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2024-07-21 01:31:17Collapsing to my knees, I clutch at my hair, fingers tangling in the strands as if to anchor myself to reality. The weight of Ethan's deception crushes me, leaving me gasping for air amidst the wreckage of our shattered marriage.
Every sound of their exchange feels like a cruel echo of my own naivety, a reminder that I was nothing more than a pawn in his game. As Ethan's footsteps echo up the stairs, each one carries the weight of our broken trust.
Ethan never loved me!
We got involved a few years ago. I was a young girl trying to make it in the big city. He was a famous billionaire. I tried to do the right thing at the time, but the right thing was to betray Ethan's trust.
I did it.
I paid the price for it.
**
The relentless rain in Los Angeles mirrors the turmoil in my heart as I shuffle towards the kitchen. Each drop that splatters against the windowpane echoes the tears I've shed since discovering the bitter truth about my three-year marriage — a illusion crumbling before my eyes.
As I step into the kitchen, I take in the warm greeting from Jena, the cook. "Good morning, love. I will make the coffee today," she offers with a smile.
I shake my head, mustering a small smile of gratitude. "No, thank you, Jena. I will take care of it," I reply softly.
She nods understandingly and exits the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the soothing sound of rain tapping against the windows.
Tomorrow is Ethan's 32nd birthday, and I can't help but feel a spark of excitement. Despite everything, there's a glimmer of hope as I anticipate the big celebration.
These gatherings always have a certain charm to them, especially when Ethan wraps his arm around my waist, if only for the cameras. It's those fleeting moments that make me believe in the facade of our love, if only for a little while.
I prepare two cups of coffee and start making toast.
The heavy thud of footsteps echoes down the staircase, sending a shiver down my spine. I know it's my husband, Ethan, making his descent.
Ethan enters the kitchen, his aura commanding attention without him uttering a word. Standing tall and strong, his presence fills the room with an undeniable magnetism.
His sleek, jet-black hair falls effortlessly, framing his face in a way that accentuates his chiseled features. His eyes, a piercing shade of azure blue, seem to shimmer with a depth that draws you in, leaving you captivated by their intensity.
Every movement he makes is deliberate, exuding a sense of confidence and allure that is impossible to ignore. Ethan furrows his brow slightly, as if he didn't expect to see me.
"Good morning!" I chirp, mustering up a facade of cheerfulness.
Despite the gnawing realization that Mariah Donovan is likely occupying his thoughts and bed, I refuse to let it dampen my spirits. After all, tomorrow is his birthday, a day where I will stand by his side, adorned in elegance, and be acknowledged as Mrs. Banks.
"I made the coffee," I offer, motioning towards the steaming cup on the counter.
Ethan settles into a chair, his attire immaculate as always — perfectly tailored jeans hugging his frame, a crisp white shirt accentuating his strong physique, and a sleek leather jacket completing the ensemble.
"Are you heading out?" I ask, my tone betraying a hint of curiosity and apprehension.
"I have a test race today. I will be back late," he informs me.
"Can I come watch you race?" I try my luck.
I always look forward to attending his races, but he seldom lets me accompany him. He explains that photographers and journalists are constantly present, and he prefers to keep his personal life out of the headlines. But I know the truth: Ethan doesn't want to give me the pleasure of being seen as his wife.
"It'll be swarming with photographers. It's better not to," he replies.
I lower my head. It's always the same response. But I would love to grace the cover of a magazine as Ethan Banks's wife. Yet the only thing he allows to grace magazine covers are his achievements and victories.
Apparently, I am none of those to Ethan.
"Please," I press, a note of desperation creeping into my voice.
"Ask the driver to take you later then," he suggests, his tone cold and dismissive.
Ethan doesn't even glance at the coffee I prepared for him. Instead, he immerses himself in his phone, his brows furrowed in concentration. It's clear he has no intention of engaging in further conversation.
"I can go with y..." My words falter as Mariah saunters into the kitchen, her presence casting a chilling shadow over the room.
She looks even more beautiful than I remembered. Her hair is haphazardly tied up in a messy bun on top of her head, and her eyes seem tired, with faint traces of sleep evident.
Draped in one of Ethan's shirts, it hangs loosely on her slender figure, accentuating her delicate features. As I observe her, a wave of sadness and insecurity washes over me, highlighting the stark contrast between her effortless allure and my own perceived inadequacy.
"Good morning," Mariah greets.
She approaches, her fingers lingering on Ethan's shoulder in an intimate gesture, and she casts a smile in my direction, as if the events of the previous night hadn't unfolded between her and my husband.
"Good morning. Did you sleep well?" Ethan asks.
"Too well. You could've woken me up," she jokes.
I watch it all unfold as if I am not even here.
"We didn't greet each other last night, Blair. I'm sorry, I arrived so late," she says with a hint of acidity in her tone, her words dripping with subtle condescension.
"I can imagine," my voice barely above a whisper, feeling a pang of insecurity wash over me.
"It's been so many years since we last met," she smiles.
Mariah grabs the coffee cup, her grip tight and deliberate. With a flick of her wrist, she brings the cup to her lips, taking a long sip. Then, with a sudden jerk, she forcefully expels the liquid, aiming it directly at me.
The scalding hot coffee splashes across my clothes, searing my skin with its heat. The shock of the attack renders me speechless, my heart pounding in my chest as I struggle to comprehend the humiliation of the moment.
"I am so, so sorry," Mariah raises her hands in a mocking gesture of innocence. "I am really sorry, but that coffee was awful!"
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Ethan's gaze lands on me, his expression steeped in irritation, as though blaming me for the mishap.Dora strides into the kitchen, her commanding presence accentuated by her piercing blue eyes and the elegant cascade of silver strands in her perfectly styled hair. Clad in a tailored suit that exudes sophistication, she announces, "Good morning," her gaze landing on me with an unmistakable intensity. "What's this? You're a mess, girl," she remarks, her tone dripping with disdain, leaving me feeling small and insignificant."I accidentally spat on her because the coffee was bitter. I will clean it all up," Mariah says."No need. Someone will take care of it later," Ethan intervenes, his indifference cutting deeper than any insult."Go clean yourself up," Dora orders me, her voice laced with contempt, "and call someone to clean up this mess." Her command reinforces my sense of worthlessness, leaving me to silently comply.I rush out, but Dora's words pierce through me like knives. "In
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His black suit clings to him like a second skin, accentuating every sinew of his powerful frame. The fabric, sleek and impeccably tailored, molds to his body with a precision that speaks of luxury and sophistication. I straighten my posture, forcing myself to maintain composure in the face of the storm brewing around us.His blue eyes, usually so inscrutable, now hold a glint of something unreadable, something that sends a ripple of unease through me. Our gazes lock in the mirror, a silent exchange charged with unspoken words and unfulfilled promises. I want to break the silence, to confront him about the betrayal that hangs between us like a dark cloud. But the words stick in my throat, trapped by the suffocating grip of the tension that surrounds us.I feel his gaze linger on me, traveling from head to toe, like a predator assessing its prey. A shiver runs down my spine as his eyes roam over my form, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. I hate that he has so much power over me
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"How am I interfering in your life?" "Your marriage to Ethan is a thorn in my side. So, let's cut to the chase, shall we? Ask for a divorce and vanish from his life," she replies."Why on earth would I do that?" I counter, my hands clenching into fists at my sides."So he can finally be with the woman he desires. Me," she sneers, her smirk infuriating as she steps closer, invading my space."If Ethan truly desired you, he would have ditched me. 3 years ago, he would have asked for your hand" "Is that what you believe?" she taunts, her gaze piercing as she closes the distance between us. "Is that why you turn a blind eye when I slip into his bed? Or wear his damn clothes?" Her smirk widens, a challenge in her eyes. "You know, Ethan even invited me to jet off with him next week. Picture this, baby, the two of us sipping wine in Italy for 15 glorious days," she continues, her words like daggers aimed at my heart. "Just like old times.""So it seems you've already got what you want. He'
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What a bitch!"I didn't miss out. You trapped me!" I retort."Don't accuse me of something so serious. You probably fell asleep and forgot," she counters dismissively."I was ready! You cheated!" I lunge forward, propelled by a surge of raw emotion, my fists clenched in a futile attempt to reclaim some semblance of control.Slap!The sharp sting of Mariah's hand across my cheek reverberates through the room, leaving a searing mark of humiliation that serves as a painful reminder of my vulnerability in this twisted game of power and manipulation."Do you dare raise your voice at me, you insolent bitch? Understand that there's a new ruler in this domain, and it's me. You will show me the reverence I deserve," she declares, her eyes ablaze with victorious malice, each word dripping with venom. "Ethan made a mistake in the past when he chose you, but I won't let him make that mistake again."I raise my hand in a futile gesture of retaliation, fueled by boiling anger and the sting of betra
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"That's okay. You'll remember later," the doctor reassures me, his smile gentle yet tinged with understanding. "You've fractured your arm and broken two ribs," the doctor informs me, his tone grave yet tinged with a hint of warmth. "The morphine will help mMariahge the pain for now." As he hands me the X-ray, I brace myself for the worst, but what he passes next catches me off guard— a second sheet. "And here," he continues, his expression unreadable, "is an ultrasound. Congratulations, dear, you're pregnant."My eyes widen in disbelief. Pre... pregnant?"No, it can't be true," I gasp, the words escaping my lips with a mixture of shock and incredulity. A disbelieving laugh escapes me, filling the sterile hospital room with a hollow echo that mirrors the emptiness I feel inside.The absurdity of the situation hits me like a tidal wave, crashing over me with relentless force. How could I, Blair Banks, find myself in such a surreal predicament? It's as if I've been thrust into the d
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There’s a pause, and in the silence I feel the weight of everything he’s not saying. The desperation of searching for someone the whole world said was lost. The crushing hope, followed by the crumbling, each time he thought he’d found me only to discover it was someone else. The pain of living between belief and resignation, over and over again.His fingers, still hovering in the air, finally move. They touch my face, light and hesitant, as if he fears I might disappear at any moment. The touch is warm, but his fingers tremble, and it breaks something inside me.He's trying to be strong, but he can't hide the vulnerability that pulsates beneath the surface."It's you now," he says, and the certainty in his voice is almost palpable. As if, after so long, he can finally breathe.He smiles, but the smile isn’t what I remember. It’s not confident or charming. It’s small, fragile, and so full of sadness that it stings my eyes.There's something devastating about seeing him like this. That
THE PILOT'S EX WIFE 199
My head moves slowly, against my will, as if an invisible thread were pulling me towards him. I don't want to look. I don't want to see. But fear and curiosity push me towards the inevitable realization that he is there, real, so close that even the air seems charged with his presence.My gaze first drops to the floor, to his shoes. A pair of casual sneakers, simple but they bring back memories that refuse to stay buried. Then my eyes move up to his legs. Black jeans, fitted, worn at the knees as if they’ve survived more than just time.My heart races, but I keep going. I glance down at his torso, noticing the dark sweater he’s wearing, elegant but in a casual way that only Ethan can pull off. He never had to try so hard to look… dangerous and attractive at the same time. He just was.It takes me longer than it should to look up at his face. As if my subconscious knew that this would be the point of no return. When I finally allow myself to look, I feel my heart almost stop.His beard
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BLAIR'S POVI walk quickly through the parking lot of the building, rummaging through my bag for my car keys. The dim light from the overhead lights creates shadows that dance on the floor, but my attention is completely focused on finding the keychain.If the traffic is okay today (a miracle, considering the time of day) I can still make it to school in time to pick up Miguel and take him home. He hates it when I'm late, and he doesn't spare me the frustrated look, but maybe I can make up for it with a pizza for dinner. That usually works.Finally, my fingers touch the cold metal of the key, and a relieved sigh escapes my lips. I continue walking, my thoughts already moving on to what Miguel might choose as a topping for the pizza this time… pepperoni, perhaps?But as I turn the corner where my car is parked, something makes the world around me slow down.There’s my car, exactly where it should be. But next to it, taking up my parking space, is a black SUV that immediately catches my
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"You were out of your mind that night." He looks at me now, his gaze a mixture of anger and pity. "And that's what happened. It was your car that hit her, Banks."The revelation hits me like a punch to the chest. “What?” I repeat, louder this time, my disbelief boiling over. “My car? Carter, my car?!” My voice rises, wavering between anger and desperation.“She would never feel safe with you again,” he says, his words cutting like knives. “After this, how could she?”My breathing quickens, and for a moment I feel like the world around me is falling apart. The air seems to escape my lungs, my mind in absolute chaos. Carter takes a step back, but I follow him, staring at him as if he’s the only thing still solid in my reality."What the fuck are you saying, Carter? My car…?" My voice breaks, begging for an answer I don't want to hear.I fall to my knees on the sidewalk, as if my legs can no longer support the weight of this revelation. My fingers tangle in my hair, pulling hard, as if t
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When I finally stop, my body is panting, my hands shaking from the impact. I look at Carter, who is on the ground, his face swollen and blood dripping from his lips.He doesn't move.He doesn't say anything.He just stands there, staring at me with a look of sadness, of regret.“I… I knew it,” he says, his voice weak.I don’t answer, I have no words. The anger that consumed me before fades, and in its place comes a deep emptiness, as if the world has lost all meaning. I stand, looking at Carter on the floor. Each breath feels harder, heavier.What do I do now?I feel my body weaken. My legs shake, and the pain in my hand from punching so much spreads through my body. I try to breathe, but the pressure in my chest won't go away. And the only thought that runs through my mind is the emptiness of knowing that Blair is still alive, and I don't know what to do with that.I don't know what to do with the rest of my life.Carter struggles to his feet, running a hand over his jaw with a paine
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I saw Blair. Or at least, I think I did. My mind no longer knows how to distinguish what is real from what is not. And while I stand there, lost in my own memories and hallucinations, Carter remains silent, his gaze fixed on me, unable to find words that could bring back what is already lost.He knows what's going on, but he doesn't know how to deal with it.He lowers his head, as if the very idea of saying the words is an unbearable weight. His voice is low, barely audible, but still, it seems to cut through the air between us, making everything around us disappear. "She's alive," he says, so quietly that for a moment I wonder if it's me, in my shattered sanity, who's imagining it all."What?" My voice is hoarse, a reflection of the disbelief that begins to take hold of me.He doesn't look at me, his eyes fixed on the floor, as if the words that just left his mouth were a condemnation. "You're not crazy, brother," he says with the same seriousness, but with a tone of regret. "Blair i
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The valet hesitates, looking at the now-gone car, and shakes his head, clearly confused. "I... I'm not sure. No one important, sir."Nobody important?“No,” I breathe deeply, trying to control the rising panic. “No, I know what I saw. She was important.” The emptiness of the street around me seems to grow, to swallow me. I no longer know if I’m speaking to him or to myself."Ethan!" Carter is behind me now, his voice full of concern and something else. He reaches out to me, taking my arm. "What are you doing? What's going on?"I look at him, my face tense, anger and fear mixed together. "She was here. She was here," I hiss, unsure if he'll understand the depth of what I'm saying."Who?" Carter asks, his voice low, full of confusion and concern.He cups my face in his hands, as if trying to check if I'm feverish, if my mind is somewhere far away. His fingers press against my skin, but I barely feel them."Blair," I whisper, almost as if my voice is a distant memory, an attempt to captu
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She finishes the glass in a single gulp, her gaze fixed on the horizon, as if she were losing herself in the lights of the city below. I follow her, drinking in her image, still immersed in my own thoughts."Good wines are not wasted," she murmurs with a seductive smile, her red lips almost provocative. The flirtation is clear, and for a moment, I find myself contemplating whether this is what I really want. But soon the answer comes silently: I am no longer the man who fell for this kind of game.When was the last time I was with a woman? The question resurfaces in my mind, and I know the answer. I know Blair was the last. There has never been another after her, despite the attempts, the distractions. No woman has been able to replace the space she left, not even for a moment. It grips me, swallows me, in a way I don't know how to escape."It's not wasted," I confirm, more to myself than to her. The sound of my own voice seems distant.The blonde steps forward, her plunging neckline
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“I’m developing a new sparkling wine brand,” says Cortez, a big-time alcoholic entrepreneur, in a tone of voice so enthusiastic that I almost feel guilty for not showing the slightest interest. “You know, I’m not new to the business. I thought we could do a campaign together. Something big.”I feign interest, crossing my arms and smiling, even though my mind has already begun to wander away from the conversation. “What were you thinking about?” I ask, my tone calculated with curiosity, so as not to seem disinterested.“Something you could incorporate into racing, you know?” Cortez continues, his voice growing even more animated. “Like, throwing champagne in the air when you win a race. That classic gesture, but with our own brand.” He smiles, pleased with the idea, as if he’s offering me a golden opportunity.I watch him intently for a few seconds, but soon I start to let his words fade into the background of my mind. He keeps babbling, but his words are like distant noises now. I'm n
