An Unlikely Goddess: The Ex-Wife's Revenge

There was something clearly territorial in Sebastian' eyes.

Elaria felt her patience snap. She hadn't wanted to see him in the first place-wasn't that what lawyers were paid for? They were supposed to handle the divorce, not drag her into messy confrontations.

She went to shut the door, but Sebastian was faster. He stuck his foot between it and the frame, forcing his way inside with practiced ease.

As soon as the door clicked shut, she found herself wrapped tightly in his arms.

His grip around her waist was firm, almost desperate. Without giving her a chance to fight back, he kissed her hard-borderline frantic. She couldn't even break free; they stumbled toward the couch in a mix of resistance and reluctant surrender.

The couch cushions sunk under them, giving him the upper hand.

Sebastian had never acted like this before.

The room was flooded with warm light, her soft voice breaking the charged air, but none of it cut through the haze in his mind. Not until a faint red mole near her collarbone caught his eye-only then did he seem to pause.

His breathing was rough, and when he leaned in to whisper in her ear, his voice was hoarse, nearly broken. "You like me, don't you?"

Her whole body froze.

Because yes, she had liked Sebastian. Since she was twenty. He knew that. He had always known it. But he had never bothered to ask. And now, of all times, he decides to bring it up? Was he kidding?

She wasn't about to answer that.

So when she kept silent, he simply pressed her further.

Still tangled on the couch, Elaria gripped his hair, her voice faint from the close contact. "Sebastian, chill. It's not even my ovulation window. No matter how hard you try, nothing's gonna happen."

That got him to look up.

His dark, intense eyes locked onto hers. Her pale, delicate face with that slightly damp black hair spilling over the coffee-colored cushions-everything about her looked like a prelude to temptation. The oversized black shirt hung on her in tatters, barely doing its job.

She was the kind of beautiful that made men forget reason. And yet, Sebastian's eyes reddened slightly.

He reached down, gently resting a hand on her stomach.

Soft. Flat.

Elaria tilted her head back, voice trembling. "I'm not trying to get pregnant."

"I know."

His voice was even rougher than before.

Still, his hand lingered, warm and steady, like he was trying to memorize her shape. Time felt like it slowed to a crawl. Then he leaned in, kissing her again, the emotion in it so thick it weighed heavy.

Every touch, every move screamed of longing.

But just as quickly, he stopped. He was breathing hard, sprawled over her, clearly fighting back whatever storm was building inside.

He'd never lost control around her like this-never been this close to forgetting himself altogether.

Elaria pushed him off.

She looked worn but kept her calm as she reached into her nearby bag and pulled out the divorce papers, tossing them against his chest. Her voice was low and raspy. "You can hold the twenty percent in your name. I'll just take the dividends. God knows you understand what I've put into Halden & Co. these past four years. The real question is, do you think it's worth it?"

"It is," he said quietly.

"But I'm not giving it up."

His eyes darkened, unreadable.

She looked down at herself, then seemed to make a decision. Hooking an arm around his neck, she pressed up against him. "Sign the papers, and I'll give you what you want. You seem like you could use the stress relief."

His brow creased. "Where'd you even pick up stuff like that?"

Elaria gave a bitter smile. "Honestly, Sebastian? It kinda feels good to be the one bargaining now. I spent years breaking my back for you. And how did that pay off? Getting tossed out of Halden's front gate. So yeah, I figured I might as well ask for money."

Sebastian shifted, pulling away. He sat up straight, reached into his coat pocket, and fished out a pack of cigarettes. Lighting one with smooth precision, he took a drag.

He almost never smoked indoors.

That said enough. Elaria was pissed. That jerk had been all over her on the couch for ages, and now she looked like a total mess, while he still looked like he walked out of a fashion ad-coat on, shirt perfect, face smug.

Something felt off about Sebastian.

He had to be nursing a broken heart.

But honestly, she had no business digging into his love life anymore. Any woman with clarity knew better.

Elaria didn't bother kicking him out. Watching him puff away like some moody artist didn't interest her either. She pulled her damp hair back, secured it with a claw clip, slipped on her slippers, and headed for the kitchen to make herself a bowl of plain noodles.

She wasn't bad in the kitchen, actually. Just that after marrying Sebastian, there weren't many chances to cook.

Now that she lived alone, simple meals were all by her.

In a little while, the smell of scallions filled the kitchen-warm and comforting, like real life.

Sebastian sat on the couch and caught a glimpse of her from behind. That black shirt was dangerously short, her legs fully on display. She looked tempting without even trying. But then she bent over the cutting board, slicing green onions and ginger with practiced ease-oddly domestic.

"Wife material" suddenly felt like a real thing.

He stared, brows drawing together. Somehow, a version of Elaria like this... probably made a lot of men dream.

With that uncomfortable thought, Sebastian stubbed out his cigarette and started nosing around her place.

It was small, but well-kept.

She'd even transformed a room into a tiny studio.

He pulled back the cloth on her easel. There was a half-finished painting-stars and ocean, not him. Back then, when she painted, it was always him.

His fingertips brushed across the canvas. The strokes made his heart twist.

After a long pause, he stepped softly into the cramped kitchen and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. They hadn't been this close in forever.

His lips brushed her neck, his voice low and rough: "So... this is the life you want? A tiny place under 150 square meters, doing grocery runs, quietly turning into someone no one notices?"

Elaria didn't even flinch. After being married to him for four years, she'd dealt with this kind of closeness a lot.

This? This barely counted. Been there, done that.

Without pausing, she stirred her noodles and said coolly, "Yep. That's exactly the life I want. And once the divorce is final? It's gonna be even better. I could upgrade to 2000 square meters, hire ten maids, and if I feel like it, bring home a good-looking guy and party all night."

Sebastian's face changed. He bit her neck.

"You're still my wife," he said through gritted teeth.

"Not for long," she replied.

Then, just like that, he spun her around.

He looked at her-really looked at her-with those unreadable eyes. After a beat, his voice came out husky: "If that's really the main issue between us... Elaria, then I can give you that too."

Once upon a time, that might've worked.

But now? She'd built up immunity to Sebastian's charm. Sweet talk and smooth moves meant nothing. She'd already fallen hard once, paid the price, bled for it.

She turned back to her noodles, while he suddenly insisted on another bowl.

He clung to her, saying he was hungry.

Her hand paused mid-stir. The image of him and Bianca flashed in her mind. Her lips curled. "Yeah, I bet you're starving, Sebastian."

He reached out and ran his calloused fingers over her stomach. Tonight, for some reason, he was drawn there.

After a moment, his voice dropped even lower. "I didn't touch her."

Elaria didn't respond.

That night, Sebastian didn't leave. Even the dog tugging on his pants couldn't change his mind.

In the end, Elaria had to give up half her bed.

Right before sleeping, he pinned her down, fingers lacing tight with hers, and kissed her like his life depended on it.

Only on their wedding night had he ever acted like this.