My Terminal Diagnosis, His Cruel Divorce

Adaline pushed open the heavy walnut door of the Manhattan penthouse. The freezing rain from the street still clung to her trench coat, seeping through the fabric and chilling her skin. A sudden, violent cramp seized her stomach. She bent forward, her breath hitching as a wave of nausea washed over her. She desperately clutched the damp piece of paper hidden deep in her coat pocket. The paper that confirmed she had six months left to live.

She raised her head, fighting the acid burning her throat. The penthouse was mostly dark, illuminated only by the city lights bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Gerard stood there. His back was to her. His tailored suit was immaculate, completely untouched by the storm outside.

Adaline parted her dry lips. She wanted to tell him about the hospital. She wanted him to turn around and hold her.

Before she could form a single word, Gerard turned. His eyes were flat, devoid of any warmth. He did not ask why she was soaked. He did not ask why she was pale and trembling. He simply picked up a thick file from the Italian leather coffee table and tossed it.

The heavy stack of papers slid across the smooth surface and fell off the edge, landing right at Adaline's wet boots.

The bold black letters on the crisp white paper glared up at her. Divorce Agreement.

An invisible hand wrapped around Adaline's throat, squeezing until her lungs burned for air. Her breathing stopped entirely.

Gerard reached up and loosened his tie. His voice was steady, a stark contrast to the roaring thunder outside. "Kena is back. Her condition is worsening. I do not have time to play this game with you anymore. We are ending this marriage."

The room spun. The floor beneath Adaline felt like it was giving way. Thirteen years. She had loved this man in secret for thirteen years, long before the marriage contract, long before he became the CEO of the Crosby empire. Now, all of it was reduced to a joke. She dug her fingernails into her palms, welcoming the sharp sting of her own skin breaking. It was the only way to stay standing.

She found her voice, though it sounded like broken glass. "We made a promise to your grandfather. You cannot just end this."

Gerard let out a low, mocking laugh. "Do not use my grandfather as a shield. We both know why you signed that contract two years ago. You wanted the Crosby wealth. You got what you wanted. Now it is time to leave."

His words hit her like a bucket of ice water poured directly over her head. The accusation of greed shattered her remaining pride. The terminal diagnosis in her pocket was crushed into a tight ball under her trembling fingers. She would rather die than show him that piece of paper now.

Gerard took a step forward. He pulled a silver Montblanc pen from his inner pocket and held it out to