His Unwanted Wife Is Another Man's Treasure

Ellie POV

I shouldn't have come back.

I had packed my bags. I had booked the flight. Yet, my hands had turned the wheel toward the Thorne estate as if possessed, pulled by a gravity I hated but couldn't fight. I told myself I needed closure. I told myself I needed to see the garden one last time.

The secret garden.

It was hidden behind the east wing, a maze of high hedges and ancient roses that Marcus used to call our sanctuary. It was the only place in this blood-soaked world where he hadn't worn a gun.

I parked the rental car on the service road and slipped through the rusted iron gate. The air smelled of damp earth and dying jasmine.

I walked silently, my sneakers sinking into the moss. I wanted to see the old oak tree. The one Marcus planted the day he asked me to marry him.

"As long as this tree stands," he had said, his hands covered in soil, "I will stand by you."

I rounded the final hedge and stopped dead.

They were already there.

Marcus sat on the stone bench-the one he had hand-carved for me. Izzy was curled into his side, her head resting on his shoulder. He was pointing at something in the distance, a soft smile on his face. It was the kind of smile he used to save for me before the world turned him into a weapon.

"It's beautiful, Marcus," Izzy cooed. She stood up and walked over to the oak tree. "But this... this is ugly."

She pointed a manicured finger at the trunk.

I stepped closer, hidden by the shadows of the leaves. I saw what she was pointing at. A jagged, broken branch hung limply from the side of the tree. It looked like a broken arm.

But that wasn't what held my attention.

It was the trunk.

Marcus stood up and joined her. He pulled a chisel from his pocket.

"It's just old bark," he said.

He pressed the metal against the wood. Against the spot where, three years ago, he had carved M & E.

Scrape. Scrape.

The sound tore through the quiet like nails on a chalkboard. It vibrated in my teeth.

"Make it a heart," Izzy said, tracing the fresh wound in the wood. "Put M & I. Make it deep so it lasts forever."

"Forever," Marcus repeated.

The word made my stomach turn over. I felt dizzy, the ground tilting beneath my feet. Forever was a lie. It was just a word men used to get what they wanted until something shinier came along.

I looked at the stone bench. The intricate vines he had carved into the legs were chipped. And on the seat, where our names used to be, there was a crude, fresh depression. He had chiseled us away.

He had erased me.

A rage, hot and sudden, flooded my veins. It wasn't the cold numbness of the gala. This was fire.

I stepped out of the shadows. I bent down and grabbed a jagged rock from the garden border.

I didn't speak. I walked to the bench and brought the rock down.

Crack.

The sound was a gunshot in the quiet garden.

Marcus and Izzy spun around.

I hit the stone again. And again. I wanted to pulverize the memory. I wanted to turn the stone back into dust.

"Ellie?" Marcus took a step forward, his eyes wide.

Izzy recovered first. She looked at the rock in my hand, then at my face, and laughed. It was a high, cruel sound.

"Oh, look," she said, leaning against the mutilated tree. "The ex-wife is throwing a tantrum. Honey, try not to break a nail. We were going to replace that ugly thing anyway."

I stopped hitting the bench. My breathing was ragged. My hand was bleeding where the rock had cut my palm.

"You replaced it," I said, my voice shaking, "just like you replaced your honor."

Izzy walked toward me. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a silver object. She tossed it.

It landed in the dirt at my feet. It was the Thorne family crest. The pin I had worn on my wedding dress.

"You don't have the right to wear this anymore," she whispered. "You're just a guest here. And guests should know when to leave."

The disrespect was physical. It was a slap.

I dropped the rock. I didn't think. I just reacted.

I shoved her.

It wasn't a hard shove. I just wanted her away from me. I wanted her perfume out of my nose.

But Izzy stumbled back. Her heel caught on a root, and she fell backward into the heavy wooden trellis covered in climbing roses.

The wood was old. It groaned, cracked, and came crashing down.

"Ah!" Izzy screamed.

The heavy timber slammed into the ground. I tried to jump back, but a crossbeam caught my ankle. I fell hard, the breath knocked out of me. The trellis pinned my leg to the ground, the thorns digging into my calf through my jeans.

Pain shot up my leg. I gasped, trying to push the wood off.

"Marcus!" Izzy wailed. She was sitting on the grass, the top of the trellis resting lightly on her lap. "My arm! It scratched me!"

Marcus was moving before the dust settled. He sprinted across the grass.

He reached us.

I looked up at him. Our eyes met. He saw me pinned. He saw the blood soaking through my denim.

He looked away.

He stepped over my leg.

He didn't just walk past me. He stepped over me.

"I've got you," he said, his voice thick with panic. He lifted the light section of wood off Izzy and scooped her into his arms. "Let me see. Are you okay?"

I lay in the dirt, the weight of the beam crushing my shin, watching my husband check his mistress for scratches while I couldn't move.

The silence that followed was louder than the crash.

"Marcus," I whispered.

He didn't look at me. He kept his eyes on Izzy.

"You're pathetic, Ellie," he said. His voice was ice. "Attacking her? In my home? We are done. Don't you ever show your face to me again."

He turned and walked toward the house, carrying her like she was precious glass.

I was left in the dirt.

I didn't cry. I pushed the beam off my leg with a grunt of effort. I stood up, testing my weight. It hurt, but nothing was broken.

Except everything else.

I limped to my car. I didn't look back. I didn't look back at the house.

He stepped over me.

That was the closure I needed.