks like a ghost, Xander! Why isn’t she in bed? Why isn’t she resting? And why, pray tell, are you shouting at your sick wife instead of taking care of her?”
“I am taking care of her!” Xander lied. “I was just—”
“He’s busy.” I didn’t look at Xander. I looked straight at Jonathan. “He’s busy with something else, Grandpa. Too busy to visit me in the hospital for five days. Too busy to answer my calls.”
“That is not true!” Xander protested, sweat beading on his forehead. “I was working! The merger, Grandpa! You know how critical it is. I was doing it for the family! For us! I was going to visit her today!”
He reached for me, putting on a show. “Lyanna, baby, tell him. I told you I’d make it up to you. I’ll take care of you now. I’ll fake—I mean, I’ll fix everything.”
Jonathan slammed his cane on the floor.
“You should be fixing this,” the old man growled. “Because I won’t allow a divorce in this family. Do you hear me? Now, fix your face. Let’s go. Let’s have dinner. We need to discuss the future of this company, and clearly, you need guidance.”
Xander nodded rapidly. “Yes. Yes, of course. Dinner.”
He gestured for me to follow. I didn’t move. Ria, seeing the shift in power, smoothed her skirt and took a step toward the door, falling in step behind Xander like a dutiful puppy.
“Why are you coming?” I asked.
“I… I always come,” she said, her voice small. “With the dinners. To take notes. To assist Mr. Xander. It’s protocol.”
“No need,” I said. “He doesn’t need you. He just needs his wife.”
“But… the merger details…” she tried to reason out. “Mr. Xander might need the files I have on my—”
“I said no need,” I cut her off. “You want her to come, Xander?” I asked.
It was a trap. And he knew it.
Xander looked at Ria. Then he looked at his grandfather, who was watching with narrowed, suspicious eyes. Then he looked at me. He sighed, a sound of defeat. He hesitated for a second—a second that told me everything I needed to know—before he spoke.
“No need, Ria,” he muttered, not meeting her eyes. “I can handle this. Go home.”
Ria flinched as if he had slapped her. Her mouth opened, then closed. She looked at me with pure venom, but she had no cards left to play.
“Yes, sir,” she whispered.
I smirked.
Dinner was an exercise in torture. We sat at the long mahogany table in the Miller estate. The silence was punctuated only by the clinking of silverware and Jonathan’s gruff questions about the quarterly projections.
I watched Xander. He couldn’t focus. He was shifting in his seat, his eyes darting to his lap every thirty seconds.
His phone. It was vibrating against his leg. I could see the glow illuminating his napkin.
Ria was probably texting him a storm. Crying. Accusing him. Demanding to know why he abandoned her.
“Xander!”
Jonathan’s voice cracked like a whip.
Xander jumped, nearly knocking over his wine glass. “Yes! Yes, Grandpa?”
“I asked you about the logistics for the Singapore expansion,” Jonathan said, his brow furrowed. “You’re not listening. What is so important on your lap?”
“Nothing,” Xander said quickly, shoving the phone deeper into his pocket. “Just business. Checking emails from the investors.”
“Business and business,” Jonathan grumbled, cutting into his steak. “That’s all you talk about. But what about the heir?”
The air left the room. I froze, my fork hovering halfway to my mouth.
“You’ve been married five years,” Jonathan continued, oblivious to the ice spreading through my veins. “I’m not getting any younger, Xander. I built this empire for my bloodline. I need to know it’s secure.”
Xander cleared his throat. He reached out and covered my hand with his. His palm was sweaty.
“Oh, we… we’re working on it,” Xander lied, putting on that charming, boyish smile. “We should try it again. Right, honey? When Lyanna is ready.”
Try again.
The words echoed in my head.
He said it so casually. As if we hadn’t lost our baby last year due to my stress because of him. As if I hadn’t bled out on the bathroom floor while he was at a “conference” that I later learned Ria had attended too.
He had neglected me then. He was neglecting me now. And he wanted to use my body to secure his inheritance.
I looked at him. I saw the desperation in his eyes. He didn’t want a child. He wanted the money.
I smiled.
It was the best acting performance of my life.
“Sure,” I said, my voice sweet as poison. “We can try again, Grandpa. For your heir.”
Jonathan nodded, satisfied. “Good. You should be. Or you won’t get the full inheritance. The trust stipulates a direct heir by the time you turn thirty. You’re running out of time.”
Xander squeezed my hand. Hard.
“We won’t let you down,” he promised. “We’ll make sure to give you a good news on our sixth anniversary next month.”
But what he didn’t know was that there would be no sixth anniversary.
Because I would be leaving in five days.
