Jilted Ex-Wife? The World's Top Designer

The steam in the master bathroom of the Manhattan penthouse was thick, clinging to the marble walls and making the air heavy. Calleigh stood by the double vanity, her fingers wrapped tightly around a warm, damp towel.

He stripped off his dress shirt, the muscles in his broad back shifting with the sharp movement, before leaning over the sink to splash cold water onto his face.

Calleigh took a shallow breath, trying to steady the rapid thumping in her chest. She stepped forward and held out the towel.

Hakeem took it without looking at her. He dragged the cotton across his jaw, his movements sharp and dismissive.

"Hakeem," Calleigh started, her voice barely above a whisper. "Lily's follow-up appointment is next week. The doctors need to..."

His jaw tightened instantly. He tossed the towel into the wicker hamper. It hit the bottom with a dull thud.

"I have three board meetings next week, Calleigh," he said, his voice a flat, hard line. "I don't have time for this right now."

Her stomach plummeted. She bit the inside of her cheek, tasting the familiar metallic tang of blood. "But the bone marrow registry. We haven't heard anything, and her white blood cell count is dropping. I just need you to call the center."

Hakeem turned away, stepping out of the bathroom and into the massive walk-in closet. He reached for the rack, his fingers brushing past several ties before he yanked a dark blue silk one from the hanger.

Calleigh followed him, her bare feet silent on the hardwood floor. "You missed her last three check-ups. She asks for you every night."

Hakeem let out a short, humorless laugh. He looped the silk tie around his neck, his fingers pulling the knot tight with a violent jerk. "Stop using the kid to hold me hostage. I provide everything for this house. Do you know how many people rely on me at the firm?"

Her throat burned. The edges of her vision blurred with hot moisture. "She doesn't care about the firm. She's four years old, Hakeem. She just wants her father."

Hakeem stopped adjusting his tie. He reached into the inner pocket of his tailored suit jacket and pulled out a leather-bound checkbook.

He uncapped a gold pen. The scratching sound of the nib against the paper was loud in the quiet room. He ripped the slip of paper out and let it flutter down onto the glass surface of the vanity.

"There," Hakeem said, not making eye contact. "Five hundred thousand. That's your allowance for the month. Hire another specialist. Buy her whatever toys she wants. Handle it yourself."

Calleigh stared at the numbers written in black ink. Her hands started to shake. A cold sweat broke out across her neck.

"Her life isn't something you can buy off, Hakeem," she said, her voice shaking.

He opened his mouth, his eyes narrowing into a glare, but before he could speak, a soft piano melody cut through the tension.

It was his private cell phone. The ringtone he only used for one person.

The harsh lines on Hakeem's face vanished. The irritation in his eyes melted away, replaced by a sudden, intense softness that made Calleigh sick to her stomach.

He pulled the phone from his pocket and answered it immediately. "Hello?" he said, his voice dropping an octave, turning gentle and low.

Even from a few feet away, Calleigh could hear the frantic, tearful voice of a woman on the other end. Erlinda.

Hakeem's posture went rigid. "Hey, breathe. It's okay. I'm leaving right now. I'll be there in ten minutes. Don't cry."

Calleigh felt all the blood drain from her face. Her fingertips went numb. "Are you going to her?" she asked, the words scraping against her throat. "Again?"

Hakeem lowered the phone. He looked at Calleigh as if she were a stranger standing in his bedroom. The warmth in his eyes was completely gone, replaced by a freezing contempt.

He grabbed his suit jacket and shrugged it on, his movements rushed.

"Hakeem, please," Calleigh begged, stepping into his path. She reached out, her fingers wrapping around the expensive wool of his sleeve. "Just come into her room. Look at Lily for one second before you leave."

Hakeem didn't hesitate. He yanked his arm back with brutal force.

The sudden movement threw Calleigh off balance. Her bare feet slipped on the polished floor. She stumbled backward, her arms flailing, until her lower back slammed violently into the sharp edge of the mahogany dresser.

A sharp gasp tore from her lips. Pain radiated up her spine, stealing her breath.

Hakeem didn't even pause. He didn't look down. He just adjusted his cuffs and strode out of the bedroom.

Seconds later, the heavy front door of the penthouse slammed shut, the sound echoing through the empty walls.

Calleigh slid down the front of the dresser. She hit the floor, her knees pulled to her chest, the cold air of the massive apartment pressing down on her shoulders.