The Genius Heiress' Ruthless Divorce Revenge

The heavy oak doors of the Holman Manor private memorial library yielded under Harlow's push.

She stepped inside. The main chandelier was off. Only the faint, amber glow from the wall sconces illuminated the edges of the room. The air smelled of old paper and leather, but beneath that familiar scent, there was something else. Something sharp and sour.

Harlow froze.

From the deep shadows near the back bookshelves, a sickening sound reached her ears. It was a wet, heavy panting. A woman's low moan followed, echoing off the mahogany panels.

Harlow's stomach plummeted. The blood drained from her face, leaving her skin ice-cold.

She took a step forward. Her high heel came down on something hard. A sharp crack echoed through the room.

Harlow looked down. The glass face of her parents' framed photograph lay shattered on the Persian rug. The silver frame was dented.

A hot, violent surge of adrenaline rushed into Harlow's veins. Her vision narrowed. She reached out and slammed her palm against the crystal chandelier switch on the wall.

Blinding white light flooded the library.

Harlow stopped breathing.

There, on top of her late father's antique red-wood desk, was her husband. Beck's dress shirt was unbuttoned, his trousers pushed down. Beneath him, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, was Fallon.

Harlow's chest tightened as if a massive hand was crushing her lungs.

"Get off my father's desk," Harlow said. Her voice was a harsh, guttural snap.

She didn't wait for a response. Harlow grabbed the heavy brass paperweight from the edge of the nearest table. She hurled it at the hardwood floor.

The brass slammed into the wood with a deafening crash.

Beck and Fallon scrambled apart. Beck stumbled, pulling up his pants with frantic, jerky motions. Fallon slid off the desk.

But Fallon didn't look ashamed. She slowly pulled the strap of her silk camisole back over her shoulder. A tiny, victorious smirk played at the corners of her mouth.

Beck didn't look guilty. He looked annoyed. He ran a hand through his messy hair and glared at Harlow.

"You should knock, Harlow," Beck snapped. He adjusted his belt. "This room? It's just wood and paper, Harlow. You attach too much sentiment to inanimate objects. Fallon and I were celebrating a business victory. You should be happy for us."

Harlow's eyes dropped to the desk. Beneath the messy stack of papers, her father's favorite gold pocket watch lay crushed. The glass was pulverized. The metal casing was bent out of shape by Beck's weight.

Harlow's hands curled into fists. Her fingernails dug so hard into her palms that the skin broke.

"You bring your whore into this room?" Harlow pointed a shaking finger at the door. "This is a sacred place. How dare you do this filthy thing here?"

Beck finished buckling his belt. He rolled his eyes. "The soundproofing in here is top-tier. It's the perfect place to discuss private business."

Harlow felt bile rise in her throat. She stepped forward, her