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Divorced by Morning, Claimed by the Billionaire by Night
NovelShort
Hoàn thành
Paige James and Dylan Farley had married on impulse—no wedding, no honeymoon. For three years, their life together was calm and unremarkable. Then one drunken night, he called out another woman's na...
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第1章
[9 PM tonight—welcome-back dinner for Dylan. You coming?]
The message from her best friend Elena Whitney lit up Paige's phone while she was still at the studio, buried in overtime. A nightmare client had demanded eight revisions on a single design, and she'd been pulling late nights for two weeks straight.
She stared at the screen, momentarily disoriented.
He's back?
The flutter of anticipation died before it could fully form. She scrolled through her phone—no messages from Dylan. No missed calls. She'd assumed she'd been too swamped to notice, but no. The truth was simpler: no one had bothered to tell her.
[One more piece of bad news, babe. Nancy's there too.]
Elena's follow-up arrived. Paige went still, a bitter smile tugging at her lips.
Even his return—she was the last to know.
[Have fun without me. I'm not going.]
She sent the reply, switched off the lights, locked up, and left the studio behind.
It was well past midnight when Paige returned to Maple Grove. She showered and collapsed into bed, but her sleep was shallow. The moment she heard movement outside, she was awake.
Dylan sat on the sofa, wreathed in cigarette smoke and the sharp tang of alcohol. His shirt collar hung open, revealing pale skin and the sculpted outline of muscle beneath. His brow was furrowed, jaw hard-edged in the dim light, Adam's apple bobbing as he exhaled a slow stream of smoke. He looked like temptation and restraint at war with each other.
"You're back," she said.
He lifted his gaze lazily at the sound of her voice. A low hum of acknowledgment, nothing more. His eyes passed over her like she was furniture—cold, indifferent, as if he'd never seen her before.
"You've been drinking too much," Paige said, concern slipping into her tone despite herself. "Your stomach can't handle it. Try to ease up next time, okay?"
She turned to pour him a glass of honey water. He didn't take it—just pointed at the table, indicating she should set it down.
"Dylan—"
He pinched the bridge of his nose, shadows carving his features into sharp relief. "Let's get divorced."
Her heart seized. She must have misheard.
She swallowed, unable to speak.
"I won't shortchange you on the settlement," he continued, voice flat. "If you have any demands, now's the time."
Paige kept her breathing steady, though something inside her had begun to fracture. "I don't have any demands."
"None?" A flicker of doubt crossed his face, his brow creasing.
"None," she confirmed quietly.
"Anything else you want to say to me?"
"No."
Her voice was so calm it seemed to catch him off guard. This wasn't what he'd expected. "I thought you'd cry," he said. "Make a scene."
"I won't." She'd always known you couldn't force someone to love you. Clinging to a husband whose heart was elsewhere—that kind of humiliation wasn't something she could stomach.
Somewhere deep down, she'd sensed this day would come from the moment she'd married him.
She just hadn't expected it so soon.
Three years of marriage, ending like this.
"Leon will send the divorce papers tomorrow," Dylan said. "Take up any issues with him."
Paige nodded. "Alright."
She said nothing more. But she still rose, poured another glass of honey water, and set it in front of him. "Try not to drink so much from now on," she said softly.
Then she returned to her room and closed the door.
Moments later, she heard the front door open and shut. He was gone.
Paige clenched her jaw until it ached. A dull pain spread through her chest, something thick lodging in her throat, making it hard to breathe. She opened her social media feed and scrolled until she found it—photos posted by Dylan's friends. Group shots from the party.
The man who'd just asked her for a divorce, smiling beside a young, beautiful woman.
Nancy Kaufman.
The girl who'd been Dylan's light during the darkest period of his youth.
And Paige? She was just the interloper. The one who'd swooped in while the real love was away. Now that Nancy was back, there was no place for her anymore.
It was time to go.
The divorce papers arrived the next day at Paige's studio.
She didn't bother reading them. She flipped straight to the signature page and signed.
Leon Lambert blinked. "Mrs. Farley, don't you want to review the terms? What if the agreement—"
"He's always been generous. He won't cheat me." Paige handed the documents back. "And even if he wanted to, your firm's legal department would bury me before I could fight back." She met the lawyer's gaze. "Also—I'm not Mrs. Farley anymore."
Leon offered no correction, just a faint, professional smile.
His task complete, he exchanged a few pleasantries and turned to leave. But just as he reached the door, Paige called out.
"One moment."
"Yes?"
She paused, considering. "I have a business trip coming up. Could you ask him if he's free tomorrow or the day after to finalize things at the county clerk's office?"
"That soon?" Leon couldn't hide his surprise. He'd been sent to deliver divorce papers, but she seemed more eager to end the marriage than his client. "I'm not certain of Mr. Farley's schedule. He didn't mention it."
"Then please ask him for me."
"Of course."
The next time Paige saw Dylan was at the county clerk's office, signing the final paperwork.
He seemed rushed, his phone buzzing relentlessly, never a moment's peace.
Paige waited in silence, not a single unnecessary word. She didn't look at him. Only when he finished his call did she speak, her voice mild. "Everything's ready. Just need your signature."
While he'd been on the phone, she'd already taken a number and submitted their documents.
The marriage registration window next door was packed. The divorce line was nearly empty.
Paige tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, revealing the serene curve of her profile. She'd put on light makeup today and chosen a striking red dress that traced the lines of her figure. She didn't notice Dylan's gaze lingering on her—by the time she turned, his eyes had already slid away, betraying nothing.
"Here you go. Your divorce certificates."
Paige accepted hers from the clerk and tucked it carefully into her bag. The feeling was nothing like the day they'd married.
Outside the building, Dylan's car waited at the curb. He glanced back at her, but she spoke first.
"Goodbye."
His eyes narrowed. "Just like that? You're leaving?"
She tilted her head, genuinely puzzled.
Dylan stood with one hand in his pocket, effortlessly commanding attention without trying. People stared; he didn't notice, or didn't care. His dark gaze settled on the woman in red. "Really nothing you want from me?"
"Hm?"
Paige studied him for a moment, then understanding dawned. "Are you worried I'll come after you later? Don't be. I won't cling to you." A small, sincere smile. "I genuinely hope you find your true love."
Dylan opened his mouth to respond, but his phone cut him off—again. He was busy. He'd carved out time for this divorce, nothing more. He hadn't expected her to be so eager to end things, as if she couldn't wait to move on to someone new.
Paige didn't linger. Everything that needed saying had been said. Her ride pulled up, and she was gone.
第2章
"You're really going through with the divorce?"
Elena had gotten wind of the news from somewhere and rushed to the studio, cornering Paige with a barrage of questions. "Seriously, you're just handing Dylan to Nancy on a silver platter? You might as well gift-wrap him for her! That woman's going to be laughing in her sleep! Have you lost your mind?"
Paige was still revising a design draft—endless rounds of changes that never satisfied the client. The truth was simple: they wanted champagne quality on a beer budget, expecting top-tier jewelry at bargain prices. Impossible. So she'd been going back and forth, tweaking proposals, buying time. She pinched the bridge of her nose and stole a moment to answer. "The divorce is already final. Too late for regrets."
"You—!" Elena clutched her chest like she was about to have a heart attack. "Look, everyone knows Nancy's the one obsessed with Dylan. He only sees her as a little sister. Even if something could happen between them, as long as you stayed married, you'd be the legal wife. Not even Nancy could touch that!"
Paige kept her eyes on the screen, saying nothing.
Elena stared at her unnervingly calm expression and wanted to scream. "You're telling me you walked away just like that? No regrets? You two seemed so happy together—"
She asked because she'd seen them. The way they'd been—picture-perfect, the kind of couple that made others envious. How could Nancy have destroyed that?
"We got along because there was no love." Paige's voice was flat. "He didn't love me. Any woman would've served the same purpose. I refuse to spend my life shackled to someone whose heart was never mine."
Elena's eyes went wide. "He actually said he didn't love you?"
"He got drunk once." Paige paused. "The name he called out wasn't mine."
Elena fell silent. She hadn't known. Paige had never mentioned it. Looking at her friend's face—still as water, betraying nothing—she let out a long breath. "I should've talked you out of it back then. That whirlwind marriage..."
Paige said nothing.
She remembered how it started. A cocktail party. Too much champagne. She'd mistaken Dylan for her driver and demanded he take her home. He did. Somehow, they'd exchanged contacts. A month of late-night messages, and feelings had crept in—unexpected, undeniable. She'd been the one to suggest dinner. He'd accepted. A few drinks later, she'd been the one to invite him upstairs.
One thing led to another.
The night had been... compatible.
She'd woken the next morning with a flicker of regret. A moment of weakness, even if it was her first time with a man. But they were both adults, both willing. She could own her choices. So she'd told him they could pretend it never happened.
The words had barely left her lips when he'd looked at her, utterly serious. "Some things can't be undone. And I don't think you believe they can either."
Then he'd proposed.
She'd said no.
"Then I want you to take responsibility for me," he'd said, his expression grave, no trace of humor.
She'd married him anyway. What was the phrase? Blinded by desire. She'd been under some kind of spell.
A hasty trip to the registrar's office. No ceremony. No banquet. No celebration with friends. Low-key to the point of secrecy—only a handful of people on her side knew.
Elena was one of the few.
After the wedding, they'd bought a place at Maple Grove. Dylan had insisted on paying; she'd refused to let him cover everything and handled the renovations herself, dipping into her own savings.
Objectively, he was ideal husband material. Attentive. Considerate. A respectable career. No vices. Gifts on every holiday, never missing a beat. Unlike other men, he wasn't careless about hygiene—if anything, he bordered on obsessive. And in the bedroom, they'd been perfectly matched. She couldn't have found a single flaw if she'd tried.
She'd even thought: This could work. This could be my life.
She'd never wanted children. But with him, the thought had surfaced—a baby, their baby.
When she'd mentioned it, his eyes had gone cold in an instant. "You're still young. Practically a child yourself. There's no rush."
Fine.
Fair enough.
She'd dropped the subject.
Then came the late nights. The business trips that stretched longer and longer. Months of this—until the whispers started. Anonymous messages on social media. Your husband's seeing someone else. Get out while you can.
At first, she'd dismissed them as pranks. A man like Dylan was bound to have a past. Former flames with grudges. Nothing more.
But earlier this year, he'd returned from a trip with traces she couldn't ignore. Another woman's perfume clinging to his collar. A phone call in the dead of night—she'd answered it.
That was when she'd learned the truth.
Dylan had married her to spite someone else. He'd never intended to build a life with her.
And that someone was Nancy.
A man like that wasn't worth holding onto.
Besides, these past few years hadn't been a total loss.
Dylan's body was exceptional—lean, sculpted, every line precise. Sleeping with a man like that? No regrets there.
When she framed it that way, it didn't sting quite as much.
As for whatever was between him and Nancy—she was done digging.
Paige had given that marriage real emotion. The divorce was final, but part of her soul had been carved out with it.
Elena watched her friend's carefully constructed composure crack at the edges, revealing the devastation beneath. Her heart ached. "Forget him. Trash belongs with trash—let him have his scheming little princess. We don't want him. You hear me, Paige? Don't you dare be sad over this."
"I'm not sad." Paige's voice was steady. "I'm just grateful we never had kids."
Her childhood hadn't been kind. At ten, her parents divorced. Custody went to her father, who promptly handed her off to a nanny while he remarried and started a new family—complete with new children. At least he'd kept her financially comfortable. By eighteen, when she'd started university, she'd stopped taking his money. Now they met once a year, maybe twice, for obligatory holiday dinners. Otherwise, radio silence.
That was partly why she and Dylan had skipped the wedding festivities.
Elena knew the history. Her heart twisted. "You'll be fine. Three-legged frogs are hard to find, but men with two legs? Everywhere. You've got the looks, the money—you think you'll have trouble finding someone?"
Paige couldn't help it. A laugh escaped—short, surprised.
Seeing that smile, Elena relaxed a fraction. "So what's the plan? What about the place you two shared?"
"I'm moving out of Maple Grove. As for the apartment..." Paige shook her head. "I won't be living there again. I'll sell it. Don't you have a friend in real estate? Think she could handle it for me?"
"Consider it done." Elena thumped her chest. "Leave it to me—I'll have good news for you before you know it!"
第3章
Paige returned to Maple Grove to move out. After sorting through everything, she realized she didn't have much—just a few large boxes and she was done. What remained were Dylan's things. He hadn't left much either; she'd already taken inventory. Most of it was office supplies, but she was terrified of accidentally discarding some important document. After much deliberation, she decided to call him and ask him to come collect his belongings.
The call connected. But it wasn't Dylan who answered.
It was Nancy.
"Hello, who is this?"
Paige's breath caught. No sound came out.
After a moment, the voice on the other end said, "I know who you are. Paige, right?"
Paige didn't deny it. Her tone stayed level. "Yes. I'm looking for Dylan."
"He's not available. Whatever you need, you can tell me."
Paige bit her lip. Deep down, she was nowhere near as calm as she appeared. She still cared—she was just pretending not to.
"Ms. James," Nancy continued, "if you're still harboring any ideas, I'd suggest you drop them. The divorce papers are signed. What, having second thoughts? Want to take it back?"
"I grew up with Dylan. I know him—really know him. Do you? Did he ever take you home to meet his family during your marriage? No? Want to know why? Because they would never accept you. That's why he never brought you."
"I was the one who rejected him back then. He found you out of spite. You were the mistake. And after three years, it's time to correct it. So stop contacting him. And stop making excuses to reach out!"
Silence.
Paige truly didn't know much about his family background. She'd brought it up before, but her own family situation was complicated. She hadn't told either of her parents about the marriage. As for his side—her own insecurities had kept her from asking, and he'd never volunteered. So it had simply... never come up.
Nancy hung up.
Paige didn't call back. She took a moment to steady herself, then contacted Dylan's driver and asked him to come handle the belongings.
"Hi, Timothy. This is Paige. When you have a moment, could you come by and pick up Dylan's things?"
"Ms. James, I'll need to check with Mr. Farley first."
She could hear the hesitation in his voice. She understood. "Then could you just give me an address? I'll ship everything over. That way you won't have to make the trip."
"Well..."
"Is that not possible?"
"Without Mr. Farley's permission, I can't give out the address. I hope you understand, Ms. James—it's a matter of his privacy." Tim's words were polite, carefully measured, as if he was afraid of offending her.
He's worried I'll use it to keep bothering Dylan.
"Alright. I understand. Please ask him, then."
Before long, Tim called back, his tone still courteous. "Ms. James, Mr. Farley says it's all unimportant. If you don't want to keep it, you can throw it away."
For some reason, Paige felt her heart clench. "Those were his exact words?"
"Yes."
"Okay. I understand. Sorry to have troubled you."
She hung up briskly, but something still felt off. She'd only been pretending to be unbothered. Three years of marriage—there had been feelings. If there hadn't been, she wouldn't have shared a bed with him all those days and nights.
She disposed of Dylan's things and left Maple Grove.
After that, Paige moved back into the apartment she'd lived in before the marriage. On her very first night there, she received a call from Dylan.
She froze, thinking she'd misread the screen. Why would he be calling now? She hesitated for a few seconds, then answered. Her voice came out soft, barely above a whisper.
"Hello?"
"You called me earlier. What did you need?"
Dylan's low, rich voice came through the speaker.
Paige kept her tone flat. "It's nothing now."
"I sent Timothy to Maple Grove this morning."
"..."
"You're selling the house?"
Word travels fast.
She didn't bother hiding it. The house was hers now; what she did with it was her business. Besides, she'd done nothing wrong in this marriage. She had nothing to be secretive about.
"Yes. I'm selling it."
"Where are you staying?"
"I have a place."
"You don't like Maple Grove? You used to say you loved the environment there." His tone was neither cold nor warm.
She had said that once—just an offhand comment. She hadn't expected him to remember.
She took a deep breath. "I don't anymore."
A pause. Then: "I called you earlier to ask what to do with the things you left at Maple Grove. It's been handled now. If there's nothing else, we don't need to contact each other again."
"Suit yourself."
Was it her imagination, or did Dylan sound... annoyed?
No. Probably just her imagination.
...
Dylan was the one who ended the call. He tossed his phone onto the desk, his gaze darkening. The air around him grew heavy, suffocating. He pressed pale fingers to the bridge of his nose, a nameless irritation coiling tight in his chest.
Timothy Dickerson stood nearby, his eyelid twitching. The pressure in the room was palpable—and its source needed no explanation.
Especially after this morning. Tim had gone to Maple Grove and discovered the house was already listed for sale online. He'd reported it to Mr. Farley immediately.
Mr. Farley had not seemed pleased.
Why he wasn't pleased—Tim didn't dare ask.
Dylan lit a cigarette and drew on it slowly, his brow furrowed low. Smoke curled around his sharp features, obscuring his expression, making his thoughts impossible to read.
"Sir, about the house—how would you like to handle it? Should I speak with Ms. James?"
Dylan flicked ash from the cigarette. "No need. The house is hers now. What she does with it is her business."
Tim said nothing more.
A moment passed. Dylan's impatient expression smoothed over, though no real emotion replaced it.
"Do you know where she's staying these days?"
"I believe she moved back to her old apartment." Tim wasn't entirely certain. "I heard it from Ms. Whitney."
Worried that Dylan might not remember who that was, he added, "Ms. Whitney—she's Ms. James's friend."
Dylan looked up. His gaze turned cold, as if the clarification had been unnecessary.
Tim fell silent.
第4章
True to her word to Nancy, Paige hadn't contacted Dylan again. She threw herself into work and finally finished the design drafts. The client tried to squeeze out a few more freebies, but this time she held firm—no more revisions within this budget. Any changes would cost extra.
The moment money came up, the client backed off and grudgingly paid the balance.
But not without a parting shot: "It's not like you're some famous designer. Your rates are ridiculous—practically luxury-brand prices."
Paige didn't lose her temper. She patiently explained that this was standard pricing for bespoke jewelry. No matter how she framed it, the client still thought she was overcharging. The woman lingered at the studio, haggling and complaining, before finally leaving.
The studio wasn't Paige's alone—she'd started it with a friend who was now home with a newborn and rarely came in. So lately, Paige had been running everything herself.
That evening, she had a dinner engagement organized by Cara Chavez, a former client. Normally, Paige avoided these things whenever possible. She wasn't built for networking. But Mrs. Chavez had been so insistent that refusing felt impossible.
She had no idea Nancy would be there.
The moment Nancy spotted Paige, a contemptuous smile curled her lips. "Cousin, did you invite her?"
"I did! Let me introduce everyone—this is Paige. She's a jewelry designer. She made a set for my wedding."
"Oh, that set. I thought it looked familiar." Nancy pointed at Paige in front of everyone. "Didn't you copy some big brand for my cousin's pieces? The design looks awfully similar."
Paige hadn't come looking for a fight. If she'd known Nancy would be here, she would have stayed home. Technically, this was their first time meeting face-to-face—they'd never crossed paths before. Not once.
"That can't be right." Mrs. Chavez's expression wavered with uncertainty. "Paige has a decent reputation. She wouldn't do something like that... would she?"
Despite her words, doubt had already crept into the way she looked at Paige.
Paige's fingers tightened at her sides. "Mrs. Chavez, the set I designed for you wasn't copied from anyone. I don't do that."
Someone pulled out photos, and the whispers began.
"No wonder it seemed so familiar—like I'd seen it somewhere. Now that I look, the style really is too similar."
"These days, any nobody calls herself a designer. Cara, I think you got scammed. This so-called designer is clearly second-rate. You should've gone with an established brand—at least there's accountability."
Sharp, judgmental gazes fixed on Paige. They believed Nancy without question. Paige didn't stand a chance.
She knew Nancy was doing this deliberately—stirring up trouble for the sake of it. "If you think I copied a brand, feel free to provide evidence. Or have it verified by a professional agency."
There was no point staying. Paige turned to Mrs. Chavez. "I'm sorry this evening took such an unpleasant turn. If you have concerns, you're welcome to get an official assessment or take legal action. If I'm guilty, I'll accept the consequences. But if I'm not, I won't admit to something I didn't do."
"Again, my apologies. I'll see myself out."
She turned and walked away. She'd barely made it out the door when Nancy followed, intercepting her in the corridor.
"Paige. Did I say you could leave?"
Paige stopped and fixed her with a cold stare. "Is there something else?"
"That's your attitude?"
"What attitude would you prefer?"
"Shouldn't you at least explain yourself to my cousin first?"
Paige studied her. Flawless makeup. Beautiful. Every hair in place. Skin smooth as porcelain. The clothes and jewelry she wore cost more than most people earned in months. She practically glowed.
Looking at her, it was easy to see why men couldn't forget Nancy Kaufman.
And yet...
Paige's lips curved. A slow, unexpected smile.
"Are you jealous of me?"
"Jealous of what?" Nancy almost laughed at the absurdity.
第5章
"If I'm not, why frame me?"
"I didn't." Nancy bit her crimson lip. "Who's framing you? I'm stating facts. Someone like you, still daring to cling to—"
"Dylan?" Paige cut her off. "We're already divorced. I have no intention of clinging to him."
"Who knows what you're really scheming? I'm warning you again—stay away from him!"
Paige had no desire to explain further. She turned to leave, but Nancy wasn't finished with her. "Don't act so above it all, Paige. No matter how unwilling you are to accept it, you need to give up on him."
"I'm not unwilling to accept anything. Believe it or not, since I've already divorced him, I won't be pursuing him." Paige allowed herself a thin smile. "Ms. Kaufman, there's really no point in making things difficult for me. And you can stop sending me those photos and videos of how blissfully in love you two are."
"Don't think saying that will make me believe you. If you want me to believe you, then disappear from our lives completely—leave Coastview!"
How insecure could one person be? Did she really need to drive her out entirely?
Why should she be the one to leave? Why was it always her?
Nancy's voice dripped with smug confidence. "Dylan and I will be married soon, and we'll have children. Won't that just eat you alive, Paige? Watching us?"
Married with children...
The words dredged up memories Paige would rather have kept buried. She pressed her lips together, then said, "Marriage, I believe. Children? Are you sure about that?"
"What—you don't think so?"
Paige's smile turned faintly pitying. "Actually... you might want to suggest Dylan visit the hospital. Urology department. Whether he can even have children is... questionable."
She couldn't really blame herself. Nancy had pushed and pushed. She hadn't wanted to say it.
Nancy froze, the words not quite registering.
Paige offered her some helpful advice. "Why else do you think I was so eager to divorce him? Being stuck with a man who can't perform—life gets rather tedious."
With that, Paige walked past her without another glance.
"You told Nancy that Dylan can't perform? Holy— wait, can he actually not?"
Paige's composure was shakier than she let on. Back at the apartment, recounting the evening to Elena, she felt that familiar churning in her stomach—disgust mixed with something else.
"..."
"Hold on—is that why you two never had kids? Because Dylan couldn't?"
Paige pinched the bridge of her nose. "I think you're missing the point here..."
A flicker of regret surfaced. If Dylan found out about this... But what was done was done. Too late now.
Elena remained skeptical. "There's no way, right?"
"I don't know. Maybe Nancy's the exception for him. Maybe they'll have a baby any day now—" She gagged. "—ugh..."
Mid-sentence, a wave of nausea hit her. She bolted for the bathroom.
"Paige? What's wrong?"
She dry-heaved over the sink, her face draining of color. When she finally lifted her head, the reflection staring back at her was ghostly pale. She gripped the edge of the counter, waiting for the room to stop spinning.
"It's nothing. Didn't eat tonight. Just hunger making me queasy."
Elena went quiet for a moment. Then, carefully: "When was your last period?"
"..."
The question stopped Paige cold. Her cycle had always been erratic—she never bothered tracking it. Dylan had made it clear from the start: no children. They'd always been careful. He'd always been careful. Every single time, without fail. He'd refused to let her take anything, worried about side effects on her already fragile constitution. The responsibility had always been his.
"Paige..." Elena's voice was gentle but insistent. "Maybe you should see a doctor tomorrow. Just to be sure."
第6章
It hadn't even been two weeks since her divorce from Dylan. Counting the days, if she really was pregnant, it most likely happened two months ago.
Dylan had come back for one night two months ago. She'd just returned from shopping with Elena, wearing a dark teal cheongsam that hugged every curve—cinched waist, full hips, black hair swept up, red lips. The kind of look that made it impossible to look away. That night, the dress ended up in shreds on Dylan's floor.
He rarely lost control—never at night, never outside the bedroom. But that time, something had slipped.
Which meant she couldn't be sure if he'd used protection.
But Paige didn't have time to go to the hospital. The next morning, she woke up to a message from Mrs. Chavez demanding compensation, complete with so-called "plagiarism comparison photos" and threats of a lawsuit.
Nancy's fingerprints were all over this.
Ebony Fernandez, the studio's junior assistant, went pale when she heard they were being sued. "Paige, what do we do? I've looked at that design—there's nothing wrong with it. They look nothing alike! The only similarity is the color, and you can't claim plagiarism just because of a color!"
Paige pinched the bridge of her nose. This was personal. "We handle it the way we always do."
"But..." Ebony bit her lip. "I heard Mrs. Chavez's husband is seriously connected. Isn't it dangerous to cross her?" Fresh out of college, still young—her fear was understandable.
Paige gave her a reassuring look. "Don't worry. She's coming after me, not you. If you're scared, take the next few days off. Come back when this blows over."
"But can you handle this alone?"
"I'll be fine. Besides, you've been pulling overtime all week—you've earned a break."
Ebony was just an assistant. There wasn't much she could do to help, and since Nancy had aimed this attack squarely at Paige, she didn't want anyone else dragged into the mess. After sending Ebony home, Paige pulled out her phone and arranged to meet with a lawyer.
Jeffrey Dickerson was a friend of one of the other partners and served as the studio's legal consultant.
Saying she wasn't scared would be a lie. Paige was rattled—she just didn't let it show. When she sat down with Jeffrey and explained the situation, his expression grew serious. He seemed to know Mrs. Chavez.
"If you can settle, settle," he advised. "Mrs. Chavez isn't someone you want as an enemy."
His meaning was clear: don't make waves. If this escalated, she'd be the one who suffered.
Paige took a sip of water, teeth pressing into her lower lip. "If we actually went to court—do I have any chance of winning?"
"You do. But weighed against the time, money, and energy you'd pour into it? It's not worth it. And given who Mrs. Chavez's husband is..." Jeffrey trailed off. He didn't need to finish. Paige understood.
Her stomach sank. She didn't want to swallow this injustice—but she couldn't let her stubbornness hurt the studio. It wasn't just her blood and sweat that had built it.
"I understand. Thank you, Jeffrey."
The words had barely left her mouth when another wave of nausea rolled through her. She pressed a hand to her stomach. "Excuse me—I need the restroom."
"Of course."
She barely made it to the sink before the dry heaving started. In the mirror, her face was chalk-white. She turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on her cheeks, forcing herself to breathe. Get it together.
Steadying herself against the wall, she stepped out of the restroom—
And walked straight into someone.
"Sorry, I—"
The apology died on her lips. She looked up into Dylan Farley's face—that impossibly handsome face—and froze.
Her scalp prickled. Why was he here?
Just her luck.
第7章
He wore a charcoal gray suit, tall and lean, with clean lines from broad shoulders to narrow waist. He looked down at her, his eyes calm but cutting—cold and detached, as if regarding a perfect stranger. Which, apparently, now included his recently divorced ex-wife.
The air went still for a few seconds.
Paige's mind had already drifted elsewhere. She hadn't expected to see him again so soon. This was their first encounter since the divorce, and he was still as impossibly refined and handsome as ever.
Then her stomach lurched violently. The color drained from her face as nausea surged up her throat. She spun around and rushed back to the restroom.
Dylan watched her retreat, his brow slowly furrowing.
Standing before the mirror, Paige looked absolutely ghastly—pale as a corpse. I look like something out of a horror film, she thought. Can't exactly walk out there like this. She also had no idea if Dylan was still lurking outside.
She deliberately dawdled, killing time until she finally ventured back out. The hallway was empty—no sign of him. She exhaled in relief and returned to her seat.
Jeffrey noticed her pallor immediately. "Should I take you to the hospital? You don't look well."
"I'm fine. Just haven't been sleeping."
He leaned closer. "Are you running a fever?"
"No." Paige instinctively pulled back, maintaining distance. "Thank you for tonight, Mr. Dickerson. I need to stop by the studio. I'll be in touch if anything comes up."
Jeffrey's smile faltered. "Alright."
Paige grabbed her bag and stood—then froze. Dylan stood not far away, a cigarette pinched between his fingers, smoke curling lazily upward. His gaze was fixed squarely on her. His expression remained neutral, but those eyes... they cut like a blade.
A heartbeat later, he was gone. The whole thing lasted maybe thirty seconds.
Paige looked away, refusing to dwell on whatever that look had meant. She and Jeffrey left the restaurant one after the other.
She'd planned to call her own car, but Jeffrey insisted on driving her back—repeatedly, emphatically—until she gave in and climbed into his vehicle.
The moment she settled into the seat, her stomach rebelled again. She clamped a hand over her mouth and forced the nausea down.
"Ms. James? Are you alright?"
She swallowed hard. "I'm... I'm fine."
"Do you need to throw up?"
"Just... stomach trouble."
Her confidence was crumbling. What if I really am pregnant? What then—keep it or...? The uncertainty gnawed at her.
"Maybe we should go to the hospital after all," Jeffrey suggested.
"Really, I'm fine. I'll take something when I get home." She shut him down again. She would go to a hospital—but not with anyone else. If word got out, the complications would be endless.
She had Jeffrey drop her near the studio. Once his car disappeared around the corner, she ducked into the nearest pharmacy and bought a pregnancy test. Back at the studio, she went straight to the bathroom.
A few minutes later, she stood there staring at the stick in her hand, waiting.
Five minutes passed.
She threw the used test in the trash, her heart racing out of control.
Right then, her phone shattered the silence—loud as a thunderclap in the empty office. She flinched, then checked the screen.
Dylan.
Now? He's calling now?
She didn't want to answer.
Thankfully, it stopped after a few rings. He didn't call back.
Her fingers trembled as she dialed Elena instead. The words tumbled out before she could stop them: "I—I think it's real. I think I'm actually pregnant. What do I do?"