Cleveland straightened up slowly, his hand still pressed against his stomach. The disbelief in his eyes hardened into something dark and ugly. He ripped off his tie, the silk making a rasping sound in the quiet room, and threw it to the floor.
"You've lost your mind," he breathed, advancing on her again.
This time, there was no pretense of seduction. He grabbed her, his strength overwhelming, and slammed her back against the vanity. Bottles of expensive creams and perfumes crashed to the floor, the sound of shattering glass echoing the ruin of their marriage.
He pinned her wrists, his face inches from hers. "Don't," he growled, "push me."
He lowered his head, his mouth aiming for hers in a kiss meant to punish, to dominate, to erase her defiance.
As his lips touched hers, she bit down. Hard.
She tasted the coppery tang of his blood, a shocking, intimate violation. He swore, recoiling with a sharp intake of breath. He released her, touching his fingers to his split lower lip and staring at the smear of red on his skin.
He let out a short, incredulous laugh. "What is this? Some new, pathetic game you're playing?"
Hadley ignored him. She pushed herself off the broken vanity, turned, and walked to the nightstand. She pulled open the top drawer and took out a thick manila envelope. As she yanked it free, a few loose pages of her recent medical records-the definitive, heartbreaking diagnosis of her infertility-slipped from the drawer and fluttered to the floor. She quickly knelt and gathered most of them, her heart pounding against her ribs in a sudden panic, but one crucial page drifted away in the draft, landing deep in the dark shadows under the heavy base of the nightstand, completely unnoticed by either of them.
She walked back to him and slapped the envelope down on the cluttered, cracked surface of the vanity.
He eyed it with suspicion. "More tricks?"
"Divorce papers," she said, the words tasting like freedom and ash.
His face froze. For a second, he looked genuinely stunned, as if she'd just told him the sky was green. Then he laughed, a harsh, ugly sound.
He ripped the papers from the envelope, his eyes scanning the first page. When he got to the section demanding half of their marital assets and a portion of his shares in the Jacobson Group, he let out a derisive snort.
"You're delusional," he said, tossing the document back onto the vanity. "The prenup, Hadley. Did you forget? The party at fault-or the one who files-walks away with nothing. Absolutely nothing."
"That agreement is contingent on fidelity," she shot back, her voice shaking but firm.
She said the name. "Seraphina."
A flicker of something-panic? annoyance?-crossed his face before it was masked by cold arrogance. "That's business. A dalliance. It won't hold up in court and you know it. You have no proof."
He was so sure of himself. So certain that she was just a pawn in his world, making a desperate, foolish move.
He picked up the stack of papers. With a grunt of effort, he tore the entire document in half. Then he tore the halves into quarters.
He stepped toward her and threw the pieces of paper at her. They fluttered down around her like bitter, white confetti, catching in her hair and settling on her shoulders.
He smoothed down his jacket, his composure perfectly restored. "I will never sign anything," he said, his voice a blade of ice. "As long as I refuse, you are Mrs. Jacobson. You will die in this position. Now, clean up this mess."
He turned and walked out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind him, leaving her standing alone in the wreckage.
