The Comatose Heir Won’t Let Me Divorce

Chapter 3: Ninety Days Left

By sunrise, I had learned three things about being a billionaire's wife.

The coffee was still terrible. The consultation rooms were still designed to make crying uncomfortable. And if your husband woke from a six-month coma and told you to stay, three separate professionals would arrive to explain that he might not have meant you.

"He may have repeated a familiar command," the speech therapist had said.

"The sound may not have been intentional," the administrator had added.

Dr. Shah had been kinder. "We don't know yet."

I knew only that Adrian had looked at me when he said it.

I sat curled in a vinyl chair, still wearing the gray hospital socks Leah had found for me. The silk dress had wrinkled across my waist. Vivienne's jeweled shoes remained under the chair outside Adrian's room, and I hoped someone stole them before I was expected to put them on again.

At 7:10 a.m., Naomi Grant walked in carrying a leather case, a paper bag, and the brisk expression of a woman who had already refused several unreasonable requests before breakfast.

"Vivienne Hale-Voss?"

I stood. "That depends. Are you connected to Voss Meridian, Hale Heritage, Ward Fiduciary, or this hospital?"

She looked at my socks. "Good morning to you too."

"Sorry. It's been a strange night."

"I gathered that when the referral service used the phrase possible attempted homicide." She put the paper bag on the table. "Eat. Then interrogate me."

Inside was a plain bagel with cream cheese. I had no idea whether Vivienne ate carbohydrates, but Nora had, enthusiastically. I took a bite before this body could object.

Naomi sat across from me and opened her case. She was in her forties, with tight curls, tired eyes, and a wedding band she twisted once before placing a thick document between us.

"I represent you," she said. "Not your husband, your marriage, or either family company. Hospital counsel sent a confidentiality agreement. I declined it. They were surprisingly upset."

"I think I like you."

"Wait until you see my invoice."

The marriage agreement was one hundred and twelve pages long. Its title used four lines and at least two words no one had ever said while in love. I flipped through tabs in five colors. "People signed this voluntarily?"

"Voluntarily is doing a lot of work in that sentence."

"Can it stop me from filing for divorce?"

"No."

Relief came so fast that my shoulders dropped. I had not realized how tightly I was holding them. "Then file today."

Naomi did not reach for a pen. "You can. First, you need to understand what the agreement makes expensive."

There it was. No locked tower, no villain with a key. Just consequences arranged in twelve-point font.

She turned to a page marked in red. The marriage had been registered nine months ago and was meant to last one year.

"Ninety days," I said.

"Ninety days until the commercial term ends. The marriage itself doesn't dissolve automatically."

I traced the date with one finger. Ninety days was long enough to be killed in several creative ways, yet short enough to become tempting.

Naomi showed me the first consequence. The Founder Stability Trust held eighteen percent of Voss Meridian's voting stock. Adrian could become its permanent Voting Steward only after completing a twelve-month period of so-called family stability.

"Meaning he has to stay married."

"According to this very old and very challengeable provision, yes. If you file now, the qualifying period resets. Malcolm Voss remains temporary steward while the trust reviews its options."

I remembered Malcolm from the novel: the devoted uncle who kept Adrian's company alive until the hero returned. Readers were supposed to admire him.

The unknown message on my phone made that admiration difficult.

"And my family company?"

Naomi opened another section rather than answering quickly. I appreciated that.

Hale Heritage Properties had borrowed sixty million dollars during a restoration expansion. One of Adrian's companies guaranteed part of the debt when the marriage began. If I left early, the guarantee became callable and the lenders could demand new terms.

"Would Hale Heritage collapse?"

"Not immediately. But your stepmother is already contesting operational control. A debt crisis would give her leverage to call you reckless or impaired."

Impaired. A useful word when the woman in question had woken claiming she belonged to another universe.

"Do I own Hale Heritage?"

"A controlling economic interest, yes. Operational authority is disputed."

"And my Voss Meridian shares?"

"Six point five percent, inherited from your mother before the marriage. They remain yours whether you leave today or in ninety days."

Someone in Vivienne's past had been careful. I wished I knew whether to thank her mother, her lawyer, or Vivienne herself. I pushed the contract away. "So I can walk out. Adrian loses his path to the trust vote, Malcolm keeps control, and my company enters a debt fight."

"You also lose the payment due when the commercial term ends."

"Naturally."

"But you keep your shares, your legal rights, and your ability to leave," Naomi said. "I need you to hear that part as clearly as the rest."

I did. It made me trust her more than reassurance would have.

A knock interrupted us. Dr. Shah entered with a speech therapist and a wheeled communication board covered in letters, symbols, and common words.

"Mr. Voss is more alert," she said. "He has been trying to ask for his attorney. He also keeps looking toward the door whenever someone says your name."

The bagel became difficult to swallow.

"Is that medically significant?"

"It's annoying my staff, which means it's purposeful."

Naomi closed the contract. "Does he have independent counsel?"

"We gave him a list. He selected Samuel Reed."

Twenty minutes later, Naomi and I stood beside Adrian's bed while Samuel Reed, a silver-haired attorney with the patient voice of a man accustomed to hostile boardrooms, introduced himself.

Adrian looked more awake and much worse for it. Exhaustion had settled into every line of his face. His right hand hovered over the board, trembling before he even tried to use it. I had an absurd urge to steady his wrist.

I kept both hands around my empty coffee cup. Helping without permission would turn his body into public property one more time.

Samuel asked whether Adrian knew where he was.

His finger touched YES.

"Do you understand that Mrs. Voss has requested independent legal advice about the marriage?"

A pause, then YES.

"Do you object to her receiving that advice?"

His finger moved to NO.

I looked at him. Whatever else he thought of Vivienne, he had not tried to take away the exit. The gratitude I felt was embarrassingly large for such a basic decency, and the fact that he was watching my reaction made it worse. I looked down first.

"Would an immediate divorce threaten your company interests?" Samuel asked.

YES.

"Would it place Mrs. Voss at greater risk?"

Adrian answered YES again, faster.

"From whom?" I asked.

His hand moved toward the alphabet. The first attempt landed between two letters. His fingers curled against the board.

Dr. Shah touched the rail, not him. "You can stop."

He gave her a look that required no translation.

"All right," she muttered. "But I reserve the right to say I told you so."

Letter by letter, Adrian spelled:

N O T S A F E

"Who isn't safe?"

His finger dragged back.

Y O U

The room went quiet. I wished it had not. Silence gave the words too much space inside me. He had spent the night fighting for every inch of movement, and he was using what little strength he had to warn me.

"Because of the syringe?"

YES.

He began again, stopping twice when his hand failed to reach the next letter.

D O N T G I V E V O S S

Samuel leaned forward. "You believe someone associated with your family will destroy it?"

YES.

"The hospital has it sealed," I said. "For now."

Adrian's eyes met mine. He looked tired, furious, and entirely unconvinced by the phrase for now.

His hand moved to a printed word near the bottom of the board.

DEAL.

"You want to make a deal with me?"

YES.

I glanced at the contract on Naomi's lap. "For the ninety days we have left."

His finger pressed YES and stayed there.

Naomi leaned toward me. "Listening is not agreeing."

"I know."

I also knew what the original Vivienne had faced alone. Knowing the ending did not make me eager to repeat her strategy.

"I'll listen," I told Adrian. "That's all I'm promising."

Something eased around his mouth. It could have been relief. It could have been the beginning of a smile, but I refused to give him credit for one until he had enough strength to annoy me properly. The possibility warmed me anyway, which was ridiculous and therefore best ignored.

He moved his hand back to the alphabet.

This time the letters came slowly but without a mistake.

Y O U C H A N G E D.

The coffee cup buckled between my fingers.

Of course he had noticed.

I just didn't know how long he had been awake to notice it.