The Jilted Wife's Spectacular Billionaire Comeback

"Thank you so much for coming. Drive safe."

Estella smiled until her cheek muscles ached. The heavy oak door of the penthouse clicked shut, finally cutting off the loud jazz music and the suffocating smell of expensive cigars. She let out a long breath, her shoulders dropping a full inch. Ten years. Ten anniversary parties she had hosted down to the last napkin fold.

She turned around, her heels clicking on the marble floor. Conrad stood by the wet bar, his back to her. He was already pulling at his tie, yanking it loose with a sharp, agitated motion. There was no relief in his posture, no warmth for a successful night. Just the same cold impatience he wore like a second skin.

Jana glided out of the dining room, holding two half-empty champagne flutes. Her younger sister smiled, a bright, practiced flash of white teeth. "Another flawless party, sis. Conrad is so lucky to have you."

Estella nodded, but a cold thread wound through her stomach. Jana's eyes weren't on her. They were locked on Conrad's back, lingering on the way his shirt stretched across his shoulders. It was a look of ownership. A look that had no business being on a sister's face.

"I'm exhausted," Conrad said, not turning around. He poured himself a scotch, the ice clinking hard against the glass. "I'm going to shower."

"I can help clean up," Jana offered, stepping closer to Estella. Her perfume-Estella's signature scent, the one Conrad had gifted her last Christmas-hung heavy in the air between them.

"No, go home," Estella said, her voice steadier than she felt. "You've done enough."

Jana smirked. Just a tiny twitch of her lips, but it was there. "If you insist. Goodnight, Conrad."

Conrad raised a hand in a lazy wave without looking back. Jana grabbed her coat, leaving Estella alone in the massive, silent living room. The silence pressed against her eardrums. She looked at the overflowing ashtrays, the rings of condensation on the antique mahogany table. Ten years of her life, dedicated to this man, and he hadn't even said happy anniversary.

She needed to fix it. She always tried to fix it.

Estella walked into the kitchen, her sanctuary. She opened the Sub-Zero fridge, pulling out the ginger and the organic bone broth. Conrad always drank too much at these events, and he always woke up with a raging headache if she didn't make her special soup. It was a ritual. Her fingers moved automatically, peeling, slicing, simmering. The smell of ginger filled the air, a comforting warmth that usually made her feel useful.

She poured the clear, golden liquid into a porcelain bowl, placing it carefully on a silver tray. She climbed the stairs, her heart beating a little faster. Maybe tonight, after the soup, they could actually talk. Maybe he would realize how much she cared.

The door to the master bedroom was slightly ajar. A sliver of warm light spilled into the hallway. Estella balanced the tray with