Divorced And Pregnant: The Ex-Wife's Revenge

The low hum of the private elevator was the only sound in the sprawling penthouse. It was a noise Clara had come to associate with a tightening in her chest, a knot forming in the base of her stomach. She sat on the edge of a white leather sofa, her fingers twisting the hem of her simple navy dress until the fabric was a wrinkled mess.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding.

Kane Spencer stepped out. He wasn't alone. Two men in identical dark suits followed him, their faces impassive, their briefcases held like shields. The air in the room, already thin, seemed to vanish completely.

He didn't look at her. His gaze swept over the living room as if she were just another piece of furniture he no longer found appealing. He walked straight to the wet bar, the sound of his Italian leather shoes echoing on the marble floor. The clink of a heavy crystal tumbler, the glug of amber liquid being poured. He was building a wall of routine actions between them.

One of the lawyers approached the low glass coffee table in front of her. He placed a thick stack of papers down with a soft, definitive thud.

Clara stared at the cover page. Her heart, which had been hammering against her ribs, seemed to stop. The words were printed in stark, black letters: Asset Transfer & Debt Settlement Agreement.

Her breath hitched. She finally found her voice, a thin, reedy sound. "Kane? What is this?"

He took a long swallow of his whiskey, his back still to her. The ice rattled in his glass. "It's exactly what it says it is."

She forced herself to pick up the document. Her hands trembled so violently the papers shook. She flipped past the cover page, her eyes scanning the dense legal text. Debt. Foreclosure. Marion Lawrence.

The document slipped from her grasp, scattering across the floor in a chaotic fan of white.

"Your mother's company is on the brink of bankruptcy," Kane said, finally turning to face her. His voice was flat, devoid of any emotion. A statement of fact. "And she is facing federal charges for the missing pension funds. I can make it all go away. The lawyers, the debts, the prison time. But only if you sign."

The words didn't compute. They were just sounds, sharp and meaningless, crashing against the inside of her skull. "Prison? You're threatening my mother?"

He walked toward her then, his shoes stepping directly onto the scattered pages. He stopped right in front of her, forcing her to crane her neck to look up at his cold, handsome face. "I'm offering you a choice, Clara. Sign the divorce papers and agree to the asset transfer, and I clear her debts and keep the prosecutors at bay. Refuse, and she loses everything by tomorrow morning."

A raw, guttural sound escaped her throat. "And what am I in all of this, Kane? What do you think I am?"