How to Divorce a Billionaire novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Move In

With Leland's man watching her building, Hannah takes the guest room in Jonas's penthouse and burns Delaney's two million dollar offer in front of his staff; in his desk she finds three years of her mother's hospital letters.

Jonas's driver took me across the city without asking where I lived.

Two men in dark coats had already gone to my apartment for my bag.

They came back with it in forty minutes, and my toothbrush was in a plastic sandwich bag on top.

"That's creepy," I told Jonas.

"That's careful," he said.

He sat across from me in the back seat with his tie loosened and his phone face down on his knee.

I had been married to this man for three years and seven months.

I did not know how he took his coffee.

His penthouse took up the top two floors of a stone building on the Gold Coast.

A housekeeper in a gray cardigan opened the door and looked at me.

"Mrs. Thackeray," she said.

"Drexler," I said. "Ms. Drexler. I'm counsel."

"Of course," she said, and smiled with her whole face.

She showed me to a guest room on the second floor with a bed bigger than my kitchen.

There was a desk by the window and a lock on the inside of the door.

I tested the lock.

It worked.

I sat on the bed for a moment and called Marcy.

"Don't ask me where I am," I said.

"Where are you?"

"Marcy."

"Okay, but your boss has been pacing the hall for an hour."

"He looks like a burst pipe. Why do you sound like you ate a lemon?"

"I took a client."

"Which client?"

"My husband."

The line went quiet.

Then I heard her chair roll back and the door of the supply closet click shut.

"The husband," Marcy said. "The paper husband. The man from the receipt."

"I'll explain later."

"You'd better explain tonight. I have a bottle of wine and no dignity."

"Tomorrow."

I hung up.

At seven the housekeeper knocked.

"Mr. Thackeray says to come down," she said. "There is a visitor."

I went down the curved staircase in my work suit with my pen in my hand.

A woman stood in the middle of the living room.

She had honey-blonde hair in a sleek knot and a white coat over her arm.

Her tailored white suit cost more than my car.

She looked at me.

"You must be the lawyer," she said.

"I must be."

"Delaney Whitlow. Chief of staff to the chairman of Thackeray Holdings."

She smiled.

"I was supposed to be standing where you are."

Jonas stood by the window with his hands in his pockets.

He said nothing.

"Leland sends his regards," Delaney said.

She took an envelope from her bag and held it out with two fingers.

"A courtesy, before the hearing."

I took it.

Inside was a cashier's check made out to me for two million dollars.

Under it was a one-page statement.

It said that I had accepted payment in exchange for marrying Jonas Thackeray and that the marriage had never been real.

There was a line for my signature.

The line had already been dated.

I read it twice.

"Two million dollars," I said aloud.

Delaney's smile went a little brighter.

"Cash is so crude," she said. "Think of it as severance."

"My terms are that I tell my client the number."

I turned the check so Jonas could see it.

"Two million," I said again.

His jaw moved once.

"Is that all?" he said, to the room.

"Leland is a careful man," Delaney said. "He knows you can't afford a lawyer who can't be bought."

"I'm not bought," I said.

"You were, once."

I put the statement on the glass coffee table.

I took the lighter from the candle beside it.

"Ms. Drexler," Jonas said quietly.

"Hold on."

I lit one corner of the page.

It caught slowly, then quickly.

I held it over the glass dish until the line with my name and the date was ash.

I did the same with the check.

Delaney's smile finally dropped.

"That's two million dollars," she said.

"Tell your chairman I read it," I said. "Tell him the answer is no, and tell him my fee is hourly."

Delaney stared at me.

Then she looked past me, at Jonas, and her face changed in a way I did not understand.

It was not anger.

It was something closer to fear.

"Ask her," she said to him softly. "Ask her why she never called."

She picked up her coat and left.

I stood in a stranger's living room with ash on my fingers and no idea what she meant.

"I didn't have your number," I said.

"You did," Jonas said.

He walked to a study off the hall and opened the door.

"It was on the contract."

"That number belonged to your attorney."

"It was mine."

He went in and left the door open.

I followed him because I could not help it.

On the big oak desk lay a thick stack of envelopes with my name on every one.

None of them had a stamp.

I opened the top one.

It was dated April of 2023, in Jonas's handwriting.

It began, Dear Hannah, I am not allowed to call you, so I am writing instead.

There were forty-three envelopes, one for every month since the wedding.

On every one, the last line was the same.

"Call me if you ever want out, and I will let you go."

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