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SIXTY-FOUR
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2025-12-21 23:43:29
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THE DIVORCED WIFE RETURNS TO TAKE BACK WHAT’S HERS SIXTY-FOUR
DAMIAN I stand there like an idiot.No... worse. Like a man who walked into a room convinced he still understood the rules, only to realise the game had been rewritten while he was busy believing lies that suited him.The woman in front of me isn’t the Elena I married. That Elena would have cried quietly. Would have begged. Would have swallowed humiliation with grace and told herself she was being “strong.”This Elena? She’s standing in the center of a banquet hall filled with New York’s elite, her spine straight, her eyes sharp, her grief weaponised into something terrifyingly controlled.She planned this. God help me... she planned all of it.My mouth opens and closes. I don’t know what to say, because every word I’ve ever used on her suddenly feels cheap. Angela squirms in Isabelle’s arms again, tiny fingers reaching outwards. My chest tightens painfully.“Elena—” I start.But Isabelle cuts me off.“I won’t put her down,” she says loudly, her voice trembling just enough to sound m
THE DIVORCED WIFE RETURNS TO TAKE BACK WHAT’S HERS SIXTY-THREE
ELENA The room feels unreal. Like I stepped into someone else’s life wearing my skin. Applause crashes over me in waves, loud and overwhelming, but all I hear is the pounding of my own heart. Each beat reminds me that this is real. That I am standing in a room full of people who are only just learning what I’ve known for a short time and what I ran from for years. I lift my chin and start walking in my soaked dress. The floor beneath my heels gleams, polished marble reflecting chandeliers and faces frozen in disbelief. Every step towards the stage feels heavier than the last, not because of fear, but because of memory. My uncle’s eyes never leave mine. Alexander Hart. The man who taught me how to play chess before I learned how to braid my own hair. The man who convinced himself from my life so thoroughly that I convinced myself he was just a beautiful dream I made up to survive. Now he stands there, waiting. I pass Damian, yet he doesn’t move or blink. He looks… broken. Like so
THE DIVORCED WIFE RETURNS TO TAKE BACK WHAT’S HERS SIXTY-ONE
DAMIANThe room went dead silent. Not the polite kind. The kind where even the crystal chandeliers seem to stop breathing.Mr. Blake’s gaze cut through the crowd like a weapon sharpened by years of boardrooms and bloodless corporate wars. When his eyes landed on Isabelle—his daughter, they hardened.“What,” he repeated slowly, “is going on here?”Isabelle swallowed. I saw it. The tremor in her throat. The way her fingers curled into her clutch like it might save her.“I—Dad, it was an accident,” she said quickly, forcing a laugh that fooled absolutely no one. “She bumped into me and—”“Elena didn’t move,” I said before I could stop myself.Isabelle shot me a look sharp enough to draw blood.Mr. Blake turned his attention to Elena then. And for the first time that night, I saw something unexpected flicker across his face.Recognition.Not full, and not clear. But something… off.“Elena,” he said slowly, tasting the name. “Are you alright?”Elena inclined her head politely. “I’m fine,
THE DIVORCED WIFE RETURNS TO TAKE BACK WHAT’S HERS SIXTY-ONE
DAMIAN I watched Elena from across the room like a man observing a memory that had learned how to breathe without him. She was laughing with Lucas too easily and too comfortably. Her shoulders were relaxed, her posture open, the kind of ease that came from knowing exactly where you stood in a room. That alone unsettled me. Elena used to carry tension like armour. Now she wore calm like a crown. And she still hadn’t come to me. That was the part that gnawed. By now, Alex must have told her about Angela and about the grave. About everything I’d done in the shadows while she vanished from my life like a ghost that refused to be found. I pressed my fingers against the rim of my glass and exhaled slowly. She knows, and yet, nothing. No confrontation, accusations, and no trembling voice demanding answers. Just… patience. Which scared me far more. God, I was an idiot. The thought hit me so hard I nearly laughed at myself. All those years. All those nights, I chose silence over truth, c
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?”
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