All Chapters of Dear Ex-wife, You're More Than A Substitute: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

Stacy’s POV The night air bit harder than usual. My heels clacked against the marble driveway as the massive ballroom doors slammed shut behind me, the final punctuation to the most humiliating evening of my life. I hadn’t just been kicked out of a party. I had been dragged out in front of people who once envied the way I strutted through these halls in Richard Anderson’s shadow. Now they watched in silence as I was escorted out like an embarrassment. A disposable accessory. A lie. The cold wrapped around my shoulders like shame itself. I stood there, arms folded tightly, breathing in sobs that burned my throat. The security guards didn’t look at me when they closed the gates behind me. Why would they? Even my name was probably being erased from the company registry. Stacy Rowe terminated. Effective immediately. No benefits. No references. No trace. And all because of her. That woman. That Camilla. That— No. I couldn’t even say her name. Not without tasting acid. I didn’t r

Andrew got sick when I was seventeen. At first, I thought it was karma... that God had finally heard the prayers I cried into my pillow at night, that all the pain he caused me was returning to him in waves. But when I saw him sweating and groaning in his bed, pale and weak, I realized something: even sick, he still had power over me.Because sickness or not, my foster mother hovered around him like a saint, feeding him soup, stroking his hair, while I was ordered to wash his sheets, clean his vomit, and fetch his medicine.One afternoon, I stood at his bedside with the tray of pills and water. His lips curled into that same smug smirk, even with fever burning through him.“You like this, don’t you?” he croaked, his voice weak but his words venomous. “Taking care of me. Serving me. That’s all you’re good for.”I clenched my jaw, keeping my eyes on the cup of water. If I looked at him, he’d see the hatred in my stare.He coughed, then chuckled darkly. “Maybe when I get better, I’ll come

The day had been long. Longer than most. Even after everything that happened, the stolen project, the chaos, the silent tension between everyone on the executive floor… my face remained composed. But inside… everything felt like it was shifting. I had spent hours in my office, keeping my head down, working through files while the storm brewed quietly in Richard’s. I could sense his presence without needing to look up. The energy around him was… heavy. Like something had broken and was trying, desperately, not to bleed out. It wasn’t my business. At least, not outwardly. I had my own part to play. I gathered my things slowly when the clock finally blinked 7:42 p.m. Christine had texted earlier that Zane had eaten and was already curled up in bed with his favorite bedtime story. That was my signal to breathe. I was free to go. I reached for my handbag, pushing a pen behind my ear as I took one last g

The school gates swung open just as I pulled in, and I saw the teacher standing near the reception. She waved at me gently, her expression soft but cautious like she didn’t want to alarm me more than I already must’ve been. I parked and stepped out of the car, practically running toward the office. “He’s in the nurse’s room,” she said. “His temperature went up a little after lunch. He said he was tired and didn’t finish his food.” That alone made my chest tighten. Zane? Not finishing his food? Not laughing or talking a mile a minute? I thanked her quietly, my heels clicking too loudly down the hallway as I rushed to the small nurse’s room. And there he was, my baby. My little boy, lying on a narrow cot, his curls damp and stuck to his forehead, cheeks tinged with a faint flush. He looked…small. Fragile. Like he’d folded in on himself.

His soft breathing reminded me why I had fought so hard to stay hidden. My screen lit up again, unknown number. I frowned and answered groggily, my voice still thick with sleep. “Hello… Camilla Jones speaking.” There was silence on the other end for a second. Too long. Then came a voice I hadn’t expected to hear this soon. “Hey… Camilla. It’s Richard Anderson.” My heart skipped. I sat up slowly, careful not to disturb Zane. My pulse quickened before I could stop it. That name. That voice. My past trying to claw its way into my present. I forced calm into my tone, steeling the walls I’d built. “Well, Mr. Anderson…” I said, my voice dry but poised, “Do you always call people you just met this early in the morni