Abandoned, Now My Ex-Husband Begs Me Back

The heavy oak door of the Manhattan villa slammed open, rattling the frosted glass in the foyer.

Chloe marched inside, tossing her designer coat onto my velvet armchair. Martha, my housekeeper, shrank back against the wall, her hands trembling as she clutched a silver polishing cloth.

"You can leave, Martha," I said, descending the curved staircase.

"Don't go anywhere," Chloe snapped, pointing a manicured finger at the older woman. "She needs to see how pathetic her boss really is."

I stopped on the bottom step. "Get out of my house, Chloe."

"Your house?" Chloe laughed, a sharp, grating sound that echoed in the high-ceilinged room. She stepped closer, invading my personal space. "Nothing here belongs to you. Not the walls, not the furniture, and definitely not the man."

"It's past midnight. You're drunk."

"I'm perfectly sober." She held up her left wrist, letting the chandelier light catch the heavy diamonds there. "Do you like it? Lucas picked it out this afternoon. He said the jeweler designed it specifically for me."

I stared at the bracelet. My chest tightened, but I kept my voice flat. "Congratulations. Now leave."

"Why are you pretending you don't care?" Chloe leaned in, her perfume thick and suffocating. "You sit in this massive, dead mansion every single night. You wear the title of Mrs. Mercer, but what does it actually get you? He hasn't touched you in months."

"My marriage is none of your business."

"I am his business." Chloe smirked, crossing her arms. "He spent the entire weekend with me in the Hamptons. Did he tell you he was at a conference? We didn't leave the hotel room for two days."

I kept my expression blank. "Are you done?"

"I'm just getting started." She paced in front of the staircase, her stilettos snapping against the marble. "Do you even know what his favorite drink is anymore? Or what he likes to do on Sunday mornings? Because I do. He told me you just lie there. Cold. Unresponsive. He said being married to you is like living in a museum."

"If you're so secure in your position, why are you breaking into my home at midnight to brag?"

Her smile faltered. A flash of genuine irritation crossed her features. "Because I want you to file for divorce. I'm tired of sharing him."

"I'm not sharing anything. You're taking his scraps."

Chloe raised her hand, ready to slap me.

Before she could swing, the front door swung open again.

Lucas stepped inside, shedding his tailored jacket. He paused, taking in the scene.

Instantly, Chloe dropped her hand. Her face crumpled into a mask of pure terror. She rushed toward him, burying her face against his chest.

"Lucas," she whimpered, her voice entirely devoid of the venom from seconds ago. "I just came to drop off the files you left in my car, and she attacked me."

He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. His dark eyes locked onto mine, cold and unforgiving.

"What the hell is going on here, Ivy?" he demanded.

"She forced her way inside," I replied, keeping my posture straight. "And she was just about to hit me."

"Liar!" Chloe sobbed into his shirt. "She told me I was a cheap whore. She told Martha to throw me out on the street like trash."

Lucas stroked Chloe's hair, then glared at me. "Are you out of your mind?"

"Ask Martha," I said, gesturing to the housekeeper who still cowered in the corner.

"I don't need to ask the help," Lucas snapped. "Chloe is innocent. She has no reason to lie. You, on the other hand, have been acting like a paranoid lunatic for weeks. You've been impossible to deal with lately. Everything is an argument. Chloe is a colleague and a friend, and you treat her like dirt."

"A colleague?" A dry chuckle escaped my throat. "She's wearing the diamond bracelet you bought her today."

Lucas didn't even blink. "I bought it to thank her for her hard work on the merger. You're making a massive issue out of a simple gift. Stop being so damn narrow-minded."

"Narrow-minded. Right."

"Apologize to her," he ordered.

The words hung in the air. The absolute absurdity of his demand settled over me like a heavy blanket.

"Excuse me?" I asked.

"You heard me." Lucas tightened his grip on Chloe. "Tell Martha to brew some chamomile tea. Chloe is shaking. Then you are going to apologize for treating a guest in our home this way."

"You want me to apologize to the woman who broke into my house and insulted me in front of my staff?"

"I want you to stop acting like a jealous shrew," Lucas shot back, his voice rising. "Chloe came here to do me a favor. You decided to corner her and bully her because you're insecure. It's pathetic, Ivy. Grow up."

Chloe peeked out from his embrace, shooting me a triumphant smirk.

For three years, I had swallowed my pride. I had endured his late nights, his sudden business trips, the smell of foreign perfume on his collars. I had justified his coldness, telling myself he was just stressed, that he would eventually come back to me.

I had fought for a ghost.

The anger that had been simmering in my veins suddenly evaporated. The desperate need to make him understand, to make him choose me, vanished completely.

I felt nothing but a profound, hollow exhaustion.

"You're right," I said quietly.

Lucas frowned. He opened his mouth to speak, likely to issue another reprimand, but I didn't give him the chance.

I turned my back on them and walked across the foyer to the mahogany console table. My movements were brisk. I pulled open the top drawer and retrieved the manila folder I had hidden there three days ago.

I walked back to the center of the room.

"Ivy, what are you doing?" Lucas asked, impatience lacing his tone.

I tossed the folder onto the glass coffee table. It landed with a soft smack.

"I'm taking your advice," I said, my voice steady. "I'm growing up."

Lucas stared at the folder. "What is this?"

"Open it."

He released Chloe and stepped forward. He flipped the cover open.

His eyes scanned the first page, and the color drained from his face.

"Divorce agreement?" He read the words aloud as if they were written in a foreign language. His head snapped up, his jaw clenched tight. "Is this some kind of sick joke?"

"I've already signed it," I told him, pointing to the bottom of the page. "I don't want the house. I don't want your money. I just want out."

Chloe gasped in the background, though I couldn't tell if it was fake or genuine shock.

"You're throwing a tantrum," Lucas growled, picking up the papers. He waved them in the air. "You think you can use this to manipulate me into sending Chloe away? It won't work. I'm not playing these childish games, Ivy."

"It's not a game." I met his furious gaze without flinching. "My lawyer drafted those yesterday. The terms are simple. You keep your shares, I keep my dignity."

"Dignity?" He scoffed. "You're walking away from a life most women would kill for."

"Then let Chloe have it." I gestured to the woman standing behind him. "Marry her. Buy her a hundred bracelets. Move her into the master bedroom tonight. None of it matters to me anymore."

"Ivy—"

"Sign the papers, Lucas."

I turned toward the staircase, my spine rigid, refusing to let him see the final, pathetic tear that threatened to spill.

"If you walk up those stairs, we are done," he shouted, his voice echoing off the high ceilings. "I won't let you come crawling back tomorrow when you realize what you've thrown away!"

I paused on the first step.

"I threw it away a long time ago," I whispered, loud enough for him to hear.

I climbed the stairs, leaving them in the silence of the foyer.

But as I reached the landing, the sound of tearing paper ripped through the quiet house.