His Rejected Wife, The World's Genius

June's brutal sun blazed down, warping the New York City skyline in a haze of sweltering heat.

Gabriella stepped out of the corporate skyscraper, her clothes streaked with drying blood. She stared down at the signed partnership contract in her hand, a bitter smile tugging at her delicate, porcelain features.

She'd taken a bullet to lock this deal down.

And it would be the last thing she ever did for Damian Nunez.

Damian had chased her relentlessly for three years. They'd been married for one, until he'd looked her dead in the eye and said he was bored of her. At first, she'd screamed, fought, sobbed-only to be met with his cold, cutting mockery. "Gabriella, you look hideous right now. You make me sick. Let's get a divorce."

She'd found out later it was never just boredom. He'd met his so-called soulmate.

He hadn't set foot in their Tribeca penthouse in two months, not since the day he'd first mentioned divorce.

There was no point in dragging this out any longer.

Gabriella changed out of her bloodied clothes, hailed a yellow cab, and rode straight to Damian's downtown Manhattan headquarters. She took the private elevator directly to the top-floor executive suite, and before she could reach the office door, a soft, breathy female voice froze her to the spot, drifting through the crack in the heavy oak door.

"Damian, stop it... you're gonna make my lips swell."

A sharp, searing pain seized Gabriella's chest.

To force herself to let go completely, she pushed the half-open door and stepped inside.

The lavish, sprawling office came into view. Hayleigh Blair was perched in Damian's lap, face flushed, lips swollen and marked, clear evidence of what they'd been doing only moments before.

The biological daughter of the Blair family that had taken Gabriella in-the same woman who'd always claimed this marriage was meant to be hers.

When she saw Gabriella walk in, panic flashed across her young face, and she scrambled off Damian's lap. "Sis, I-"

Gabriella didn't spare her a single glance. She walked straight to the solid mahogany desk, set down the signed partnership contract, and laid a divorce agreement on top of it.

Only then did she look up at the man across from her: Damian Nunez, the wealthiest man in New York City. He wore a tailored black dress shirt and slacks, exuding lazy old-money elegance, his features sharp and devastatingly handsome. Beneath his dark, swept-back hair, his face twisted into cold disgust as he stared at her-a look that sent a stabbing pain straight through her chest.

"The corporate partnership is locked down. Fully executed contract," she said, her voice eerily calm, as if this marriage meant nothing to her at all. "Beneath it is the divorce agreement. I've already signed it. It's 2 PM. We're going to the courthouse to finalize this today."

Only the deathly pallor of her face, and the way her thin, fragile frame swayed unsteadily on her feet, gave away the agony she