Undressed By His Arrogance-Chapter 238: Oh My God

Eugene was already moving.

He didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t think.

Didn’t even breathe.

He grabbed her shoulders, put every ounce of strength into one brutal shove— 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

"IVY!"

Her scream tore out of her as she flew sideways, hitting the ground on her arm so hard white pain exploded down to her fingertips.

And then—

The world slowed.

She saw Eugene take the full hit.

Saw his body lift off the ground—weightless, horrifying—before slamming onto the trunk of his own car with a sickening, ringing crack.

Her breath died in her chest.

Time didn’t just stop.

It shattered.

The vehicle screeched in reverse, tires spitting pebbles, and sped away before anyone could react.

Ivy’s vision swam as she pushed herself upright. Her handbag lay a few feet ahead of her, its contents spilling across the concrete. Everything suddenly looked foreign, scattered, insignificant.

"Eugene?"

She staggered to her feet, her left arm screaming in protest. Already, office security was pouring out of the building, radios crackling, voices shouting over one another as they called emergency services.

But Ivy saw none of it.

All she saw was Eugene.

He was still lying across the trunk of his car, twisted awkwardly. Ivy’s heart clenched around the sight.

She rushed to him, ignoring the way her arm throbbed.

"Eugene! Oh my God! Are you okay?! Eugene—look at me!"

His eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, then sharpening on her face. He grunted—a low, pained sound—and attempted to roll off the car.

He shouldn’t have.

The moment his weight shifted, his legs buckled, and he collapsed brutally onto the pavement.

"Fuck!!!" he gasped, grabbing his thigh. Pain tore through his voice.

Ivy dropped to her knees beside him, one hand hovering helplessly over his chest, the other grabbing his wrist to keep him grounded.

"Someone please call 911!!!" she screamed.

Eugene squeezed his eyes shut, jaw clenched. "Ivy... Are you okay?"

"I’m okay!" Ivy said, tears threatening.

Security swarmed around them. People stared from the sidewalk. A distant siren wailed in the city, growing closer.

*****

In the calm world of Heathcliffe & Associates, Winn Kane sank into the conference room chair. He’d been in this room so many times he practically deserved a dedicated parking space and his own name engraved on the damn chair.

Maurice sat across from him.

The door opened a moment later.

Sharona waltzed in. She dropped into the chair at the far end of the table with exaggerated exhaustion.

"These meetings are becoming exhausting, don’t you think?" she drawled, crossing her legs. "I swear, at this point, we should all just move in together."

"Hello, husband," Sharona added sweetly, flashing him a bright, poisonous smile. "Been a while."

Winn leaned back in his chair, expression flat. "Not long enough."

Maurice sighed. "Can we... perhaps begin?"

"Please," Sharona said, flipping her hair. "Anything to get this circus over with."

"Miss Priestley," Maurice began.

"Mrs. Kane," Sharona corrected, reclining in her chair.

"Miss Priestley," he repeated, smoother this time, as if her objection had been part of the script. "I am glad to inform you that we will not be going to court."

Sharona gave a slow, triumphant smile. "Good choice," she said, crossing her legs with a flourish.

Maurice slid the divorce papers toward her. The file landed perfectly aligned with the edge of the table. "Sign those, Miss Priestley."

Sharona scoffed as if personally offended by the straightness of the file. "Is your age finally messing with your brain, Mr. Heathcliffe? I told you, I am not signing this." With a slow, theatrical gesture, she pushed the file back toward him.

Across the table, Winn lounged in his seat, one arm thrown casually against the chair rest. His eyes stayed fixed on her, the way someone observes a bonfire from a safe distance.

Maurice slid the file back again. "You have until I finish with the slideshow on this screen to sign the divorce papers, Miss Priestley. Or, I will send whatever is on the slide to the following lawyers and judges."

He pushed the list toward her.

Sharona barely glanced at it. "Am I supposed to be afraid of these people? I don’t even know them."

Maurice picked up a remote.

He clicked it.

The large wall-mounted screen lit up with the first slide.

A picture of Sharona in bed with a man.

"I identified this man as Mr. Raymond," Maurice said. "This picture was used in his divorce and his wife got everything. Turns out she hired you, didn’t she?"

Sharona’s face tightened—just enough to show she hadn’t expected that.

Click.

Another picture.

"This is Mr. Mallory. He committed suicide right after his wife got her hands on this, and she got everything. She also hired you."

Sharona’s fingers curled against the table. Her mascaraed eyes narrowed into slits.

Click.

Another man. Another affair. Another ruined life.

Maurice went on, each slide a blade, each name a cut deeper into her carefully curated reputation.

Sharona’s pride shattered. The sharp click of the pen in her fingers was the only sign of life in her suddenly motionless body. She stared at the papers as if they were written in a language she refused to learn. Then slowly, resentfully, her gaze slid toward Winn.

He sat back in his chair, legs stretched out. Winn looked satisfied. And he wasn’t even trying to hide it.

Maurice continued. "You will walk away with the fifty million you already got, Miss Priestley. You get nothing else." He clicked the remote again. Another body, another exposed angle appeared on the screen. "I have just a few more pictures—you are running low on time."

Sharona inhaled sharply. She knew when she was cornered.

Her jaw tight, she picked up the pen. She glared at Maurice with enough venom to power an entire city’s electric grid... and then she signed. She signed with the bitterness of a woman swallowing her own blood. And when she was done, she didn’t look at Winn again. She simply stood and left.

The door closed.