All Chapters of My Billionaire Ex Forgot Our Divorce:I Became His Wife Again: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Elena's Pov The front door clicks shut behind me. I shift the paper bag higher against my hip, careful not to crush it, and nudge my heels off with the edge of my foot. The apartment is quiet. Too quiet for this time of night. I barely notice. My attention is on the bag, on the warmth still clinging to the paper, on the ridiculous fact that I stood in line for twenty minutes just to get it right. Alexander hates when the bread gets soggy. I listen for footsteps. There are none. No voice. No sign that he even knows I'm home. "That's fine," I murmur, more to myself than anyone else. "It's not like he waits." My bare feet press against the marble floor as I move further in. The house is dim except for the low glow spilling from the hallway lights, clean and untouched, like a showroom instead of a home. Three years, and I still haven't figured out how to make it feel like anything else. I climb the stairs anyway. The paper bag rustles faintly with each step. There's a strange, quiet

The private lounge is quieter than the rest of the hospital, the lighting softer, the air cooler. Victoria takes a seat without asking, crossing one leg over the other as she sets a tablet on the table between us. I remain standing for a moment before sitting opposite her. "Let's not pretend this is a social visit," I say. Victoria smiles faintly. "I never pretend." She slides the tablet across the table. I look down at it. Numbers. Charts. Declining lines that don't need explanation. "The company is unstable," she says. "Stocks are falling. Deals are collapsing. There are opportunistic parties positioning themselves for a takeover." I scroll once, my expression unreadable. "And you want me to fix it." "I want you to return," she corrects. "Temporarily." I set the tablet down. "No." She doesn't react. Not visibly. She's the kind of person who's learned to let silence do the arguing for her. "You're uniquely qualified, Elena," she continues, calm as ever. "You understand the

The next morning moves quickly, from the discharge papers, to doctors speaking in careful tones, nurses adjusting bandages and explaining medications I barely listen to. I stand beside the bed, arms folded loosely, watching everything with the same calm distance I've learned to wear like armor. Alexander, on the other hand, watches me. Constantly. "You're not saying much," he says at one point, shifting carefully as the nurse removes the IV. "You should focus on walking before conversation," I reply. He huffs out a soft laugh. "I missed that." I glance at him. "Missed what?" "You being like this. Straightforward. You don't sugarcoat anything." My gaze lingers on him a second longer than necessary. "You don't remember me very well then," I say. "I remember enough." The nurse clears her throat before I can respond. "He's good to go." He pushes himself upright slowly, testing his balance. I step forward automatically, my hand hovering near his arm without quite touching him. "

I didn't sleep much that night, Leo's messages sit unanswered on my phone, screen dark now, but I can still see the words behind my eyes every time I close them. *Don't trust the man who remembers everything.* It's the kind of sentence designed to plant itself and grow roots, whether or not the person who planted it deserves to be believed. I hate that it's working. By morning, I've decided on exactly one thing: I'm not going to respond to Leo. Not yet. Whatever he wants to prove, I'll find my own way to it, on my own terms, without owing him the satisfaction of thinking I came running the second he dangled something in front of me. I dress carefully, the way I always do when I need armor more than clothing, and head down to the study before anyone else in the house is fully awake. The room is empty when I arrive, morning light cutting pale lines across the floor. I sit at the desk that isn't technically mine, open the tablet Victoria gave me, and go back to the numbers from last n

The dress Victoria's assistant sent up an hour ago is the kind of expensive that doesn't announce itself...deep emerald, cut clean, nothing about it trying too hard. I stand in front of the mirror longer than I mean to, turning slightly, watching the fabric catch the light. I used to hate dressing for these things. Every gala, every fundraiser, every glittering room full of people who smiled at me like I was furniture with a pulse. Tonight feels different, and I can't decide if that's dangerous or just exhausting in a new way. A knock sounds at my door. "It's open," I call. Alexander steps in, and for a second neither of us says anything. He's in a black suit, tailored so precisely it looks like it was poured onto him rather than fitted, and he's looking at me the way he's looked at me since the hospital, like I'm something he still can't quite believe he gets to have back. "You look—" he starts, then stops, like the word he wants isn't big enough. "Don't," I say, but there's no