Sign The Divorce Papers, Mr. Billionaire

h the thick Persian rug, traveling up the stiletto heel

he exclusive Manhattan private club. The air s

re. Her eyes locked onto the frosted gla

eled wall of the corridor. His broad shoulder

ured into a tight red dress. Hayleigh's manicured fingers

he looked down at her with a lazy,

physical pain radiated from her ster

busy, just cold, just reserved. The perfect filter she had placed ov

the back of her throat. The tightness in her

trying to walk softly. Her heels clicked sh

the sound. His dark eyes c

ant, quiet wife, his pupils dilated.

owned, turning her head to glar

from them. She kept her spine perfec

t a loud, mocking scoff and pressed

e hallway. He carried a silver tray load

ght now... it was enough. The three years of silent submission finally reached its breaking point. Coralie did not hesitate. She

ped, freezing

st. The movement was sm

live flew through the air. The liqui

e walnut walls. She stumbled backward, her high hee

y darkened, clinging wetly to her skin. Masc

s his face, quickly followed by the cold fury of a man whose authority had ju

height. He opened his mouth, his brow furrowed, ready to

chance. She raised her left

nto his eyes. Her gaz

in his throat. The sheer coldness

grabbed the sleeve of Cale's suit

own the hallway. Two large security guards jog

the empty martini glass back onto the waiter's tray

white tissue and meticulously wiped her fingers

. Her voice was flat,

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