No, Ex-Husband, You Already Lost Me

Four years ago, I was sold to the highest bidder at an auction.

I was twenty-two, standing on a stage in a velvet dress shivering under blinding lights. My parents sold me before they died. A debt payment to a mafia lord I had never met.

Then Lewis Langford stood up.

He didn’t bid. He walked up to the stage, shot the auctioneer in the leg, and took my hand.

“You’re coming with me,” he had said. His voice was low, safe, a promise.

He gave me a new life. He made me Mrs. Langford.

For four years, I thought I was the luckiest woman alive. Everyone did. The tabloids called us the golden couple. The underworld feared him, but he was gentle with me. He brushed my hair. He kissed my scars. He told me I was the only thing that mattered.

I believed him. God, I was so stupid.

Three weeks ago, the private jet was hijacked.

I was flying to meet him in Italy. Then the pilot screamed. Gunshots. Men in masks storming the cabin. They demanded a ransom. They demanded Lewis.

But Lewis didn’t answer.

For three days, I was held at gunpoint. No food. No water. Just the terrifying silence of a husband who wasn’t coming for me.

Then the rescue came. Not Lewis. Just his men. Gunfire. Smoke. A blow to my head that sent me into the dark.

When I woke up, the world was white and blurry.

The smell of antiseptic burned my nose. My head throbbed like it was being split open. I tried to move my hand, but my body felt heavy, weighed down by anesthesia.

I heard voices.

Low. Angry.

“...she’s stable, sir. The head injury was severe, but she’ll wake up soon.”

“Why?”

The word was sharp. Cold. It was Lewis.

My heart leaped. He was here. He came. I tried to open my eyes, to call his name, but my throat was too dry.

“Sir?” The doctor sounded confused.

“I asked why she is awake,” Lewis said, his voice devoid of any warmth. “You should have left her on that plane.”

My breath hitched. The machine beside me beeped faster.

“Boss,” another voice cut in. His right-hand man, Marcus. “We couldn’t just leave her. The press would talk. The ransom—”

“I don’t care about the ransom!” Lewis snapped. “I paid the hijackers to stall. I needed time.”

Time?

“Celina is with me now,” Lewis said softly.

The name hit me like a bullet.

Celina.

My twin sister. The one who ran away five years ago. The one who left me to clean up our parents' mess. The one who left me to be sold.

“She was the one I wanted four years ago. Beatrice was just… a placeholder. She looked like her. That was enough, so I bought Beatrice because I knew Celina would come back.”

Tears leaked from my closed eyes, sliding hot into my ears.

A placeholder?

Four years of marriage. Four years of ‘I love you’. Four years of waking up in his arms.

All because I had her face?

“It’s messy now,” Lewis muttered. “Celina is fragile. If she sees Beatrice… if she sees the cheap copy walking around… it will upset her.”

“What do you want us to do?” Marcus asked.

“Better if she’s paralyzed,” Lewis said flatly. “Or if she never wakes up. A coma would be convenient. A tragic widow is useful. A living ex-wife is a problem.”

I wanted to scream. I wanted to sit up and slap him. But I couldn’t move. I was trapped in my own body, listening to the man I loved discuss my murder like a business transaction.

Then the door opened.

“Mr. Langford,” a new voice said. Urgent. “We have the test results.”

“I don’t care,” Lewis said. “I’m leaving. Celina is waiting in the car.”

“Sir, you need to know,” the doctor insisted. “Mrs. Langford is pregnant. Seven weeks.”

The room went dead silent.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

A baby.

We had been trying for two years. I had prayed for this. I had imagined his face when I told him. He would cry. He would hold me. He would be so happy.

“Pregnant?” Lewis repeated.

“Yes,” the doctor said, sounding relieved. “But because of the trauma and the medication she’s on… there are risks. We need to start a treatment plan immediately to protect the fetus. With your consent, we can—”

“No.”

The word hung in the air. Heavy. Final.

“Sir?”

“There is no treatment plan,” Lewis said, his voice smooth as glass. “There is no baby.”

“Mr. Langford, the child is healthy. If we act now—”

“You’re not hearing me,” Lewis cut him off. He stepped closer to the bed. I could smell his cologne. The same scent I used to bury my face in.

He leaned down, his lips brushing my ear.

“Get rid of it,” he whispered, loud enough for the room to hear, cruel enough to kill me. “I finally have the original. I don’t need a spare heir from a counterfeit.”

He straightened up and walked toward the door.

“Clean this up, Doctor. If that thing is still inside her when I come back, you lose your license. And your hands.”

The door slammed shut.

And my world went black.

When I woke up again, the silence was absolute.

My hands flew to my stomach.

Flat. Soft. Empty.

The hollow ache inside me screamed louder than any physical pain. He did it. He actually did it.

I curled into a ball and screamed into the thin hospital pillow until my throat bled.

Hours later, I was discharged. No Lewis. No car. Just me and the clothes on my back, standing on the cold pavement.

Lewis had been my entire world, and now he was the monster who destroyed it.

I should just die. It would be easier.

But then I remembered his voice. “Better if she’s paralyzed.”

Rage, hot and sharp, pierced through my grief. No. I wouldn’t die. I would live. And I would make him pay.

I still remember it, the number of the woman who ran the auction four years ago. Madame V.

I found a payphone and dialed with shaking fingers.

“Hello?” Her voice was smooth, dangerous.

“It’s Beatrice,” I whispered. “The girl from Lot 77.”

“Beatrice? What did you need from me when your husband ruined my auction four years ago?”

“You remember the man who bid for me? The one who swore he’d pay anything to have me?”

“Yes. He was quite… upset when he lost.”

I took a deep breath, staring at my reflection in the glass.

“Call him,” I said. “Ask him if he still wants to buy me.”