Billionaire Ex Wants Her Back .

Nella's POV:

I stepped out of the room in a blue sundress, my blonde hair tied up in a messy bun. As I approached the stairs, one thought consumed me: Oliver Quinn, my husband, who had left for the parking lot a while ago.

He was on his way to work, and I decided to see him off, even though I knew he wouldn’t appreciate it. No matter how much effort I put in, he always glared at me with disdain.

"But I won’t give up. Maybe this time, seeing him off will earn me a smile," I thought, smiling widely as I prepared to step onto the first stair. Just then, I caught sight of two hands reaching out from the corner of my eye, prompting me to turn away.

“Arghhh!” Caitlyn screamed as she lost her footing. I instinctively reached out, trying to grab her shoulders, but it was too late—she tumbled down the stairs.

‘Was she trying to push me?’ I wondered, watching her roll until she hit the ground hard and, blood began to flow out heavily from the side of her head.

“Miss Cait!” a maid called, rushing to her side. She looked up at me before her gaze shifted back to the floor. Almost immediately, another maid rushed in.

“I heard someone scream—” she paused, staring at the pool of blood at the bottom of the stairs. “Oh my goodness, what happened?” she gasped.

“Check if Mr. Quinn has left. If not, inform him of what just happened,” The first maid instructed.

I stood frozen, my feet rooted to the ground and my hands still outstretched in shock. Within minutes, the mansion’s double doors swung open, and Oliver strode in like a god.

His golden-brown hair blew in the wind, his brown eyes filled with concern as he hurried toward Caitlyn’s lifeless body.

“What happened?” he asked, crouching beside her.

“Sh-sh-she…” the first maid stammered, clearly shocked.

“Say something!” he yelled, causing both maids to jump and look at me.

‘Oh no!’ I exclaimed inwardly.

Following their gaze, Oliver’s expression turned to one of disappointment and resentment as he looked at me.

“But I didn’t…” I started, but I knew anything I said would only fuel his anger.

“Pray nothing happens to her,” he said, lifting Caitlyn into his arms and heading out of the house.

More maids flooded into the sitting room, having waited in the corners, eager to gossip as usual.

“She must have felt threatened by Miss Caitlyn’s presence, and that’s why she killed her,” one maid whispered.

“It’s not the first time she’s thrown a fit because of Miss Caitlyn. But I guess she finally had enough,” another chimed in.

I was not surprised by their words. From the moment I stepped into this mansion, I had never been respected—neither by Oliver nor by the maids who witnessed how poorly he treated me. I had become a topic of gossip, something I had grown accustomed to.

What troubled me was the implication that Caitlyn was dead.

Panic set in, my breath quickening as I imagined what Oliver would do if the woman he loved the most in the world was truly gone. He would never believe she had tried to push me; to him, she was an angel, and I was the devil.

I turned on my heels, dashed to my room, and slammed the door shut behind me. I rushed to the dressing table, staring into the mirror, tears streaming down my face without me realizing.

I killed her! Yes, I did. When I reached for her shoulders, I hesitated. I thought: “Maybe if she’s gone, just maybe. Oliver will finally love me.”

If only I had reached out a moment sooner, perhaps I wouldn’t be labeled a murderer.

“No, no, no.” My hands tangled in my hair, and the band fell to the floor as I blamed myself.

“No! I shouldn’t think like this. Caitlyn might survive, then Oliver will know the truth, and everything will be fine.” I took a deep breath and sat on the edge of my bed.

I couldn’t sleep all day, anxiously awaiting Oliver’s return. Just as I was about to drift off, the doorbell rang repeatedly.

I jolted awake and glanced at the wall clock—it was past five. I jumped from the bed, slipped on my flip-flops, and hurried out with my disheveled hair.

I saw a maid rushing to the door, but I outran her, unlocking it myself.

“Olive—” I began, but trailed off at the sight of two men: one in black and the other in a navy suit.

“Sorry, I thought it was my husband,” I said, forcing a smile. “Are you perhaps his business associates?” I asked, genuinely confused.

“Good day, ma’am,” the man in black greeted, ignoring my question. “You must be Mrs. Quinn?” he asked, and I nodded.

“Well then, my name is Agent Cooper from the State CID, and this is Agent Carter,” he said, displaying his official badge for me to see.

Fear surged within me as I listened. “To what do I owe this visit?” I asked, trying to sound calm.