Divorce Me Now, Mr Arrogant Billionaire

"Your husband is back in New York! And guess who he brought with him? That manipulative little snake just landed at JFK with him!"

Candice Keller's phone buzzed against the mahogany desk.

A message from her best friend, Ellery Macdonald, flashed across the screen.

"You know, the woman whose mother saved his life and who's been hanging around the Montgomery family ever since!"

Candice didn't look up from the three-hundred-million-dollar merger file spread across her desk. She was reviewing the final clauses in her corner office at Sterling & Sterling LLP, high above Midtown Manhattan. As the firm's youngest equity partner, she had little patience for distractions.

But Ellery's next message made her pause.

"I'm sending you a picture. Tell me I'm not seeing things."

Candice opened the attachment.

In the high-resolution photo, a tall, broad-shouldered man was shielding a petite, frail-looking woman as they walked out of the airport's VIP channel. He wore a dark bespoke trench coat, and the familiar custom tourbillon watch on his left wrist caught the harsh glare of the terminal lights.

It was Aloys Montgomery, heir to the Montgomery fortune-and the husband who had left her behind in New York for five years.

The woman clinging to his sleeve was Chastity Harper.

For the past five years, Candice had quietly had her firm's investigators look into Chastity. Their findings-including cross-border records, checks on her educational credentials and medical history, and documented inconsistencies in her past statements-had been preserved in a confidential file on the firm's secure server. It had sat untouched for months. Now, with Aloys back in New York, Candice had a reason to reopen it.

Candice's amber eyes stayed completely flat. She zoomed in on the image until the pixels sharpened around Chastity's pale fingers, which were clutching the sleeve of Aloys's coat.

Under the desk, Candice pressed her right thumbnail hard into the center of her palm. A faint, crescent-shaped scar from years of holding back her temper turned bright red against her skin.

Her phone vibrated again.

"What are you going to do?" Ellery demanded in another message. "Want me to bring a baseball bat to the Upper East Side and block the door?"

A faint, cold smile touched the corner of Candice's lips. She typed a reply with one hand.

"No need. It has nothing to do with me."

She flipped the phone face down on the desk and returned her gaze to the merger contract, treating the return of her estranged husband like a piece of junk mail.

Five minutes later, a knock sounded at the heavy double doors. A junior partner stepped inside, holding a supplemental agreement and its internal review sheet.

Candice uncapped her Montblanc pen and signed the review sheet in one fluid motion.

"Check the indemnity clause on page four and the tax schedule in appendix B," she said, her voice cool and even. "Fix both loopholes before sending it to the client."

The junior partner nodded with a look of awe, took the folder, and backed out of the room. Once the doors clicked shut, silence settled over the office again.

Candice leaned back against the leather headrest and closed her eyes. Immediately, the memory of a heavy snowstorm in Boston five years ago flashed through her mind.

Her stomach twisted tight. She snapped her eyes open, forcing the nauseating memory down, and reached for the bottom drawer of her desk.

Deep inside lay a document she had drafted months ago. Bold black letters across the cover page read: Uncontested Divorce Agreement.

She lifted the packet out and ran her fingertips over the cold legal terms. Her gaze sharpened.

The desk intercom buzzed, and her receptionist spoke through the speaker.

"Ms. Keller, your private driver is waiting in the lobby."

Candice slipped the divorce agreement into her Hermès Birkin bag, stood up, and put on her tailored black trench coat. She walked out of the office, her heels clicking against the marble floor as assistants in the hallway stepped aside to clear her path.

Taking the executive elevator straight down to the underground garage, she settled into the backseat of her black Maybach.

"Take me to the Upper East Side penthouse," she told the driver.

As the neon lights of Manhattan blurred past the tinted windows, she opened her bag and checked the asset division clauses one last time. Twenty minutes later, the Maybach glided into the underground garage of a luxury building overlooking Central Park.

Candice rode the private elevator to the top floor and pressed her thumb to the scanner, pushing open the heavy redwood doors that her husband had not walked through in five years. The vast apartment was dark and empty.

She walked over to the Italian leather sofa in the living room, sat down, and placed the divorce agreement right in the center of the black marble coffee table. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a slim cigarette, lit it, and took a deep drag. Sharp smoke curled into the dim room.

On the wall, an antique clock ticked steadily until the hands pointed to ten o'clock at night.

Out in the foyer, the electronic lock let out a soft beep, followed by the heavy sound of the front door being pushed open.