Chasing His Ex-Wife Back

I close the door to our—no, his—bedroom, the sound echoing through the empty halls like the final note of a funeral march. The weight of the evening presses down on me, suffocating and inescapable. My fingers tremble as I reach for the suitcase at the foot of the bed, the one I hadn’t touched since our honeymoon. How ironic that it would be the last witness to this chapter of my life. The room still carries traces of us: the silk sheets tangled from restless nights, the scent of his cologne lingering in the air like an uninvited memory. Every detail feels like a cruel joke, mocking me with what I’ve lost. I stand in the center, numb, trying to process what just happened downstairs. Kaia’s mocking smile, her possessive arm around Damion’s waist, the way he didn’t even flinch when she kissed him in front of everyone. It wasn’t just betrayal—it was annihilation, a public declaration that I was nothing. I sit on the edge of the bed, my hands fisting the fabric of my dress, now w

The hum of the elevator fills the silence between us, a tangible reminder of the chasm that has grown between our lives. We say nothing to each other. The silence is thick, oppressive, almost suffocating. I keep my eyes fixed on the illuminated floor numbers, counting them like seconds ticking down to some inevitable conclusion. Each ding echoes with memories I’d rather forget. Damion stands behind me, his presence looming like a shadow. The air seems to thicken with every passing moment, weighted down by all the words we’ll never say. I want to speak, to break the tension, but my throat is dry, and my palms are clammy with sweat. My heart races, my body betraying the panic I’m trying so desperately to suppress. Suddenly, the elevator jolts. The lights flicker as it slows abruptly, sending me stumbling backward. Before I can regain my footing, strong arms wrap around me, steadying me against the hard line of his chest. His touch burns through the fabric of my blouse, warm and

The rain pounds against the pavement as I stand on the edge of the street, my body drenched and trembling. My phone slips from my numb fingers, hitting the ground with a soft thud. The words from the hospital still echo in my mind: “Your mother has just passed away.” A sob tears through my chest, raw and uncontrollable, blending with the relentless downpour. The world around me feels blurred and meaningless. First Damion, now this—how much more can I lose before there’s nothing left of me? I drop to my knees, the cold water soaking through my clothes as my fingers fumble to pick up my phone. I clutch it tightly, my breaths shallow and panicked. Somewhere in the haze of my thoughts, a sliver of resolve flickers to life. I can’t fall apart here—not in front of Damion’s building, not with Kaia’s smug face probably watching from a window. My mother wouldn’t have wanted me to crumble. I need to go to her—to say goodbye, even if it’s too late. The cab ride to the hospital feels li

I clench my fists, the receipt burning a hole in my pocket. “What are you doing here?” I snap, my voice shaking with barely restrained fury. She raises an eyebrow, stepping closer. “I live here now, Isabelle. Didn’t Damion tell you?” The air leaves my lungs. She lives here? The realization hits me like a tidal wave. Damion hadn’t just moved on—he’d replaced me, piece by piece, with the woman who had been scheming with him all along. “Get out of my way,” I hiss, my voice low and dangerous. Kaia doesn’t budge. Her smirk widens as she leans in, her voice a whisper. “You should really learn to pick your battles, Izzy. Damion always wins.” Her words are like a slap, but I refuse to let her see me falter. I shove past her, slamming the door behind me as I step into the crisp morning air. My legs tremble as I make my way to the car, but my mind is racing. This isn’t over. Not by a long shot. As I drive away, my phone buzzes on the passenger seat. I glance at the screen, my he

I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at my phone. The message from Kaia felt like a reminder of how much I hated her, but it was also laced with relief: “Damion is back home. The money helped, and we’re grateful for everything. Thought you’d want to know.” I reread it, trying to decipher her tone. Was she gloating? Sincere? I couldn’t tell. But one thing was certain—Damion was safe. And despite everything, a part of me still needed to see him, to hear it from him. Grabbing my coat, I hurried out the door. The streets were quiet as I drove toward the mansion. My heart pounded harder with every mile, uncertainty gnawing at me. What would I say? Would he thank me? Apologize for all the pain he’d caused? I shook my head, pushing the thoughts away. This wasn’t about me. It was about knowing I’d done the right thing. The Ryder mansion loomed ahead, its towering gates standing wide open. Strange. The house seemed unusually quiet, the lights spilling out from the windows casting eer