The EX-Wife Returns

The prison gates groaned open, the hinges shrieking like they resented her freedom.

Rain fell in thin, icy knives, soaking into the cracked concrete and her paper-thin prison shoes. Five years locked away, and the world still felt colder on the outside.

A sleek black car idled just beyond the gate, its headlights cutting through the fog like judgment etched into her skin.

Calla stopped. Her breath misted in the damp air.

Why was he here?

The car door opened with mechanical precision.

Damien Calloway stepped out, holding an umbrella like it was a crown and he was still the king of her world.

He looked the same—cold, sharp, terrifyingly put-together.

The man who had once taken her in, kissed her like she was his last breath... and then left her to rot.

Five years without a word. No letters. No visits. No apologies.

And now here he was, looking at her like she was a meeting he forgot to cancel.

He walked toward her, every step measured and deliberate, like he was entering a courtroom, not facing the woman he once swore to love.

Calla didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Her heart didn’t race—because there was nothing left inside to race for.

Then she saw her.

Selene.

Sitting in the passenger seat, legs crossed like a queen on her throne. Her black dress clung to her like a second skin. Her gaze was steady, unapologetic.

Selene had stood beside Calla on her wedding day. Damien had chosen her for the role, insisting none of Calla’s acquaintances were “worthy” of the position.

She had been Damien’s best friend. Over time, she’d become Calla’s, too. Helped plan the wedding, picked the dress, made her laugh when the nerves kicked in.

Calla had trusted her like a sister.

But Selene had been standing beside Damien all along. Calla had simply been the obstacle.

The betrayal cut anew.

Damien stopped in front of her. His face was a mask—no remorse, only indifference.

He pulled a folder from his coat, rain speckling the cover. He opened it and produced a pen like he was about to conduct a business transaction.

“Sign it,” he said.

Just like that.

No explanation. No pretense.

“Why?” Calla asked, her voice calm and steady.

He looked her over, disgust flickering in his eyes. “You were always an inconvenience, Calla. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

Her hands trembled as she scanned the document—divorce papers.

But she kept her chin up as she faced him.

The old Calla might’ve begged. Might’ve asked what changed, what she did wrong.

But that version of her had died in prison.

She took the document and tore it in two.

Damien’s hand twitched—he raised it as if to strike her.

But he didn’t. The guards stationed nearby made sure of that.

“Shit!” he snapped. “I’ll get back at you for this, Calla.”

She met his glare with an icy calm. “Do your worst.”

“I’ll be back,” he hissed. “And you'd better sign it then.”

He turned, the umbrella angled perfectly to shelter only himself. As he walked back to the car, Selene leaned over, her eyes meeting Calla’s with venom.

The car slid away into the mist, tires hissing against the wet road.

Calla stood alone in the rain, drenched to the skin, but she didn’t shiver from the cold.

She burned—with rage, with a cold hunger for revenge.

Because no one—not even Damien Calloway—got to ruin her and walk away smiling.

Six Months Before Prison – Flashback

Six months before it all unraveled, Calla met Damien Calloway at a restaurant.

She was a broke orphan, working back-to-back shifts just to afford a crumbling apartment and cling to a dream of safety.

No backup plan. No family. No favors left to call in.

It was past midnight. She was the last waitress standing, hands sore, stomach hollow.

Then he walked in.

Damien Calloway.

She’d seen his face in the papers. Heir to the Calloway fortune. Ruthless. Magnetic. Impossible to ignore.

And somehow, he sat in her section.

He ordered coffee. Black. “Strong and tasteless,” he had said.

When she brought it, he didn’t drink. Just looked at her.

“You’re wasted here,” he said.

She laughed.

But he was serious. “I’m looking for a P.A. How about you apply for the post?”

She’d told herself it was insane. Told herself she’d say no.

But she was tired—tired of barely surviving.

So she said yes.

And that was the beginning of the end.

Calla fell. Hard.

Each day spent working with him felt like a dream. She learned the ropes, found her rhythm, and grew to admire Damien’s brilliance.

He was brutal in business—but with her, he was tender. Intoxicating.

Their late-night meetings blurred into intimate conversations, lingering touches, and fiery sex. She thrilled at the way he whispered her name.

She belonged to him—mind, body, soul.

And she believed, foolishly, that he belonged to her too.

One afternoon, Damien had surprised her with a "job offer" she never expected.

A position, he claimed, that she was destined for.

“You belong to me now. I want you all to myself,” he had said, slipping a ring onto her finger. “Be my wife, Calla.”

She had burst into tears.

“Yes, Damien. Yes. I’ll be your wife.”

They celebrated that night—just the two of them—at a romantic Italian restaurant uptown.

Two days later, she decided to surprise him at his penthouse. He’d said he was working from home. She hadn’t seen him all day and couldn’t resist the temptation to see him, to touch him, to tease him.

She’d come flushed with desire, wet with thoughts of what she’d do to him once she had him to herself.

But everything shattered when she stepped into his penthouse and saw her.

Selene.

Wearing his shirt. Draped across his bed like she’d always belonged there.

Calla’s breath caught. Her world tilted.

Damien didn’t even flinch.

“Calla…”

She walked out before he could lie.

It was over.

Or so she thought.

But Damien refused to let her go.

He came to her door that night—disheveled, desperate.

“You’re imagining things, Calla,” he said. “Nothing happened with Selene. She spilled tea on her dress and needed to change. She just... rested here for a while.”

“You, Calla. You’re the one my heart chooses. Only you,” he swore. “You’re the one I want. The one I’m going to marry.”

“I need you. Just you.”

And like a fool, she let him in.

Because she loved him.

Because some part of her still believed she couldn’t survive without him.

Because she was scared of being alone.

Three weeks later, he proposed officially.

And she said yes.

Like a fool.

Like a woman who still didn’t know she was being played.

*

*

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Present Day

Calla stood in the rain, fists clenched, chest heaving.

He should’ve killed her instead.

Because now?

Now she had nothing left to lose.

And nothing left to fear.

But Damien?

He had everything to lose.

And he would.