The Unwanted Wife Demands A Divorce

"You simply must tell us where you got that dress, Adina."

Adina Ayers pressed her fork against the edge of her porcelain plate, the silver scraping softly against the fine china. She sat at a round table draped in white linen, surrounded by the perfectly manicured women of Manhattan's Upper East Side. The ballroom of The Pierre Hotel glittered around them, chandeliers casting cold light over diamonds and silk.

"It's a small boutique in Geneva," Adina said, forcing the corners of her mouth upward. "I can text you the name."

"Oh, wouldn't that be lovely?" The woman across from her, a philanthropist whose husband owned half of commercial real estate in Connecticut, leaned forward. "Dorman has such exquisite taste. You are a very lucky woman."

Adina's stomach clenched. She picked up her crystal water glass, the condensation wetting her palm. "I know."

The conversation shifted, the women buzzing about the upcoming auction items and the guest list for the Met. Adina tuned them out. She stared at the elaborate floral centerpiece, feeling the familiar numbness creeping into her limbs. This was her life now. Smiling at strangers who only saw her as an accessory to her husband.

A sharp vibration against her thigh pulled her back. She reached under the table, pulling her phone from her clutch. The screen lit up with a name that always made her chest tight: Eleonora Ayers.

Adina's jaw tightened. She pushed her chair back, the legs scraping against the floor. "If you'll excuse me for a moment."

She didn't wait for their response. She walked quickly across the ballroom, her heels sinking into the thick carpet, and pushed through the heavy glass doors onto the terrace. The November air hit her face, sharp and cold, clearing the heavy scent of expensive perfume from her lungs.

She swiped to answer. "Mother."

"Adina." Eleonora's voice was crisp, clipped, and utterly devoid of warmth. "You need to come out to the house tonight. For dinner."

Adina leaned against the stone railing, the chill seeping through the fabric of her dress. "I'm at the luncheon right now. And Dorman and I have plans for later."

"Cancel them." Eleonora's tone left no room for argument. "Cierra is back. Her flight landed at JFK two hours ago."

Adina's fingers tightened around the phone until her knuckles turned white. The name hit her like a physical blow to the solar plexus, knocking the air out of her. Cierra. Two years. Two years of silence, and now she was just... back.

"Did you hear me, Adina?" Eleonora pressed. "Bring Dorman. It's a family dinner. Don't make a scene."

The line went dead. Adina stared at the blank screen, a dull ache throbbing behind her eyes. She drew in a ragged breath, the freezing air burning her throat. She didn't want to go. She wanted to go back to the apartment, lock the door, and pretend the outside world didn't exist.

But she couldn't. She was an Ayers. And Ayers women did not