No, Ex-Husband, You Already Lost Me

I wanted to grieve. I wanted to curl up in our bed, smell Lewis on the sheets, and cry for the baby he had ordered to be killed.

But as the iron gates loomed in front of me, I saw lights.

The manor was glowing. Music—soft, classical, the kind Lewis loved—drifted through the open windows. Cars lined the driveway.

A party?

My stomach twisted. I had just lost our child hours ago. He was throwing a party?

I pushed past the confused security guard at the gate—he knew my face, even if it was pale and haunted—and stumbled to the front door. I didn’t knock. I shoved it open.

Laughter died. Heads turned.

And there, in the center of the grand foyer, under the crystal chandelier, stood Lewis.

He was holding a champagne flute, his arm wrapped possessively around a woman in a shimmering gold dress.

Me.

No. Not me.

Celina.

She looked radiant. Healthy. Her hair was perfect, her skin glowing. She looked like the version of me that hadn’t been sold, hadn’t been broken, hadn’t just been scraped hollow by a surgeon’s knife.

A banner hung behind them: WELCOME HOME, MY LOVE.

The room went silent as they saw me. I was dripping wet from the rain, still wearing the cheap grey clothes the hospital gave me, looking like a ghost crashing a wedding.

Celina gasped. She pulled away from Lewis and rushed toward me, her hands fluttering to her mouth.

“Beatrice!” she cried, her voice dripping with sugary concern. “Oh my god! I thought you were resting! The doctor said you needed sleep!”

She reached for me, but I flinched back.

“Resting?” I choked out. “My baby is dead, Celina. And you’re… you’re throwing a party?”

“Shh, sister, please,” she whispered, tears instantly filling her eyes. “I’m so happy to see you. But why are you back? What are you doing here? You should be in bed.”

“What am I doing here? I live here!” I screamed. The grief turned into a fireball in my chest. “You left me! You ran away five years ago and left me to pay our parents' debts! You left me to be sold to the mafia! You left the family!”

Lewis stepped between us, shielding Celina from me as if I were the monster.

“That’s enough,” Lewis growled. His voice was ice. “Celina has been through enough. She lost her memory, Beatrice. She didn’t know. Don’t you dare blame her for your misfortune.”

My misfortune?

“You’re my husband,” I whispered, looking at him. “I needed you today. And you’re here… with her.”

“You’re being dramatic. Just go get some rest. You shouldn’t even be here. Now get out of sight. You’re ruining the mood.”

He turned his back on me.

Just like that.

In the past, if I even frowned, Lewis would burn the world down to make me smile. Now, I was bleeding out emotionally on his rug, and he was checking his watch.

“Fine,” I spat. “Have fun.”

I turned and ran up the stairs. Lewis didn’t follow.

I burst into the master bedroom—our bedroom.

It was already changed. My perfume was gone. My clothes were gone. The closet was filled with gold and silk. Her style.

I needed to leave. I needed to get away from this hell. But I had no money. Lewis had canceled my cards.

Then I remembered.

The study.

My mother’s jewelry. The vintage emerald set she had explicitly left for me in her will. It was the last piece of my old life, the only thing that was truly mine before I signed the marriage contract.

They were on the wall safe.

I ran to the study, my hands shaking. I punched in the code—our wedding date.

Beep. Click.

The heavy door swung open.

I grabbed the velvet pouch containing the emerald necklace and the diamond rings. I didn’t care about the market value. I just needed to sell them. I needed to survive.

WEEE-OOO! WEEE-OOO!

A piercing alarm shattered the air.

I froze. He had changed the silent protocols.

The door slammed open. Lewis stood there, his chest heaving. He wasn't just angry; he looked insulted. Two guards stood behind him.

"I give you a home, I give you a life," Lewis said, his voice dangerously low, walking toward me. "And this is how you repay me? By robbing me?"

"I'm not robbing you!" I cried, clutching the pouch to my chest. "These are mine! Mom left them to me! They are my personal property!"

Lewis stopped in front of me, towering over my trembling form. He didn't yell. He just held out his hand, palm up.

"You forget your place, Beatrice," he said coldly. "When we married, we merged assets. You don't have 'personal property.' You are my wife. You belong to me. And everything you hold belongs to this house."

"I need to leave, Lewis! I have nothing!"

"You have a roof over your head. You have food. You have me," he countered, his logic twisted and suffocating. "You only 'have nothing' because you are trying to run away. A loyal wife wants for nothing."

He snatched the pouch from my hands with a sharp tug.

"No!" I gasped, reaching for it.

He caught my wrist, his grip bruising. "Stop it. You're embarrassing yourself."

Celina appeared in the doorway, looking effortlessly elegant. She spotted the jewelry in Lewis's hand and her eyes lit up.

"Oh, Lewis," she sighed, walking over and resting her hand on his shoulder. "Is that Mother's emerald set? I remember she always promised that to the daughter who made the family proud."

Lewis looked at me—disheveled, desperate, rebellious—and then at Celina—perfect, compliant, beautiful.

"You're right," Lewis said. He turned to me, his eyes hard. "These jewels are for the Mistress of Langford Manor. Someone who upholds the dignity of this family. Not someone who tries to pawn them off like a common criminal."

He handed the pouch to Celina.

"Keep them safe, Celina. At least one of you knows how to appreciate quality."

"Thank you, Lewis," Celina beamed, clutching my inheritance. She looked at me with a sad, pitying smile. "Beatrice, don't be jealous. I'll take good care of them."

"You can't do this!" I screamed, the injustice burning my throat. "I am your wife, Lewis! Not her!"

"Then start acting like it," Lewis snapped. "Wives don't steal. Wives submit."

He turned to the guards.

"She's hysterical. She needs to cool down." He gestured to the door. "Take her to the basement holding room. Keep her there until the party is over. I can't have her manic episodes ruining Celina's welcome home celebration."

"Basement?" I choked out as the guards grabbed my arms. "Lewis, please! It's freezing down there! I just had surgery!"

"Then you should have stayed in bed instead of trying to rob my safe," he said dismissively, turning his back on me to admire the necklace on Celina's neck. "Take her away."