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Desperate Measures II
Last Updated:
2025-02-13 17:16:35
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Maya's POV I stared at the screen, my fingers digging into the worn fabric of the couch. The leather was cool against my skin, a stark contrast to the terrible heat rising in my chest. Three years of marriage, and this is what it had come to. There he was, my husband Daniel, his arm wrapped around Fiona's waist like she was his prized possession. The camera loved them, capturing every detail of their picture-perfect smiles. The studio lights gleamed off their teeth, their eyes, the jewelry adorning Fiona's neck. That was mine, she was flaunting my design as hers. I could still remember the day Daniel and I met. It was an arranged marriage, set up by our parents to unite our families. I had been so naive then, thinking love would naturally follow. How wrong I'd been. "I'm the luckiest man alive," Daniel gushed, his eyes never leaving Fiona. "To have this beautiful woman by my side." My stomach churned, a nauseating mix of anger and despair. The necklace glittering around
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Maya's POV "Maya, what did you do?" Daniel's voice cut through the room, sharp and accusatory."Daniel, please, let me explain—" The words tumbled from my mouth, desperate and clumsy.But Daniel's eyes were fixed on Fiona, his hands roaming over her arms, her back, checking for injuries. "Are you hurt? Did she harm you?"Fiona pressed herself against him a little too much, her breasts heaving and bouncing with exaggerated sobs. The torn dress gaped open, leaving view of a soft tantalizing mound of flesh. I watched as Daniel's gaze flickered downward for a moment before he pulled her closer, enveloping her in his arms."It's okay, you're safe now," he murmured into her hair, his tone sickeningly gentle.I stood there, frozen, as Daniel comforted Fiona. The familiar ache of betrayal settled in my chest, heavy and cold.Finally, Daniel turned to me, his eyes hard. "Well? Are you going to explain yourself?"I swallowed hard. "I didn't do anything. Fiona, tell him—""Oh, Daniel," Fiona int
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Maya's POV The silence that followed my outburst was deafening. I could almost hear the gears turning in their heads, processing what I'd just said. Then, all at once, the room exploded."Have you lost your mind?" My mother's shrill voice cut through the air like a knife. Her face, usually carefully composed, was contorted with rage. "After everything we've done for you?" My father's response was quieter, but no less cutting. "Ungrateful," he spat, his eyes cold and hard. "We gave you everything. A home, a family, a future. And this is how you repay us?" Their words hit me physically, each one chipping away at the resolve I'd built up. I opened my mouth to respond, but my mother wasn't finished. "You know what? Maybe we made a mistake bringing you back," she hissed. "Our real daughter wouldn't be this stupid, this selfish." I flinched, her words cutting deeper than I wanted to admit. Real daughter. As if I was some cheap imitation, a knockoff they'd accidentally brought home. "If
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Maya's POV The room buzzed with murmurs as Fiona stumbled through her explanation. From the corner of my eye, I saw my parents exchanging worried glances. My mother's perfectly manicured nails dug into my father's arm as she whispered urgently in his ear. A moment later, they were at my side. "Maya," my father hissed, his breath hot against my ear. "Get up there and help her. Now." I shook my head, a small act of defiance that sent a thrill through me. "No. This is her moment, isn't it? Let her handle it." My mother's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Don't be stupid, girl. Do you want your precious adoptive mother to suffer?"My blood ran cold. "What are you talking about?""It would be such a shame if we couldn't afford her medical bills anymore," my father said, his voice dripping with false concern. "After all, quality care is so expensive these days."The threat hung in the air between us, as tangible as the pearls around my mother's neck. I swallowed hard, memories of my adoptive m
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Maya's POV "Yes, my wife. Is there a problem with that, Mr. Thorne?" Alex's smile turned casual, almost playful, but his eyes remained sharp. "No problem at all. I just... might have thought differently." Daniel's jaw clenched, and I could feel the anger radiating off him. "If you'll excuse us," he said, his voice tight. "We're needed inside." As he began to steer me away, Alex spoke up again. "Before you go, I must say, Mr. Russo, you're a lucky man." His voice was warm, but his eyes never left mine. "Your wife is not only beautiful but incredibly knowledgeable. A rare combination." Daniel's laugh was just a touch too loud, too forced. "Oh, I know how fortunate I am," he said, pulling me closer. "Maya is... one of a kind." I could feel Daniel's fingers digging into my side, a silent warning. Play along, they seemed to say. "We're very much in love," I heard myself say, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "Aren't we, darling?" Daniel's smile was all teeth. "Absolutely besot
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The darkness pressed in around me, broken only by slivers of moonlight sneaking through the curtains. I sat on the plush carpet of my prison, my back against the cold, unyielding door as I curled in on myself, my hands bracing my knees to my chest. The digital clock on the nightstand blinked neon against the darkness, 7:42 PM. Daniel's mocking laughter still echoed in my ears. "You should thank Fiona, you know," he'd sneered earlier. "If it weren't for her, you'd be in a much worse situation." I'd begged the damn bastard, I'd pleaded. Hell, I'd even tried reasoning with him. Fat lot of good that did me. "Daniel, please," I'd said, my voice embarrassingly small. "You can't keep me locked up forever." He'd just smirked, those eyes I once thought were kind now cold as ice. "Watch me." The click of the lock had been final, absolute. I'd pounded on the door desperately until my fists ached, screaming myself hoarse. "You bastard! Let me out!" Silence was my only answer. Now, ho
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Daniel's eyes locked onto the designs spread across the bed. "What are you doing?" I stiffened, caught off guard by his sudden appearance. "Just... working on some new designs." "New designs?" Daniel scoffed, sauntering into the room. "As if the ones you've been churning out aren't enough." His dismissive tone made something twist inside me. "Those designs are making you money, aren't they?" I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them. Daniel's head snapped towards me, surprise flickering across his face before it hardened into a scowl. "Careful, Maya. Don't forget who you're talking to." "How could I?" I muttered, turning back to my sketches. "What was that?" Daniel's voice dropped dangerously low as he crossed the room in two quick strides. I should have backed down. Should have apologized. But something in me refused to yield this time. I met his gaze. "I said, how could I forget? You never let me." Daniel's eyes narrowed. "You're in quite a mood tonight,
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The tension in the room evaporated the moment Daniel answered his phone. His face, moments ago contorted with rage, smoothed into a mask of politeness. "Grandfather," he said, his voice suddenly warm. "How are you?" I lay there, heart still racing, as I listened to Daniel's side of the conversation. His brow furrowed, lips pressing into a thin line. "Tonight? But-" Daniel paused, clearly cut off. "Yes, of course. We'll be there." He hung up, turning to me with a scowl. "Get up. We're going to dinner at the old mansion." I blinked, struggling to process the sudden shift. "What?" "Grandfather wants to see you," Daniel spat, as if the words tasted foul. "He misses you, apparently." --- The leather seats of Daniel's luxury sedan creaked as he shifted gears, his cologne almost suffocating in the enclosed space. We'd been driving in tense silence for nearly twenty minutes, the city lights giving way to the manicured lawns of the suburbs. "Remember," Daniel said, his voice l
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Divorced My CEO Husband, He Came Begging Desperate Measures II
FionaThe Fashion Week venue thrums with pre-show energy. I've changed three times—finally settling on Valentino, because armor should be perfect. My hands still smell of hospital antiseptic beneath Chanel No. 5."Five minutes to the investor presentation." Emma materializes like a well-trained ghost, clipboard in hand. My Cartier pen glints at her throat, transformed into a necklace. Creative. "They're particularly interested in the authentication process."The venue's transformed into a maze of white panels and strategic lighting. Through gaps in the temporary walls, I catch glimpses: Daniel with Laurent's CEO, Catherine's perfectly tailored silhouette, manila envelopes passing between manicured hands."I'll handle the investors." I step forward, but Emma shifts, a subtle block."Mr. Russo suggested I take this one." She checks her phone. "Perhaps you'd like to rest before—""Move."She doesn't. When did servants learn to disobey?The investor group has already gathered around Maya'
Divorced My CEO Husband, He Came Begging Desperate Measures
FionaFive-fifteen. Daniel's Peloton whirs to life in his home gym, precise as a German train. I count his footsteps across Italian marble, the quiet click of the gym door. For a man so careful with his schedule, he never noticed I memorized every minute.His office still smells of last night's scotch. No cleaning staff today—I made sure of that. The morning light hasn't reached his desk yet, but I know its contents by heart. Mont Blanc pen holder, left side. Patek Philippe box for his evening watch, centered. Everything measured in millimeters of perfection.The safe clicks open with his mother's birthday—he never was creative with passwords. Inside: folders organized by quarter, each tab perfectly aligned. Too perfect. My fingers find a slight gap behind them, where the metal's warmer. A false back.I check my watch. Five-twenty-three. He'll be on his second sprint interval.The hidden compartment yields a single folder, unmarked. My phone's camera shutter sounds too loud in the dar
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FionaLaurent & Cie's lobby gleams with old-world sophistication. Not a fingerprint on the brass doors, not a scuff on the marble. I count security cameras while pretending to check my lipstick—four visible, probably more hidden. My Louboutins click precise rhythms across the floor."I have an appointment with Catherine Laurent." The lie flows smooth as silk. The security guard's eyes flick to his screen, then back to me. No recognition. That's new."ID, please."I slide my driver's license across the counter, watching his face. He's young, probably new. Doesn't know I used to have permanent clearance."Ms. Kingston." A voice cuts through the silence. Jean-Paul, Laurent's head of security. His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "I'm afraid Mrs. Laurent is unavailable.""Is she?" I match his tone, professional to professional. "That's odd. We just had lunch."Movement catches my eye—Catherine herself, crossing the atrium. Our gazes meet. For a moment, something like panic flashes across her
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FionaLa Grenouille's private dining room smells of white lilies and old money. I watched the staff rearrange the flowers three times from my car—they used to know my preferred arrangement by heart. Now they're following someone else's instructions.I time my entrance precisely—fifteen minutes late, just enough to establish dominance without seeming rude. The maître d' hesitates before pulling out my chair. He used to leap at the chance.Catherine Laurent's shoulders tense slightly as I approach. Her Chanel suit is pristine but slightly dated—last season's cut. She never used to make such mistakes. Good."Fiona, darling." Her air kisses land too close to my ear. Chanel No. 5, but not quite masking something else. Daniel's cologne. "I was surprised to get your invitation.""Were you?" I signal the sommelier. He hesitates, glancing at Catherine before pouring my usual Puligny-Montrachet. Even the staff know something's shifted. "I thought we were overdue for a proper catch-up."Catherin
Divorced My CEO Husband, He Came Begging Shadows I
FionaMorning light creeps across Italian marble, turning my home office into a museum of memories. Everything precisely where it should be—Asprey crystal paperweight catching the sun, Montblanc pens arranged by size, last season's lookbooks stacked by color on my Armani Casa desk. A perfect tableau of success.Except for the scattered contents of my Hermès laptop bag now defiling the Persian rug.I've been here since dawn, after another sleepless night replaying every moment of the gala. My Carolina Herrera gown lies discarded on the chaise, diamonds returned to their vault. No point in armor when there's no one to impress."Find anything interesting?"I startle, nearly spilling my third espresso. Maria, my housekeeper of five years, stands in the doorway. When did she get so quiet? Or have I become less observant?"Just organizing." The lie falls flat. Papers surround me like autumn leaves—board meeting minutes, event photos, email printouts. Five years of carefully documented succe
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FionaThe Metropolitan Museum's marble steps glitter with New York's elite. Three hours of preparation: a session with my makeup artist (who took four tries to return my call), my hairstylist (suddenly "booked" until I doubled her rate), and the Carolina Herrera gown in midnight blue (his favorite color). Harry Winston diamonds catch light like captured stars. I've swept my hair up, exposing the vulnerable curve of my neck—the old tricks. The ones that used to work.I scroll through I*******m one last time before entering. Maya's latest post: a behind-the-scenes look at her new collection. Thirty thousand likes in an hour. I delete the scathing comment I'd drafted. Not tonight. Tonight, I'm above it all."You look stunning," Daniel murmurs, but his eyes scan the crowd over my shoulder. His hand rests at my waist, warm through silk, but somehow distant. Like touching through glass. The photographers who used to swarm us now focus their lenses elsewhere.Laurent & Cie executives cluster
Divorced My CEO Husband, He Came Begging Cracks II
FionaThe days blur like watercolors on silk—expensive, but losing definition. I track time through Daniel's responses: how many rings before he answers (three, then five, then straight to voicemail), how many minutes before he replies to my texts (eighteen, forty-two, three hours). Numbers don't lie. I've always known this, counting calories, followers, carats. Now I count seconds between his kisses.Wednesday morning finds me in the private salon at Bergdorf's, buried in a fortress of shopping bags. Elena, my personal shopper for the past three years, hovers nearby, less eager than usual. Even she's seen the headlines."The new Valentino collection just arrived," she offers, but her eyes keep darting to her phone. Probably reading about Maya's latest triumph. "Though perhaps something more... conservative?"I ignore the implied judgment. "Show me everything."Each piece is a calculated move: Valentino dress (for the charity gala), Jimmy Choo stilettos (half an inch higher than usual—
Divorced My CEO Husband, He Came Begging Cracks I
Fiona"Tell them to pull the story." My voice carries the precise tone that usually makes people scramble to obey. Alessandro from Vogue has always been putty in my hands—a carefully timed lunch invitation here, an exclusive there. "This is ridiculous. Maya Russo stealing designs? Please. We both know better."But Alessandro's voice comes back cool, professional. "Actually, Fiona, the evidence is quite compelling. Perhaps you'd like to comment on—"I end the call, fingers trembling slightly on my Hermès phone case. Three other fashion editors have already declined my calls. Since when do they decline my calls?My heels strike precise rhythms down the corridor to Daniel's office. This will all blow over. A few strategic moves and everything will realign. Like adjusting a couture dress—small, careful alterations until it fits perfectly.His new secretary—Emma? Emily?—rises as I approach. "Mr. Russo is—"I sweep past her. "Busy. Of course. But he'll see me."He always sees me.The leather
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Maya's POVThe Thorne Designs building felt different at night. Empty halls, security lights casting shadows across marble floors. My footsteps echoed as I made my way to the executive floor, files clutched to my chest like armor.Sophie waited in the conference room, her Chanel suit exchanged for jeans and an oversized sweater. It made her look younger, more real. Less like the polished enemy I remembered."You brought everything?" I set the files on the table. Years of documentation - every design Daniel had stolen, every contract he'd manipulated. "Your turn."She pulled out her laptop. "Remember that USB drive someone sent Alex? The one with hospital footage?"My fingers stilled on the papers. "How do you know about that?""Because I'm the one who sent it." She typed quickly, pulled up a video. "And that's not all I have."The footage was clearer than what Alex had shown me. Different angle. Same scene - Daniel with Fiona's doctor. But this time, I could hear the conversation.*"
