Claimed by a Ruthless Man After Divorce

As soon as Celeste opened the door, she found her husband standing before her with a woman clinging to his side, her pregnant belly protruding prominently.

—-

“Madam, please eat! You haven't eaten since yesterday. You'll get sick."

The room was silent except for the soft rustle of the curtains and the distant hum of the air conditioner. Celeste lay motionless on the bed, her face turned away, her breathing steady and quiet. Anna, her loyal maid, stood beside her, a tray of untouched food in hand. The pillows were dry, the bed immaculate, as if no tears had ever been shed there.

But Anna knew better. She knew the depth of pain that lay hidden beneath Celeste's calm exterior, the agony she masked with a dignified silence.

“Madam, even just soup will do, as long as you have something in your stomach."

Celeste's response was a barely perceptible shake of her head. There was no anger, no outburst, just a quiet refusal. Her hands rested on her lap, fingers intertwined, as if she were holding herself together by sheer force of will.

"I said I don't want to." Her voice was steady, cold, each word carefully measured. She didn’t look at Anna, her gaze fixed on the wall. "Please leave."

Anna hesitated, her heart aching for her mistress. She had watched Celeste endure so much, had seen her stand tall even as everything around her crumbled. But now, she couldn’t bear to see her in this state, so composed yet so utterly broken.

"Madam," Anna’s voice trembled, but she pressed on. "Don’t let Sir trample on your role as his wife. It’s not right for you to just stay here, silent. You should confront them, show them who you are! What right does that mistress have to live in your mansion?"

Celeste’s grip on her fingers tightened, but she said nothing. She had heard Anna's words, but they felt distant, like echoes in a vast, empty space. The truth was, this was no longer her mansion. It was just a place where she stayed because she had nowhere else to go, no one else to call home.

The Allegra family had taken everything from her—their wealth, their influence, and most painfully, her sense of belonging. Her parents were gone, their business ruined, and her brother lost to the world. All that was left was this cold, empty house and the man who no longer loved her.

"Madam. You’ve been a good wife to Sir! You’ve done everything, but he’s the one who’s not content!" Anna’s voice cracked with emotion, but Celeste remained unmoved, her gaze still fixed on the wall.

"It doesn’t matter, Anna." Celeste’s voice was soft, almost detached.

Anna wanted to shake her, to force her to feel something, anything, other than this cold resignation. But she knew it was useless. Celeste had become like ice—cold, brittle, and heartbreakingly fragile.

"Madam," Anna whispered, her voice choking with tears. "You’re worth more than this. You don’t have to endure this pain. You can fight back, you can beat off your husband's mistress and claim your—"

But Celeste cut her off, her tone still composed, indifferent. "Darson is nothing to fight for, Anna. My life is... my revenge, it’s all that keeps me going."

Anna’s tears fell silently as she watched Celeste, sitting there with such cold dignity, yet so utterly pitiful in her isolation. How could someone so elegant, so composed, be so heartbreakingly alone?

“Now leave.”

Anna could only nod, her heart breaking for the woman before her.

As Celeste lay back down, her eyes closed, Anna quietly left the room, her tears falling freely now. She couldn’t help but think of the girl Celeste had once been—so full of life, of love, of hope. And now, that girl was gone, replaced by this cold, empty shell, surviving only because she had no other choice.