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ELEVEN
Last Updated:
2025-09-18 18:08:48
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THE DIVORCED WIFE RETURNS TO TAKE BACK WHAT’S HERS NINETY-ONE
DAMIAN Morning comes too quietly. No alarms, no shouting, and no slamming doors. Just a pale line of sunlight slipping through the guest room curtains like it’s afraid to wake me.I’m already awake. I don’t remember falling asleep, only lying there staring at the ceiling, replaying Elena’s voice in my head,sharp, wounded, furious, and Angela’s small body curled against me last night, trusting me without question.That’s the part that hurts the most.I swing my legs off the bed and stand slowly. Every muscle stiff, suit jacket still draped over the chair from last night like a reminder that this isn’t my house and I am not really welcome. Not really.I open the door quietly. The house smells like coffee, and that stops me. For a split second, my chest tightens with something dangerously close to hope. Elena always brewed it strong in the mornings; no sugar, just enough bitterness to match her mood before the world got to her.I follow the scent down the hall. Angela’s laughter reaches
THE DIVORCED WIFE RETURNS TO TAKE BACK WHAT’S HERS NINETY
DAMIANThe phone keeps ringing between us, Isabelle’s name lighting up the screen like a bad omen. I don’t touch it, and I don’t even blink. My hands are clenched so tight at my sides that my knuckles ache, my jaw locked hard enough to hurt. If I answer that call right now, I’ll say something that can’t be undone, or worse, I’ll go find her and do something that will land me behind bars. And I refuse to give her that kind of power over me again.So I let it ring, and ring, and die.The silence that follows is heavy and charged. Elena lets out a short laugh, sharp and disbelieving, the kind that cuts deeper than a scream.“Wow,” she says quietly. “You didn’t answer.”I don’t look at her.“I guess you didn’t want to explain yourself to Isabelle in front of me,” she adds.There it is. The assumption and the judgment. The belief that everything I do still somehow revolves around her presence.I finally meet her eyes. “Think whatever you want,” I say evenly. “I’m not explaining my actions
THE DIVORCED WIFE RETURNS TO TAKE BACK WHAT’S HERS EIGHTY-NINE
ELENA I don’t walk out of the restaurant. I flee. My heels click too fast against the pavement, my breath uneven, my chest tight like someone’s wrapped wire around my ribs and keeps pulling. The cool night air slaps my overheated skin, but it doesn’t calm me. Nothing does. Not after that voice. Not after the way Damian said it; like I still belonged somewhere he could summon me from. “Elena... wait!” Adrian’s voice follows me into the parking lot. I fumble for my keys, hands shaking, vision slightly blurred. I almost drop them when fingers wrap around my wrist. I freeze. His touch isn’t rough, it’s not threatening either. But I’m already too raw, too wound up, too full of other men’s voices in my head. “Elena,” Adrian says again, softer this time. “What’s wrong?” I turn to him, disoriented, my heart still pounding like I’ve been running from something feral. His face swims into focus... concerned, earnest, too close. “I... I don’t know,” I admit, and hate how small my v
THE DIVORCED WIFE RETURNS TO TAKE BACK WHAT’S HERS EIGHTY-SEVEN
ELENAPaper cuts hurt less than thoughts. I’m standing behind my desk, sorting through files that all look the same if I stare at them long enough. Numbers, projections, and signatures that mean millions to people who will never lose sleep over them. I’ve already reorganised this stack twice. It is a clear sign that my mind is absolutely not where my body is.The door knocks, but no, it is not Paul. He knocks like he owns the building, even though technically I do.“This is Elena Hart,” I say automatically. CEO voice on. Spine straight. Heart tucked away somewhere safe.The door opens, and Adrian steps in. I freeze, just for half a second. He looks… the same. Polished, calm, that quiet confidence that doesn’t demand attention but somehow gets it anyway. Grey blazer, no tie, tablet tucked under his arm like he belongs everywhere he goes.“Hey,” he says gently. “I was starting to think you’d changed countries.”I blink, then exhale. “Adrian. Wow! That’s dramatic. I’ve only been ignorin
THE DIVORCED WIFE RETURNS TO TAKE BACK WHAT’S HERS EIGHTY-SIX
DAMIANAngela doesn’t give me a chance to breathe. She drags me down the hallway like she’s been rehearsing this moment all day, her little fingers wrapped tightly around mine, determined, bossy, so much like her mother it almost hurts.“Careful,” I chuckle, pretending my heart isn’t trying to punch its way out of my chest. “You’re going to make me trip.”“No,” she says seriously, “you have long legs.”Elena follows a few steps behind us, arms crossed again, shoulders tense. She’s watching every movement like I’m a bomb she’s not sure has been defused.Angela’s room is warm, soft pastel walls, stuffed animals everywhere, and drawings taped unevenly to the wall; crayons, shaky lines, a sun with too many rays.She pulls me inside proudly. “This is my room.”I nod, slow and reverent. “It’s beautiful.”She beams. “Mommy picked it.”Of course she did.Angela hops onto the bed and immediately starts pointing at things. “That’s my bunny,but not Bun-Bun. Bun-Bun is special. He should be
THE DIVORCED WIFE RETURNS TO TAKE BACK WHAT’S HERS EIGHTY-FIVE
DAMIAN By the time I reach the office, my jaw hurts from how tightly I’ve been clenching it. The elevator ride to the top floor is silent except for the soft instrumental music meant to calm people. It fails spectacularly. I stare at my reflection in the mirrored walls, tie perfectly knotted, posture controlled, face unreadable, and all I can see is Elena standing on the road in that oversized hoodie, eyes sharp, wounded, unafraid to slice me open with the truth. You already did. The doors open. The floor freezes. Conversations die mid-sentence, keyboards slow, someone actually drops a pen. Good. If I’m going to have a hell of a morning, everyone else might as well feel it too. “Good morning,” my assistant chirps nervously, scrambling to stand. I don’t respond. I walk straight into my office, shrug off my jacket, and toss it onto the chair with more force than necessary. “Cancel my lunch,” I say flatly. “Yes, sir.” “And push the board meeting forward. Now.” She
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