Valkyrie Rising: Ruining My Ex-Husband

The penthouse was silent, save for the soft ticking of the grand clock in the hallway and the low hum of the city seventy floors below. Seraphina adjusted the silk lace of her dress, her fingers trembling slightly. On the mahogany dining table, a five-course meal sat cooling-Dominic's favorite French dishes, prepared by her own hands over six grueling hours.

Tonight was their third wedding anniversary.

For three years, Seraphina had played the role of the perfect Sinclair wife. She had been the shadow in his house, the warmth in his bed, and the silent support system that kept his life running while he built his empire. She didn't mind the coldness or the long nights he spent at the office. She believed, with the naivety of a girl in love, that if she just gave him enough, he would eventually see her.

Her hand drifted to the silk pocket of her dress, brushing against a small, folded piece of paper. It was a sonogram from her appointment that afternoon. A heartbeat. A tiny Sinclair heir.

"He'll be happy," she whispered to the empty room, a small, hopeful smile gracing her lips. "This changes everything."

The sound of the private elevator chiming broke the silence. Seraphina stood up quickly, smoothing her dress. The doors slid open to reveal Dominic Sinclair.

He looked every bit the titan-sharp, lethal, and devastatingly handsome in a charcoal-grey suit. But as he stepped into the light, the smile on Seraphina's face faltered. He didn't look like a man coming home to celebrate. He looked like a man finishing a chore.

And there was the scent. White lilies.

It was the signature perfume of Lydia Vance-the woman Dominic had loved before her family went bankrupt, the woman who had left him for a richer suitor four years ago.

"Dominic, you're home," Seraphina said, her voice steady despite the thumping of her heart. "I thought... since it's our anniversary, we could-"

"Sign it."

He didn't look at her. He didn't even acknowledge the candles or the wine. He simply tossed a thick manila envelope onto the table. It slid across the polished wood, knocking over a crystal wine glass. The red liquid bled into the white lace tablecloth like a fresh wound.

Seraphina stared at the bold letters at the top of the document. DIVORCE SETTLEMENT AGREEMENT.

"Dominic?" her voice was a mere breath. "What is this?"

"Lydia is back," he said, loosening his tie as he walked toward the bar. He poured himself a glass of scotch, his back to her. "Her marriage in Europe is annulled. I've already moved her things into the North estate. I want you out by tomorrow morning."

The world seemed to tilt. Seraphina gripped the back of a chair to keep from collapsing. "Out? Dominic, we've been married for three years. I was there when the board tried to remove you. I was there when you were sick. I've been your wife."

Dominic turned, his Sinclair-blue eyes as cold as