The Divorced Architect's Spectacular Comeback

The heavy brass doors of the VIP club swung shut behind Crista, instantly muffling the thumping bass that had been vibrating through her chest. She sucked in a breath, the sharp scent of expensive cigars and leather filling her lungs. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic rhythm that had nothing to do with the music.

She walked down the long corridor, her stilettos clicking against the polished marble floor. Her eyes darted to the semi-closed blinds of the private rooms, searching for one specific thing-a set of Maybach keys left carelessly on a table, a familiar silhouette. Anything.

Her gaze locked on the room at the end of the hall. Through the dim sliver of light, she saw that broad back. The tailored suit jacket stretched across his shoulders was unmistakable. It was Conrad.

Crista's heart seized, a physical spasm that stole her breath. Because right there, illuminated by the low spotlight, a hand with bright red nail polish was reaching up, slowly tracing the line of the man's jaw.

She took two stiff steps forward, her blood turning to ice in her veins. The woman leaning into him turned her head slightly, catching the light. It was Else. Her stepsister.

Else's eyes flicked toward the door, catching sight of Crista's shadow. A slow, provocative smirk curled the corners of her painted lips. Instead of pulling away, she deliberately pressed herself deeper into the man's embrace, her body language screaming possession.

Conrad didn't push her away. He simply lowered his head, listening to whatever she was whispering in his ear. That indulgent posture, that casual acceptance of her touch, sliced through Crista like a blade.

Crista shoved the door open. The glass panel slammed against the wall with a heavy, dull thud, shattering the intimate atmosphere inside.

Conrad turned his head. The moment his eyes landed on Crista, his brow furrowed deeply. A flash of pure annoyance crossed his features-the look of a man whose peace had been disturbed by something unpleasant.

Else let out a dramatic gasp, shrinking back like a startled fawn. She scurried behind Conrad, her fingers tightly gripping the edge of his haute couture suit jacket.

Crista walked quickly to the sofa, standing over them. Her voice shook, not from weakness, but from a rage so intense it threatened to choke her. "What the hell is this?"

Else sniffled, her voice dripping with fake tears. "Crista, please don't be mad... I just had something in my eye. Conrad was just helping me get it out." Her tone was so sickeningly sweet it made the air in the room feel foul.

Crista let out a cold laugh. Her gaze swept across the low table, landing on the half-empty glass of whiskey. She didn't hesitate. She reached down, her fingers wrapping around the heavy crystal tumbler.

The amber liquid arced through the air, splashing directly onto Else's carefully styled curls and her designer dress.

Else shrieked, a piercing sound that bounced off the walls. She clutched her face, collapsing dramatically into Conrad's arms, her body shaking with exaggerated sobs.

Conrad shot up from the sofa. His tall frame radiated overwhelming pressure. He reached out, his large hand clamping around Crista's wrist-the same hand that still held the empty glass. His grip was brutal, like a vise.

Crista winced, her face twisting in pain, but she stubbornly lifted her chin, meeting his glare head-on.

"Are you out of your mind?" Conrad's voice was low and dangerous, his eyes like chips of ice. "Apologize to her. Now."

Crista yanked her arm, trying to break free. His grip only tightened, leaving a burning red mark on her skin. She gritted her teeth, spitting out the words, "I will never apologize."

Behind him, Else continued to sob, her voice muffled against his chest. "Conrad, please... don't fight over me. I don't want to ruin your marriage." Her fake magnanimity was like fuel on the fire of Conrad's anger.

Conrad's face hardened. He reached into his jacket pocket with his free hand, pulling out a folded document. He threw it onto the table. It landed with a slap.

It was a divorce agreement.

Crista stared at the bold black letters on the paper. Her stomach cramped violently, a sudden spasm that made her feel nauseous. But she swallowed the bile, forcing the tears back. She would not cry in front of him.

"No," she said, her voice hoarse but firm. "I won't sign it."

She pointed a shaking finger at Else. "She's lying! The Cherry family is using you! Else doesn't care about you, she only cares about your money and status!"

Conrad's eyes flashed with mockery. He looked at her like she was a pathetic, cornered animal. "You think I'd believe the word of a woman who trapped me into marriage just to save her bankrupt family? You're just saying anything to keep the title of Mrs. Anderson."

He wrapped an arm around the trembling Else, his voice dripping with contempt. "Don't test my patience, Crista. You won't like the consequences."

A wave of dizziness washed over Crista. A sharp, pulling pain suddenly bloomed in her lower abdomen. She gasped, her hand flying instinctively to her stomach.

Conrad saw the movement. His eyes narrowed, but there was no concern, only disgust. "Not this again," he sneered. "If you think playing the victim is going to work, you're wrong."

He dropped her wrist, only to grab her arm just above the elbow. His fingers dug into her flesh through the thin fabric of her dress.

"Since you refuse to be civilized," he said, his voice cold enough to freeze hell, "I'll teach you some manners."

Crista struggled, her heels dragging uselessly against the carpet as he hauled her toward the door. The strength disparity was too great. She was dragged out of the room, her protests falling on deaf ears.

In the quiet of the private room, Else slowly straightened up. The tears and the frightened expression vanished instantly. She looked at the empty doorway, a vicious, venomous smile spreading across her face.