I was just eighteen when I mistook a business deal for a fairy tale, letting a schoolgirl crush blind me to the truth. My prince charming? He turned out to be more of a wolf in an Armani suit. Now, five years and a thousand broken pieces later, I've rebuilt myself into someone I barely recognize, a CEO, a survivor, and most importantly, a mother to my beautiful son Griffin. I thought I'd buried the naive girl who once dreamed in a garden. Apparently, the universe had other plans. My ex-husband's back, claiming he's changed and wanting a second chance. And then there's James Drake, a billionaire with scars that match my own, who makes me wonder if my heart remembers how to beat for something other than revenge. Between poisoned flowers showing up at my office and threats creeping too close to my son, I'm learning that success is the best revenge, if I can stay alive long enough to enjoy it. They say love is sweeter the second time around, but can I trust it when betrayal wore the face of love once before? One thing's certain: I'm not that naive wife anymore. And this time, I'm playing for keeps.
View MoreAlex POV
“No, no, no…” I laughed hysterically as I watched the sad look on my doctor's face as she delivered the news. “It’s impossible, doctor. It just can't.” I told her, trying hard not to believe her words.
Clutching my now empty stomach, I shook my head trying to block out her words. ‘I'm so sorry, Mrs. Coleman. We did everything we could.’ she'd just say.
“Mrs. Coleman,” she began. “I'm sorr–”
“No, don't tell me one of those sentimental bullshit because I refuse to believe your lies, I felt her k…kick this morning!” My voice cracked. “He was right there. My little baby boy was right here, IN HERE!” I pointed to my stomach.
The nurse poked her head in from behind the doctor. “Do you need anything Mrs. Coleman?”
“I need my baby!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, throwing her a pillow from where I sat. “Bring my baby to me. P…please.”
“I'm sorry but he's gone.” She said. A guttural scream tore out from my throat as I collapsed on the bed, my body shaking with uncontrollable sobs. Wave of tears spilled out from my eyes, pouring without a stop and I just let them.
I couldn't hold back the grief, I was feeling. It was too much.
“Would you like for me to call someone for you?”
I ignored her as I laid there, replaying her words in my head. My baby was gone. I've lost him.
He's gone.
“Can I help call a friend, family or anyone?” The doctor asked.
Yes. My husband
Wait, where was he? I thought as the realization hit me as he wasn't in sight. He was meant to be here, right by my side.
I'd fallen from the stairs only hours ago. It was a little mishap that I had played it off like it was nothing. It was only later I knew it wasn't nothing when I had almost passed out from concussion and the blood seeping between my legs.
On our way to the hospital, our maid, Margaret, had taken initiative to call Michael, my husband, about what was going on but it went straight to voicemail but I never knew if the later call went through since I passed out from the tremendous pain I had felt in my stomach.
“My husband…” I whispered, my voice hoarse. “isn't he here? He was on a trip but meant to arrive today. Did anyone reach him?”
The doctor and nurse exchanged a look that made my heart lurch even further and fresh tears began falling as it was clear something wasn't right.
“We've been trying to reach him,” the nurse said gently. “Your house keeper provided us his number but it went straight to voicemail.”
I nodded solemnly, fresh tears spilling down my cheeks. Michael should be here. He should have been here hours ago when I'd felt that first sharp pain, when I'd lost my balance at the top of the stairs when I was sweeping.
He should be holding my hand right now as everything was crumbling between us.
But he wasn't.
I looked for my phone on the bedside table, my hands shaking so terribly that I could barely unlock the screen.
No missed calls from him.
No texts.
Just a bunch of notifications from Maria saying, ‘Mrs. Coleman, I can't reach Mr. Coleman.’
‘Still no answer.’
‘I've left three messages.’
"Would you like me to try again?" The nurse offered.
I shook my head, feeling hollow and bitter inside. Empty in more ways than one.
"No," I whispered. "No, I'll... I'll wait.”
“Mrs. Colema–”
“Please can you leave,” I told them. “I'd like to have my rest now. You've both delivered your news so please leave.”
I laid down back on the bed but could feel the sensation of their eyes still on me.
“Mrs. Coleman, we're truly sorry for your loss and we'd keep trying for your husband.” I heard the doctor say before the sound of their footsteps faded out of the room.
The room was quiet, except for the beeps from the machines and thoughts that plagued my mind. I was tired, and despite my tears running dry, my chest still ached at the absence of the life I tried to nurture.
I closed my eyes for sleep to take me away and as seconds turned to minutes, I drifted to sleep, wishing to see Michael tomorrow.
____________________
Three days passed in a blur. Nurses came for my treatment and left, along the way offering words of comfort which only sullen my mood because of their pitiful gazes.
But I knew they were trying to help.
I moved through everything for the past few days like I was on autopilot. Too numb to care, too down to feel.
However, through it all, Michael still hadn't come.
As I sat on the edge of the hospital bed, in the fresh clothes Margaret had brought, I clutched my phone tightly in my hand. No missed calls. No texts. Just silence.
I had tried to ask Margaret about Michael when she visited but she just jokingly played it off and told me to focus on my health. I hadn't put much thought into her words but now, I could remember the tone she'd used. It was harsh, angry and a little bit of sorrow laced in between.
I was getting discharged at the hospital and I had managed to convince my doctor not to tell Margaret about my arrival, reassuring her I'll be fine on my own.
I felt whatever she was going through had to be personal but truthfully, the reason for not telling anyone about me leaving was I wanted to surprise Michael.
Michael has been under immense pressure lately. Ever since his grandfather passed away, passing the title of CEO to him, the weight of a multi-billion dollar company had rested squarely on his shoulders.
I could only imagine how overwhelming it must have been for him. I knew how deeply he respected his grandfather and how determined he was to live up to his legacy.
He'd barely had time for anything, including me, but I tried to understand and not come off as a nagging housewife. And what we've lost I could only imagine how terrible he'd feel.
I had told Margaret not to tell him anything. I wanted to tell him myself and to tell him we still had each other no matter what.
I signed the discharge papers, later taking a taxi home. The trip there was silent and restless as I couldn't wait to get home.
I took a breather the moment we got to the Coleman Manor. Michael's grandfather, Mr. Wilson, had gifted us the Manor as a wedding gift saying it'd be spacious for kids to play.
It was huge with vast land of trees and gardens. To put it lightly, it was beautiful and often gave off this palatial vibe.
“Hey Roscoe, hi Sam.” I walked in, greeting the guards who were usually optimistic when they saw me.
They didn't say anything, just ignored me like I was nothing to waste their precious time on.
Huh. Strange. I thought as I walked into the Manor. I looked around to see gardeners and grounds keepers, practically everyone avoiding my gaze.
“I wonder what is going on?” I muttered absentmindedly before going into the house.
The Manor was cold, which was in contrast with the warmth I’d left the house in.
“Michael?” I called out since I’d seen his car in the driveway. He was one never to leave without it.
“Michael?” I called again, moving up the stairs to our room.
My footsteps faltered as I heard sounds coming from the master bedroom. My heart pounded as unfamiliar giggles echoed through the door.
“Michael?” I called out weakly, pushing open the door.
The scene before me made my blood run cold. Michael, my husband of five years, was entwined with Maria, his receptionist, on our marital bed. The same bed where he’d talked about all the kids we’d have.
“Oh my god,” my hands flew to my mouth.
Michael didn’t even flinch a bit. He simply looked at me with cold, detached eyes while continuing to stroke Maria’s hair. “You’re home early.”
“Early?” My voice cracked. “I was in the hospital for three days! Our baby... I lost our baby...” Fresh tears spilled down my cheeks.
Maria attempted to cover herself, but Michael stopped her. “Stay right here, love. Let her see what she’s been too blind to notice for months.”
“Months?” The word felt like acid on my tongue. “You’ve been... all this time?”
Michael’s laugh was hollow, cruel. “Did you really think those business trips were real? God, you’re more naive than I thought.”
“I was carrying your child!” I screamed, my whole body shaking. “I needed you! I called you when I was bleeding, when I fell...”
“And I ignored it,” Michael said coldly, running his fingers down Maria’s arm. “Just like I’ve been ignoring everything about you.”
Maria finally spoke, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “Alex, honey, you must have known. The way he looks at me during dinner parties, how he’s never home...”
“Shut up!” I stumbled forward. “Both of you, just... How could you do this to me?”
“Because she’s everything you’re not,” Michael stated flatly. “She understands me, challenges me. You? You’re just the good little wife my grandfather wanted me to marry.”
Each word was like a knife to my heart. “I loved you,” I whispered. “I gave you everything...”
“And that was your mistake.” Michael sat up, finally facing me fully. “I want a divorce. You can have your lawyers contact mine.”
My legs gave out as I collapsed against the doorframe. “A divorce? Just like that? After everything we’ve...”
“Everything we’ve what, Alex?” Michael’s voice was razor-sharp. “Played house? Pretended to be happy? I never loved you. It was always Maria. It’s always been Maria.”
To prove his point, he pulled Maria closer, kissing her neck while maintaining eye contact with me. The deliberate cruelty of the gesture made me physically ill.
“Stop it,” I pleaded, my voice breaking. “Please...”
“Why? Does it hurt?” He smirked. “Good. Maybe now you’ll understand how suffocating it’s been, pretending to love you all these years.”
I wrapped my hands around myself, my mind still reeling from their blatant hate. “Our baby...” I whispered again, my hand instinctively going to my empty stomach.
“A blessing in disguise, really,” Michael said coldly. “One less tie to sever.”
Those words broke something inside me. I stumbled backward, my vision blurring with tears. The last thing I saw before fleeing was Michael turning back to Maria, dismissing my presence entirely, as if I’d never mattered at all.
Reykjavik Server Farm – 3:33 AM The Arctic wind howled through the blown-out skylight like a wounded animal, carrying ice particles that stung exposed skin and transformed breath into ghostly plumes. The temperature inside the cavernous server room hovered just above freezing—warm by Icelandic standards for mid-October, but cold enough to make my fingers stiff as we picked through the ruins of what had once been Michael Coleman's most secure data repository.Maria's gasoline had done its job—almost. Three-quarters of the server racks were charred beyond recognition, melted plastic and warped metal forming grotesque sculptures in the beam of our tactical flashlights. The sprinkler system had engaged before the fire could consume everything, leaving pools of freezing water that reflected our movements in fractured patterns. The combination of fire, water, and sub-zero temperatures had created a technological graveyard more effective than any military-grade data destruction protocol.J
Lane International Jet – Somewhere Over the Atlantic Griffin slept across three seats, his coding manual open on his chest, the blue glow of his tablet screen still illuminating his face. At sixteen, he should have been worried about college applications and first dates, not corporate espionage and security protocols. But Michael's shadow had robbed him of that normal adolescence, replacing it with the hyper-vigilance of a child raised in a war zone. Even in sleep, his brow furrowed slightly, as though solving problems in his dreams.I gently removed the tablet from his slack fingers—the screen displayed the security architecture he'd been designing for Lane International's new quantum encryption system. Work that should have been done by seasoned professionals, not teenagers, but Griffin's genius with code had already earned him consulting offers from three major tech firms. Another reason Michael would never stop coming for us—his son had chosen not just me, but my company. My vis
Outside the Courthouse – 11:47 AM The October sun cast long shadows across the courthouse steps, but none as dark as the black Mercedes sedan idling at the curb. Its engine purred like a waiting predator, patient and menacing against the backdrop of victory cheers and reporter questions that followed us from the building. I kept my eyes forward, chin high—the pose I'd perfected for cameras since taking over Lane International—but I felt the weight of that car's presence like a physical touch.Griffin's fingers tightened around mine, his sixteen-year-old hand now nearly as large as my own. He'd grown so much in the two years since choosing to leave his father's house. The transformation from the withdrawn, frightened boy who'd appeared at my door with a duffel bag and his coding manuals to this tall, observant young man still amazed me. But now I felt his composure waver, sensed the childhood fears resurface as the sedan's tinted window rolled down another inch—just enough to reveal
Federal Courthouse – One Week Later Michael's cuffs gleamed in the harsh fluorescent lighting of the courtroom as marshals led him past the cameras and the packed gallery. The orange jumpsuit hung loosely on his frame—he had already lost weight in the seven days since his arrest, his cheekbones more pronounced, the skin beneath his eyes shadowed with exhaustion or calculation or both. Yet he maintained the ramrod posture that had intimidated boardrooms across three continents, his gaze sweeping the courtroom with the confidence of a man who still believed, against all evidence, that he would somehow emerge victorious.When his eyes found mine in the front row, something flickered across his features—not quite regret, not quite defeat, but a momentary crack in the facade of invincibility. He held my gaze as he was guided to the defense table, his lips forming two words, distinct enough that I could read them even from a distance:"You win."Beside me, Griffin tensed, his fourteen-yea
Coleman Corp Headquarters – Dawn Flames licked the skyline as firefighters hosed down the ruins of Michael's empire, their water arcs catching the first light of dawn and fracturing it into ephemeral rainbows above the destruction. The acrid smell of burnt plastic and melted wiring carried on the cold morning air, mixing with the steam rising from the overheated structure. From where I stood across the street, the Coleman Corp logo—once illuminated in blue neon fifty stories above Manhattan—was now a blackened skeleton against the lightening sky.Reporters swarmed behind the police barriers, their satellite vans creating a secondary perimeter, their cameras and microphones thrust toward anyone who might have information. Their headlines were already writing themselves, scrolling across the bottom of live broadcasts on the screens visible through the media vans' open doors:ARSON SUSPECTED IN COLEMAN CORP INFERNO – INSIDERS CLAIM "REVENGE"I stood on the periphery, Griffin's hand clu
Manhattan Safehouse – 3:01 AM The pen felt like a blade in my hand, its weight disproportionate to its size, its purpose more dangerous than any weapon. The heavy parchment of the document lay spread before me on the kitchen table, illuminated by the single pendant light overhead that cast long shadows across the room. Michael hadn't moved from where he stood, his silhouette blocking the only exit, his broad shoulders filling the doorframe as completely as he had once filled my life.Three months of careful hiding, of sleeping in different locations, of burner phones and cash transactions—all undone because I'd underestimated his desperation. Because I'd believed, foolishly, that a man on the run from federal authorities would prioritize his freedom over his obsession."You really think I'd sign this?" My voice was steady, but my pulse roared in my ears like a freight train, the adrenaline making my fingers tingle around the silver pen he'd placed in my hand—the same pen I'd used to
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