His Trophy Wife, The Apex Predator

"Sign it, Jett. Let us not make this uglier than it needs to be."

Arthur's voice bounced off the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Manhattan penthouse.

Outside, the lights of Central Park blurred into a smear of gold and black.

Inside, the air was thick and suffocating.

Jett stood perfectly still by the marble island.

Her chest barely moved as she took in a slow, measured breath.

The scent hit the back of her throat instantly.

It was a heavy, cloying mix of white jasmine and synthetic vanilla.

Serena's custom perfume.

Arthur had not even bothered to shower before coming home to end their three-year marriage.

He tossed a thick manila envelope onto the cold marble.

The heavy paper slid across the smooth surface and stopped inches from Jett's fingers.

"I have a board meeting at eight tomorrow," Arthur said, his tone flat and exhausted.

He ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair, messing up the front strands.

It was his tell. He only did that when he was trying to force a sense of control he did not actually have.

"Just read it, sign the last page, and my assistant will handle the logistics."

Jett looked down at the envelope.

Her stomach hollowed out, leaving a cold, empty space behind her ribs.

She reached out and flipped the metal clasp open.

She pulled the thick stack of legal documents free.

Her eyes scanned the dense paragraphs, skipping the standard legal jargon and zeroing in on the clauses that mattered.

Her gaze stopped on page four.

The box next to the 'Complete Forfeiture of Marital Assets' clause was checked.

A stark, black 'X' printed in heavy ink.

Arthur was demanding she leave with nothing.

"Five million dollars," Arthur announced, his chin jutting out as he leaned his weight against the edge of the counter.

"It is a generous severance. Consider it compensation for your time, and a strict non-disclosure fee."

He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Do not try to drag this out in the media, Jett. You know how the Vanderbilt family deals with leeches."

Jett stared at the number printed on the page.

Five million.

A harsh, dry sound scraped its way up her throat.

It was a laugh, devoid of any actual humor.

The sound made Arthur's jaw tighten.

"Is something funny?" he snapped, the veins in his neck beginning to pulse against his collar.

Jett picked up the heavy, custom-engraved fountain pen resting near the fruit bowl.

She rolled the cool metal between her thumb and index finger.

"You were at the Wall Street gala last night," Jett said, her voice dropping to a low, dangerously calm pitch.

"You had your hand on Serena's lower back the entire evening. The paparazzi photos are already trending on three different gossip blogs."

Arthur's face flushed a dull, angry red.

"Serena is moving into this apartment next week," he stated, abandoning any pretense of guilt.

"The family needs an heir with a proper pedigree. A Sinclair. Not someone