Too Late, EX-Husband: The wife He Never Wanted

I stared at the man who had once fought the entire world for me.

The one who held me in the rain and whispered, "No one gets to hurt you."

As if he'd never existed at all.

A long silence passed.

Slowly, I unclenched my fists, fingers numb from how tightly I'd been gripping.

My palms were stained deep red.

"No objections."

Soon enough, I wouldn't be here anyway.

What did it matter to me who slept in the master bedroom?

Malcolm's expression was stone-cold as he issued his orders. "Take care of Lillian while you're home. There's a gala the evening after tomorrow. You'll both attend. The gowns will be delivered tonight."

I answered quietly.

The next afternoon, I stood in the living room, watching the housekeeper press the gowns inch by careful inch.

I had no desire to play the charming wife at another one of Malcolm's galas.

But I refused to show up looking like a wreck. The gown and the jewelry were things I always inspected myself.

Lillian stood off to the side, her voice small and tentative. "Prudence, could you teach me the etiquette for these kinds of events?"

I didn't want to acknowledge her, but the housekeeper was right there, and I still had a role to play: the composed wife of a powerful man.

So I swallowed what I felt and walked her through the tedious formalities, one by one.

Lillian listened attentively. Then she said, "Prudence, I'd love to learn how to press clothes too. So I can iron Malcolm's shirts for him. Would that be okay?"

My fingers stilled for just a beat before I nodded.

"Sure."

Lillian would be the next Mrs. Delgado soon enough. Teaching her how to press his shirts made no difference to me.

I placed my hand over the iron, demonstrating the angle and pressure.

What I didn't expect was Lillian's hand shooting over mine, clamping down hard on my wrist.

I couldn't react in time.

The iron slammed flat against the fabric with a dull thud.

The smell of scorched cloth hit instantly, the material blackening beneath it.

Before I could wrench free, she had already let go.

And in the same breath, Lillian raised her hand and slapped herself across the face. Hard.

I realized what was happening and lunged to stop her, but it was too late.

Lillian was already rushing out, eyes brimming red.

She threw herself into Malcolm's arms, trembling all over, her sobs coming in broken fragments. "Malcolm, Prudence ruined my gown... and she told me not to tell you... I just wanted to learn to press your shirts, and she hit me, called me ungrateful, told me to get out, said I wasn't worthy of carrying your children..."

"What the hell is wrong with you, Prudence?!"

Malcolm's face darkened. His gaze cut toward me, ice-cold.

My stomach dropped. I forced the words out. "Lillian held my hand down and destroyed the gown herself. The slap was self-inflicted. The housekeeper was standing right there. Ask her."

"I... I didn't see anything..."

The housekeeper kept her head low, her voice shaking. She wouldn't even look at me.

I turned to stare at her, unable to believe that the woman I had trusted for seven years would betray me.

Before I could say another word—

Crack.

A slap landed full across my face.

The force snapped my head to the side.

A high-pitched ringing filled my ears, as if something had been split open inside my skull.

Malcolm stared at me. There was no hesitation in his eyes. Nothing but raw, undisguised contempt.

"When did you become this vicious, Prudence?"

"You refuse to have children yourself, and now you're threatening Lillian? You actually hit her?"

His voice grew colder with every word.

"Do you have any idea that obstructing an heir violates the Delgado family code?"

I drew a deep breath, refusing to accept a crime I hadn't committed. "I won't confess to something I didn't do. Check the security footage. Every inch of this house is covered by cameras."

"No need. You think Lillian would make this up? She's guileless. She doesn't have your kind of scheming mind."

Even my explanations were pointless now.

Malcolm had already convicted me.

"Since you enjoy ironing so much, you can stay in this room and press every last piece of clothing until you're done. Your gown goes to Lillian tomorrow. You can wear the ruined one yourself."

Malcolm let out a cold laugh, shoved me aside, and turned to leave.

My foot slipped. My lower back slammed into the iron I hadn't had time to move.

A searing hiss.

The pain detonated across my skin.

I couldn't hold back the scream. My whole body folded in on itself, vision going black at the edges.

Malcolm's footsteps faltered. He turned back, almost instinctively, concern flickering across his face before he could mask it.

But in the next second, Lillian pressed a hand to her cheek, her voice soft and trembling. "Malcolm... my face hurts so much..."

She'd learned from last time. The slap had been hard enough to leave a convincing flush, red and raw-looking, but calibrated just right so it wouldn't swell.

After all, swelling would mean she couldn't attend the gala.

Malcolm forgot what he'd been about to do. He reached for her face at once, his voice turning gentle. "Don't worry. Let me take you to get something for it."

His hand rested protectively against her back.

He didn't look at me again.

The housekeeper had already slipped away.

I straightened up slowly. Pain pulsed through my lower back in waves.

I went to get the burn ointment myself. My hands were shaking so badly it took several tries to twist off the cap.

In that moment, I couldn't tell which hurt more.

My back, or my heart.

I was supposed to have stopped expecting anything from Malcolm by now.

Because he'd deliberately kept me from buying a new gown, I couldn't wear the ruined one to the gala. On the night of the event, I had no choice but to put on an old dress.

The fabric was dated, the cut no longer flattering by current standards, but I still smoothed the hem inch by inch.

The entire ride there, I didn't say a single word to Malcolm.

He gave a cold scoff. The moment the car stopped, he stepped out with Lillian.

The door closed in my face.

I was a step behind. By the time I climbed out, one hand braced against my aching back, they were already walking ahead, side by side.

Under the lights, the two of them looked effortless together, intimate and natural. Every bit the married couple.

And I trailed far behind.

The moment I stepped through the entrance of the ballroom, the whispers began.

"Look at her. Why is the chairman's wife lagging behind?"

"He's had plenty of mistresses, but none of them have ever gotten this kind of treatment..."

"Looks like Mrs. Delgado has truly fallen out of favor."