Chapter 8
Averie reached for the heavy penthouse door, ready to close it for the last time.
At that exact moment, the private elevator chimed, its doors sliding open.
Jarett Sharp stepped out. He was on the phone, his voice clipped. "Simon, I forgot the preliminary report for the merger. I'm coming back for it now."
They froze, staring at each other in the hallway. His eyes, cold and assessing, flickered from his phone, to her face, then down to the worn suitcase at her feet. He took in her simple clothes, the same ones she'd arrived in three years ago.
A slow, contemptuous smirk spread across his lips.
"Well, that was fast," he drawled, his voice dripping with scorn. "Found a new sponsor already? Moving into his place tonight?"
The insult was designed to wound, but Averie felt nothing. She was numb. "Get out of my way, Jarett," she said, her voice flat. "I'm leaving."
She tried to step around him, but his hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around her wrist like a steel cuff. The force of his grip made her wince.
He dragged her back inside the apartment, kicking the door shut behind them. Her suitcase was left abandoned in the hall.
He slammed her back against the cold wall of the foyer, his body trapping hers. He planted his hands on the wall on either side of her head, caging her in. His face was inches from hers, his eyes blazing with a possessive fury.
"Leaving?" he hissed. "You don't go anywhere without my permission, Averie."
She met his furious gaze without flinching. "It's over, Jarett. I want a divorce."
He laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. "A divorce? For that doctor? I saw you with him at the hospital. You work fast."
So he had seen them. The hypocrisy was breathtaking. He saw her speaking to a man and assumed the worst, while he draped his coat over another woman in a moonlit garden.
"It has nothing to do with him," she said, her voice shaking with suppressed rage. "I just can't stand the sight of you anymore."
Her defiance seemed to snap something inside him. This was a challenge to his authority, to his ownership of her, and he would not tolerate it.
He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look up at him. "Did you forget that you are my legal wife, Averie? A wife I bought from your gambling-addict father for three million dollars. Did you think this marriage was a contract you could just break and move on to the next highest bidder? You belong to me."
He didn't see a wife. He saw an asset. A purchase.
The truth of his words cut her to the bone, but it only strengthened her resolve. "The marriage will end," she said, her voice low and steady. "My tolerance ended tonight."
She struggled, pushing against his chest, but it was like trying to move a mountain. Her resistance only seemed to fuel his anger. A dangerous, predatory light entered his eyes.
He leaned in close, his lips brushing against her ear. His voice was a low, menacing whisper.
"I think you need a reminder," he breathed, "of exactly whose woman you are."
A cold spike of fear shot through her. She knew what he was going to do.
Her struggles became frantic, but his control was absolute. He pinned both of her wrists with one hand, and with the other, he began to tear at the collar of her shirt.
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