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2025-10-12 14:36:23
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THE DIVORCED WIFE RETURNS TO TAKE BACK WHAT’S HERS SIXTY
ELENA The mirror stared back at me like it was trying to remember who I used to be. I leaned closer, steadying my hand as I traced eyeliner along my lash line slow and precise. No shaking, no rushing. Tonight wasn’t about spectacle. It was about timing. Behind me, my mother stood by the door, arms folded loosely, pretending she wasn’t watching my reflection more than the room itself. She’d been doing that a lot lately. Watching me like I might disappear again if she blinked. “You don’t need any more blush,” she said softly. I smiled. 1 1“I know. I’m not trying to look alive. Just… convincing.” She huffed quietly, the sound fond and sad all at once. The dress hugged me like it understood restraint. Deep midnight blue. Elegant and dangerous in its simplicity. No sequinsa and no drama. The kind of dress that didn’t beg for attention; it assumed it. Which felt appropriate, because tonight wasn’t about arriving loudly. It was about being impossible to ignore once revealed. “You
THE DIVORCED WIFE RETURNS TO TAKE BACK WHAT’S HERS SIXTY
ELENA The mirror stared back at me like it was trying to remember who I used to be. I leaned closer, steadying my hand as I traced eyeliner along my lash line slow and precise. No shaking, no rushing. Tonight wasn’t about spectacle. It was about timing. Behind me, my mother stood by the door, arms folded loosely, pretending she wasn’t watching my reflection more than the room itself. She’d been doing that a lot lately. Watching me like I might disappear again if she blinked. “You don’t need any more blush,” she said softly. I smiled. 1 1“I know. I’m not trying to look alive. Just… convincing.” She huffed quietly, the sound fond and sad all at once. The dress hugged me like it understood restraint. Deep midnight blue. Elegant and dangerous in its simplicity. No sequinsa and no drama. The kind of dress that didn’t beg for attention; it assumed it. Which felt appropriate, because tonight wasn’t about arriving loudly. It was about being impossible to ignore once revealed. “You
THE DIVORCED WIFE RETURNS TO TAKE BACK WHAT’S HERS FIFTY-NINE
ELENA The room smelled like antiseptic and lilies. Someone had brought flowers—too many of them, actually. They crowded the windowsill, bright and obscene, as if joy belonged in a hospital room where my body still felt borrowed and my head throbbed with ghosts.Uncle Alex stood by the window, phone in hand, staring out at the city like it owed him answers. I watched him from my bed. He hadn’t said a word since he came back.That scared me more than if he had shouted.“You’re doing that thing,” I said hoarsely.He turned slightly. “What thing?”“The quiet thing,” I replied. “Where you look like you’re about to rearrange the world.”A corner of his mouth twitched. “Runs in the family.”Silence settled again.I swallowed. “You spoke to Damian.”“I did.”That single sentence tightened something around my ribs.“And?” I asked, trying.... failing to sound casual. “Did he threaten to sue the hospital? Buy it? Or sacrifice a virgin billionaire to restore his wounded ego?”Alex exhaled so
THE DIVORCED WIFE RETURNS TO TAKE BACK WHAT’S HERS FORTY-EIGHT
DAMIANI knew the moment I saw him that this wasn’t a coincidence. Alex Hart stood in my office like he owned the air; tailored charcoal suit, hands relaxed at his sides, posture calm enough to be insulting. No security announcement, no assistant scrambling behind him. He hadn’t asked to be let in.That alone irritated the hell out of me.I closed the folder in my hands slowly and looked up at him.“So,” I said coldly, “you must enjoy walking into other men’s offices uninvited.”He smiled. Not a friendly smile, and not arrogant either. The kind of smile men wear when they already know the ending.“I was invited,” he said calmly. “Just not by you.”I scoffed. “Let me guess... Elena sent you. Her new bodyguard? Lover? Or are you just the next man lining up to play hero in her tragic little story?”That did it. Something shifted behind his eyes, but not anger. Amusement.“Sit down, Damian.”I laughed sharply. “You don’t give orders in my—”He dropped a thick folder onto my desk. Hard.
THE DIVORCED WIFE RETURNS TO TAKE BACK WHAT’S HERS FORTY-SEVEN
Hospitals were honest places. People believed they were neutral, sterile, and governed by ethics and protocol. That illusion amused me. Hospitals, like banks and governments, bent beautifully when pressure was applied in the right places; softly, politely, with impeccable timing.I stood in the private records office three floors above the maternity wing, jacket folded over my arm, cuffs immaculate, expression pleasant enough to pass for harmless. Which was precisely why people underestimated me.The woman behind the desk, early forties, tired eyes, coffee breath looked up from her screen.“Yes?” she asked.I smiled. The kind of smile that suggested I paid for buildings like this.“Alexander Hart,” I said calmly. “I’m here regarding a birth record from three years ago.”Her fingers hesitated over the keyboard.“Sir, those records are confidential.”“Of course,” I replied mildly. “That’s why I’m here.”I slid a leather folder across the desk. Inside were letters, authorisations, signat
THE DIVORCED WIFE RETURNS TO TAKE BACK WHAT’S HERS FORTY-SIX
DAMIAN My parents’ house had always been too quiet for my liking. Not the peaceful kind of quiet. The kind that crept into your bones and forced you to hear your own thoughts. Tonight, it felt worse. Heavy and judgmental. As if the walls themselves knew I had lied beautifully, expertly, and were waiting for the truth to rot me from the inside out. I sat in my father’s old leather armchair, the one that still smelled faintly of cedar and expensive cologne, with Angela curled up in my lap. She fit there too perfectly. Too small, too warm, too mine. I just need to know the truth of it. Her little legs were tucked against my stomach, one arm wrapped around my ribs like she was afraid I might vanish if she loosened her grip. Her stuffed bunny missing one button eye was squished between us. She smelled like baby shampoo and bedtime stories and everything I didn’t deserve. I stroked her curls absently, my thumb tracing the familiar spiral at the crown of her head. Curly hair, just
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