Divorce Countdown: The CEO Moves Right In

ahogany-paneled library, Theodore Carlisle-Vanderbilt III-a man whose sharp eyes betrayed nothing of

r?" he asked, his v

slightly. "Yes, sir. From the Swiss lab, just as you asked. Colorless, odorles

ed a great-grandchild. I won't let Eleanor get her hands on this family's legacy." His stepdau

the old man's face. He'd served the Carlisles for thirty years an

s always leaking some fake news to the tabloids just to get under her skin. I've tried everything-every conversation, every threat, every goddamn lecture

rve any of this. But Theodore wasn't wrong about Julian. The boy was stubborn as a mule and twice as orn

drink it tonight

k Range Rover swept across the library

simple, conservative black dress-armor, quiet and elegant. Arthur Chen met her at the

s on an urgent video conference. He ask

e and portraits of stern-faced ancestors. "May I

thank you, Arthur," Chlo

p open in front of her with a polite flourish-a gesture meant to reassur

grand staircase. Eleanor, Julian's stepmother, and her da

lle drawled, a smirk on her lips. "St

sensation it left behind. A faint, almost invisible numbness at the back of her tongue. She frowned slightly. Fiji water was supposed to be smooth,

. It started in her limbs-a leaden fatigue that spread fast. Her eyelids felt imposs

of memory surfaced-the Hamptons gala, two years ago, that same creeping lethargy a

f gentle concern. "Mrs. Hayes? You look exhaus

y she hadn't been traveling, but e

Arthur said smoothly. "Why don't you rest ther

no strength to resist as he gently took her arm-his grip surprisingly firm. H

on economics and philosophy lined the shelves. A faded photogr

hy would she ever set foot in his room at the townhouse? The thought made something twist in her chest. She pulled out her phone and tried his number. No answer. It rang and rang until voicemail picked up. She hadn'

was a

e blanket over her. Then, with what little strength she had left, she shrugged off her blazer and pulled it over herself like a second layer-a small, stubborn act of self-preservation. She wasn't going to slee

s. Hayes," Ar

t, closing the doo

ing. He looked at the closed door

gripping his cane, and slowly made his way upstairs. The ta

d Theodore. He nodded to himself, a small,