No More Unloved Wife: The Mafia Queen Returns

Two weeks had passed, yet Edric had not once set foot inside the mansion.

Rumors about him and Bella began to spread throughout high society. Newspapers, gossip columns, and social media were flooded with photos, Edric in a black tuxedo, standing beside Bella, the woman who had once been his first love. Their smiles were so familiar, so intimate, that no one could possibly doubt their closeness.

Bella had returned and was starting her own career as an independent businesswoman. Edric, of course, had used his vast network of connections to help her build her new empire.

Their circle of friends, friends of both Edric and Bella, were more than eager to show their support for the pair. After all, they had never truly accepted Anne.

All Anne needed to do was sit at home with her phone, and she could easily follow Edric and Bella's every move. Those same friends never missed a chance to send her new photos of the two, always with comments sharp enough to cut.

Anne had once tried to ignore those messages. She had always known Edric's friends despised her.

But this time, she refused to look away.

"Bella's back. Maybe it's time you left."

"She's the one he really loves."

"Stop clinging to something that was never yours."

That evening, Anne read through each message, line by line. Then she typed a single sentence in reply, and sent it to them all.

"I'll make the right decision soon."

No anger. No defense.

She was simply done living like a woman begging for scraps of affection.

After that, the group chat went silent. But soon, her inbox began to fill again, this time with new photos, more intimate than before.

They came from Bella's own account.

Anne opened every one of them.

Edric's hand on Bella's shoulder. Their glasses touch mid-toast. The way he smiled down at her, softer than he ever had with Anne.

Anne didn't delete them.

Instead, she took screenshots, then sent them all to Edric, with a brief message attached:

"She sent these to me. Do you have anything to say?"

"If not, at least tell her to stop. It's getting tiresome."

No reply.

No message.

No call.

But from that day onward, Bella stopped.

Anne supposed Edric had dealt with it in his usual way, cold, efficient, without drama, yet just merciful enough to spare Bella's pride.

In the quiet that followed, Anne realized how long it had been since she'd felt peace. No whispers. No pity. No chaos.

Just silence, the kind that lets a person finally hear their own heartbeat again.

She began to rebuild her world from small things.

Each morning, she opened the window wide, letting the scent of jasmine drift in.

She sorted her clothes, her own in one pile, Edric's shirts neatly folded and placed aside.

No resentment. Just detachment.

The things that no longer belonged to her deserved a quiet corner of their own, far from the new life she was beginning to imagine.

By afternoon, she organized the shelves, the drawers, and the books.

A photo frame, once turned facedown, was lifted upright. In it, Edric was smiling faintly, looking at the camera, not at her.

Anne stared at it for a long moment, then took the picture out and placed it into a drawer.

No tears came this time. Only a strange lightness, as if a stone had finally been lifted off her chest.

She pulled her suitcase from under the bed, brushed off the dust. The wheels clicked softly against the floor, a delicate, decisive sound.

From the closet, she packed a few dresses, some books, and a nearly empty bottle of perfume. No room for nostalgia.

On the table lay the house keys, beside an envelope filled with their marriage papers, bank documents, and legal files Edric had once asked her to manage.

Anne slipped everything into a new envelope and wrote two words across the front:

"To Return."

She placed it beside a cold cup of coffee, and the gold ring she had just removed from her finger.

The room felt still. Perfectly still. No trembling, no pain. Only the steady rhythm of quiet breath.

Anne zipped her suitcase.

The sound sliced through the silence, sharp and clean, a line drawn between past and present.

She looked around the room one last time, at the fragments of a loveless marriage.

Everything was quiet now. Beautifully quiet.

She whispered softly to herself,

"Finally... it's time to leave this cage."

The lights went out.

Only the small bedside lamp remained, its golden glow falling on the suitcase by the door.

Outside, rain began to fall, the first of the season.

But inside her heart, the storm had already passed.

Still, Edric's silence, his endless avoidance, sparked a deep, simmering anger in her chest.

What a coward he was.

He should have faced her by now, should have looked her in the eye and spoken of divorce like a man. Yet he hadn't even bothered to send a single message.

Anne's hand tightened around the envelope holding the signed divorce papers.

"Fine," she murmured. "If you're too much of a coward to end it, then I will."

A cold smile curved her lips, one sharp enough to draw blood.