I was just eighteen when I mistook a business deal for a fairy tale, letting a schoolgirl crush blind me to the truth. My prince charming? He turned out to be more of a wolf in an Armani suit. Now, five years and a thousand broken pieces later, I've rebuilt myself into someone I barely recognize, a CEO, a survivor, and most importantly, a mother to my beautiful son Griffin. I thought I'd buried the naive girl who once dreamed in a garden. Apparently, the universe had other plans. My ex-husband's back, claiming he's changed and wanting a second chance. And then there's James Drake, a billionaire with scars that match my own, who makes me wonder if my heart remembers how to beat for something other than revenge. Between poisoned flowers showing up at my office and threats creeping too close to my son, I'm learning that success is the best revenge, if I can stay alive long enough to enjoy it. They say love is sweeter the second time around, but can I trust it when betrayal wore the face of love once before? One thing's certain: I'm not that naive wife anymore. And this time, I'm playing for keeps.
Lihat lebih banyakAlex POV
“No, no, no…” I laughed hysterically as I watched the sad look on my doctor's face as she delivered the news. “It’s impossible, doctor. It just can't.” I told her, trying hard not to believe her words.
Clutching my now empty stomach, I shook my head trying to block out her words. ‘I'm so sorry, Mrs. Coleman. We did everything we could.’ she'd just say.
“Mrs. Coleman,” she began. “I'm sorr–”
“No, don't tell me one of those sentimental bullshit because I refuse to believe your lies, I felt her k…kick this morning!” My voice cracked. “He was right there. My little baby boy was right here, IN HERE!” I pointed to my stomach.
The nurse poked her head in from behind the doctor. “Do you need anything Mrs. Coleman?”
“I need my baby!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, throwing her a pillow from where I sat. “Bring my baby to me. P…please.”
“I'm sorry but he's gone.” She said. A guttural scream tore out from my throat as I collapsed on the bed, my body shaking with uncontrollable sobs. Wave of tears spilled out from my eyes, pouring without a stop and I just let them.
I couldn't hold back the grief, I was feeling. It was too much.
“Would you like for me to call someone for you?”
I ignored her as I laid there, replaying her words in my head. My baby was gone. I've lost him.
He's gone.
“Can I help call a friend, family or anyone?” The doctor asked.
Yes. My husband
Wait, where was he? I thought as the realization hit me as he wasn't in sight. He was meant to be here, right by my side.
I'd fallen from the stairs only hours ago. It was a little mishap that I had played it off like it was nothing. It was only later I knew it wasn't nothing when I had almost passed out from concussion and the blood seeping between my legs.
On our way to the hospital, our maid, Margaret, had taken initiative to call Michael, my husband, about what was going on but it went straight to voicemail but I never knew if the later call went through since I passed out from the tremendous pain I had felt in my stomach.
“My husband…” I whispered, my voice hoarse. “isn't he here? He was on a trip but meant to arrive today. Did anyone reach him?”
The doctor and nurse exchanged a look that made my heart lurch even further and fresh tears began falling as it was clear something wasn't right.
“We've been trying to reach him,” the nurse said gently. “Your house keeper provided us his number but it went straight to voicemail.”
I nodded solemnly, fresh tears spilling down my cheeks. Michael should be here. He should have been here hours ago when I'd felt that first sharp pain, when I'd lost my balance at the top of the stairs when I was sweeping.
He should be holding my hand right now as everything was crumbling between us.
But he wasn't.
I looked for my phone on the bedside table, my hands shaking so terribly that I could barely unlock the screen.
No missed calls from him.
No texts.
Just a bunch of notifications from Maria saying, ‘Mrs. Coleman, I can't reach Mr. Coleman.’
‘Still no answer.’
‘I've left three messages.’
"Would you like me to try again?" The nurse offered.
I shook my head, feeling hollow and bitter inside. Empty in more ways than one.
"No," I whispered. "No, I'll... I'll wait.”
“Mrs. Colema–”
“Please can you leave,” I told them. “I'd like to have my rest now. You've both delivered your news so please leave.”
I laid down back on the bed but could feel the sensation of their eyes still on me.
“Mrs. Coleman, we're truly sorry for your loss and we'd keep trying for your husband.” I heard the doctor say before the sound of their footsteps faded out of the room.
The room was quiet, except for the beeps from the machines and thoughts that plagued my mind. I was tired, and despite my tears running dry, my chest still ached at the absence of the life I tried to nurture.
I closed my eyes for sleep to take me away and as seconds turned to minutes, I drifted to sleep, wishing to see Michael tomorrow.
____________________
Three days passed in a blur. Nurses came for my treatment and left, along the way offering words of comfort which only sullen my mood because of their pitiful gazes.
But I knew they were trying to help.
I moved through everything for the past few days like I was on autopilot. Too numb to care, too down to feel.
However, through it all, Michael still hadn't come.
As I sat on the edge of the hospital bed, in the fresh clothes Margaret had brought, I clutched my phone tightly in my hand. No missed calls. No texts. Just silence.
I had tried to ask Margaret about Michael when she visited but she just jokingly played it off and told me to focus on my health. I hadn't put much thought into her words but now, I could remember the tone she'd used. It was harsh, angry and a little bit of sorrow laced in between.
I was getting discharged at the hospital and I had managed to convince my doctor not to tell Margaret about my arrival, reassuring her I'll be fine on my own.
I felt whatever she was going through had to be personal but truthfully, the reason for not telling anyone about me leaving was I wanted to surprise Michael.
Michael has been under immense pressure lately. Ever since his grandfather passed away, passing the title of CEO to him, the weight of a multi-billion dollar company had rested squarely on his shoulders.
I could only imagine how overwhelming it must have been for him. I knew how deeply he respected his grandfather and how determined he was to live up to his legacy.
He'd barely had time for anything, including me, but I tried to understand and not come off as a nagging housewife. And what we've lost I could only imagine how terrible he'd feel.
I had told Margaret not to tell him anything. I wanted to tell him myself and to tell him we still had each other no matter what.
I signed the discharge papers, later taking a taxi home. The trip there was silent and restless as I couldn't wait to get home.
I took a breather the moment we got to the Coleman Manor. Michael's grandfather, Mr. Wilson, had gifted us the Manor as a wedding gift saying it'd be spacious for kids to play.
It was huge with vast land of trees and gardens. To put it lightly, it was beautiful and often gave off this palatial vibe.
“Hey Roscoe, hi Sam.” I walked in, greeting the guards who were usually optimistic when they saw me.
They didn't say anything, just ignored me like I was nothing to waste their precious time on.
Huh. Strange. I thought as I walked into the Manor. I looked around to see gardeners and grounds keepers, practically everyone avoiding my gaze.
“I wonder what is going on?” I muttered absentmindedly before going into the house.
The Manor was cold, which was in contrast with the warmth I’d left the house in.
“Michael?” I called out since I’d seen his car in the driveway. He was one never to leave without it.
“Michael?” I called again, moving up the stairs to our room.
My footsteps faltered as I heard sounds coming from the master bedroom. My heart pounded as unfamiliar giggles echoed through the door.
“Michael?” I called out weakly, pushing open the door.
The scene before me made my blood run cold. Michael, my husband of five years, was entwined with Maria, his receptionist, on our marital bed. The same bed where he’d talked about all the kids we’d have.
“Oh my god,” my hands flew to my mouth.
Michael didn’t even flinch a bit. He simply looked at me with cold, detached eyes while continuing to stroke Maria’s hair. “You’re home early.”
“Early?” My voice cracked. “I was in the hospital for three days! Our baby... I lost our baby...” Fresh tears spilled down my cheeks.
Maria attempted to cover herself, but Michael stopped her. “Stay right here, love. Let her see what she’s been too blind to notice for months.”
“Months?” The word felt like acid on my tongue. “You’ve been... all this time?”
Michael’s laugh was hollow, cruel. “Did you really think those business trips were real? God, you’re more naive than I thought.”
“I was carrying your child!” I screamed, my whole body shaking. “I needed you! I called you when I was bleeding, when I fell...”
“And I ignored it,” Michael said coldly, running his fingers down Maria’s arm. “Just like I’ve been ignoring everything about you.”
Maria finally spoke, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “Alex, honey, you must have known. The way he looks at me during dinner parties, how he’s never home...”
“Shut up!” I stumbled forward. “Both of you, just... How could you do this to me?”
“Because she’s everything you’re not,” Michael stated flatly. “She understands me, challenges me. You? You’re just the good little wife my grandfather wanted me to marry.”
Each word was like a knife to my heart. “I loved you,” I whispered. “I gave you everything...”
“And that was your mistake.” Michael sat up, finally facing me fully. “I want a divorce. You can have your lawyers contact mine.”
My legs gave out as I collapsed against the doorframe. “A divorce? Just like that? After everything we’ve...”
“Everything we’ve what, Alex?” Michael’s voice was razor-sharp. “Played house? Pretended to be happy? I never loved you. It was always Maria. It’s always been Maria.”
To prove his point, he pulled Maria closer, kissing her neck while maintaining eye contact with me. The deliberate cruelty of the gesture made me physically ill.
“Stop it,” I pleaded, my voice breaking. “Please...”
“Why? Does it hurt?” He smirked. “Good. Maybe now you’ll understand how suffocating it’s been, pretending to love you all these years.”
I wrapped my hands around myself, my mind still reeling from their blatant hate. “Our baby...” I whispered again, my hand instinctively going to my empty stomach.
“A blessing in disguise, really,” Michael said coldly. “One less tie to sever.”
Those words broke something inside me. I stumbled backward, my vision blurring with tears. The last thing I saw before fleeing was Michael turning back to Maria, dismissing my presence entirely, as if I’d never mattered at all.
Private Jet En Route to Dubai – 3:22 AM Michael Coleman pressed a bloodied handkerchief to his split lip as the jet climbed through turbulent clouds. The G650 shuddered around him, the luxury cabin's warm lighting contrasting with the darkness that enveloped both the sky outside and his prospects. The handcrafted Italian leather seat that had once felt like a throne now seemed to mock him with its opulence. The metallic taste of failure coated his tongue—worse than the blood.He glanced at his reflection in the darkened window—disheveled hair, the purple bloom of a bruise forming along his jawline, the crisp white collar of his bespoke shirt stained crimson. He barely recognized himself. Just twelve hours ago, he had stood at the podium at Coleman Corp headquarters, assuring shareholders that the SEC investigation was "a minor administrative review." Six hours ago, he had been in his corner office, watching as federal agents seized servers and hard drives. Three hours ago, he had s
Reykjavik Server Farm – Midnight The Arctic wind howled through the open door like a living thing, carrying stinging particles of ice that bit at exposed skin and infiltrated the seams of even the most technical cold-weather gear. Negative fifteen degrees Celsius according to the readout on my watch, though the windchill made it feel much colder. My breath crystallized instantly, hanging in the air before being whipped away by the relentless gale that swept across the barren Icelandic landscape surrounding the facility.James disabled the last security panel with gloved fingers, the specialized equipment he'd brought bypassing the biometric scanner that would have required Maria's fingerprint or retinal pattern. The facility looked innocuous from the outside—a low-slung concrete structure nestled against the side of a dormant volcano, its exterior designed to weather the brutal conditions of an Icelandic winter. Only the satellite dishes and transmission arrays on the roof hinted at
Lane International Safe House – 4:47 PM The brownstone in Brooklyn Heights stood unremarkable among its neighbors, its weathered red brick and black shutters offering no hint of the state-of-the-art security system embedded in its walls or the bulletproof glass behind its vintage-looking windows. The deed was held by a shell corporation owned by another shell corporation, traced through seven layers of legal separation before connecting, tenuously, to a holding company that occasionally did business with Lane International.In security parlance, it was a ghost house. In my world, it was the only place I trusted to keep Griffin safe while the storm raged.Maria's knock came in our childhood rhythm—three quick, two slow. The code we'd used at boarding school in Switzerland when one of us needed saving from a cruel headmistress or a midnight interrogation about broken curfews. A pattern I hadn't heard in fifteen years, not since the night she'd shown up at my Manhattan apartment with a
St. Luke's Hospital – 2:14 AM The heart monitor beeped a steady rhythm as Griffin slept, his small hand bandaged where the IV Michael had tried to force into his vein had torn the skin. The bruising had already begun to bloom in purples and yellows, like a watercolor painting of violence on my son's fragile wrist. His dark curls—so like mine—were matted with sweat against the sterile white pillow, and the overhead fluorescents cast his face in a pallor that made my heart constrict.Outside the room, through the observation window, two NYPD officers in rumpled uniforms took James' statement for what seemed like the hundredth time. Their faces betrayed nothing as they scribbled notes, occasionally glancing at Griffin's sleeping form with the detached sympathy of men who had seen too many children caught in adult crossfire."Third time's the charm," James muttered when he finally joined me, rolling his shoulder where the bullet had grazed him. The bandage was already seeping through wi
Abandoned Airfield – 6:59 PM Twilight had transformed into full darkness by the time we reached the outskirts of the city, the storm intensifying into sheets of water that reduced visibility to mere yards. The windshield wipers of James' SUV worked frantically, barely keeping pace with the deluge. The headlights caught droplets mid-fall, creating an illusion of moving through a tunnel of liquid silver."The signal's coming from inside that hangar," Sally said from the backseat, her face illuminated by the blue glow of her tablet. "The aircraft filed a flight plan for Toronto twenty minutes ago."In the passenger seat, I gripped the door handle so tightly my fingers ached, eyes straining to penetrate the darkness ahead. "Are we sure Griffin's on board? What if Michael separated him from the watch?"James' jaw tightened, his hands steady on the steering wheel despite the torrential conditions. "The biometric monitor shows elevated heart rate and movement. He's there, and he's consciou
Lane International – 3:33 PM Rain lashed against the windows of Lane International's headquarters, transforming the Manhattan skyline into a smeared watercolor of grays and silvers. I'd been in back-to-back meetings since leaving the courtroom, fielding calls from investors concerned about the media coverage of this morning's revelation. Despite the personal victory, stock prices had dipped three percent on news that Lane International's CEO had been involved in a melodramatic custody battle with the CEO of Coleman Corp.The markets hated drama. They hated unpredictability even more.I'd changed from my courtroom attire to a crisp white shirt and black slacks, my armor for the trenches of damage control. My phone hadn't stopped buzzing with messages from Elliott—who was handling press inquiries from Hong Kong—and James, who had taken Griffin for ice cream and then to his therapist to process the morning's revelations.Sally walked beside me as we headed toward the emergency board me
Family Court – 9:17 AM The mahogany doors of Courtroom 302 had always seemed imposing, but today they felt like the entrance to a gladiatorial arena. The morning sunlight streamed through the high windows, casting long rectangles across the polished floor as spectators and attorneys settled into their places with the quiet murmur of those about to witness something momentous.Five years of legal battles, accusations, and counter-accusations had led to this moment. Five years since I'd fled with nothing but the clothes on my back and a secret that had kept me awake every night since.Michael sat at the respondent's table, impeccable in a tailored charcoal suit that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent. His silver hair caught the light, giving him the distinguished appearance that had graced the cover of Fortune just last month. "Businessman of the Year" – a title that made me want to throw my coffee at the newsstand when I saw it.He didn't look at me when I entered, hi
Family Court – 9:03 AMThe Family Court of New York State occupied the sixth floor of a nondescript government building on Lafayette Street, its bland institutional interior at odds with the life-altering decisions rendered daily within its walls. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting everyone in the unflattering pallor that seemed reserved for places where human suffering was processed with bureaucratic efficiency.I sat with perfect posture on the hard wooden bench outside Courtroom C, Sally on one side, my attorney Evelyn Morris on the other. Three hours earlier, I'd received the court summons—hand-delivered to my apartment by a process server who had the decency to look embarrassed about the 6 AM wake-up call. Two hours earlier, Griffin had been escorted to Elliott's private plane by James and Clara, destination undisclosed even to me. One hour earlier, Maria Coleman had called with the warning I'd been dreading: Michael had the DNA results.Now we waited, the hallway thick
Coleman Corp Labs – 11:47 PMMichael Coleman's footsteps echoed through the sterile corridors of Coleman Corp's research division, the sound ricocheting off white walls and polished floors like gunshots. Security cameras tracked his progress, their red lights blinking in acknowledgment of the CEO's presence, but no security guards intercepted him. Not at this hour. Not when he was radiating the particular brand of controlled fury that had sent three executive assistants into early retirement this year alone.The biotech department—a recent acquisition that had raised eyebrows among board members more comfortable with traditional construction and real estate ventures—was deserted save for the lone technician Michael had summoned personally. Lights flickered to life automatically as he strode through the laboratory, casting harsh shadows across equipment worth millions: centrifuges, sequencers, incubators filled with cellular secrets that represented Coleman Corp's tentative foray into
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