Desperate for His Ex wife

No Longer Mrs. Cooley: The Architect's Return

Xiao Xiaosu

I went to the City Clerk’s office for a routine copy of my marriage license to finalize a trust fund audit. I expected a simple piece of paper, but the clerk’s pitying look told me my entire life was a lie. "The license was never finalized, Ms. Oliver. In the eyes of the state, you are single." The three-hundred-guest wedding at the Plaza and the Vogue features meant nothing. My husband, Gray Cooley, had intentionally filed the documents with a "procedural defect" so he could discard me without a legal divorce. Moments later, an iCloud invite titled "Our Little Secret" popped up on my screen. It was a photo of my best friend, Brylee, holding a positive pregnancy test at our Hamptons estate. Gray’s text to her was the final blow: "Happy anniversary, babe. This baby is the best gift. Once the trust unlocks today, we’re done with the charade." I soon discovered they were even stealing my career, reassigning my architectural masterpiece to Brylee while preparing my eviction notice. Gray's mother called me a "barren mule" in a leaked recording, mocking the infertility I suffered after saving Gray’s life in a construction accident. I wasn't a wife; I was a three-year placeholder used to secure his inheritance. How could the man I bled for treat me like a disposable prop? How could my best friend carry his child while pretending to comfort me through my darkest moments? The betrayal burned until it turned into a cold, hard stone of fury. I didn't cry. Instead, I walked into the penthouse of the Barretts, the Cooleys' most powerful rivals. I signed a marriage contract with Kane Barrett, the man the tabloids called the "Beast of Wall Street." "I want a wedding," I told his father, my voice steady and lethal. "Bigger than the one I had with Gray." If they wanted me gone, they would have to watch me become the woman who owns their world.

Modern Revenge Divorce

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"Madam, should I reheat your dinner?" The maid's voice was soft, not certain of what to say.

Isabella looked down at the meal before her, she hadn't touched it. A bottle of red wine, roasted veggies and steak were served.

Everything Nolan enjoyed.

She had carefully prepared everything in the hopes that he would return home on time for once

Her fingers tightened around the table's edge. No Maria, thank you. "You're free to sleep."

Maria nodded after hesitating, giving Isabella a look filled with something close to sympathy before heading out.

Isabella looked at the wall clock and sighed.

12:07 a.m.

She wasn't shocked. Yes she was disappointed, perhaps hurt. But taken aback? Never.

She was surrounded by the icy silence of the mansion. Everything appeared flawless because of the golden glow cast by the chandelier above.

Classy, without love.

Her mind went back to a time as she rubbed a finger over the rim of her wine glass.

At one point, Nolan had hurried home just to see her smile. He had pulled her in his arms as if he couldn't bear to be apart from her for another moment, kissed her in the doorway and whispered he had missed her.

That Nolan was gone. Or perhaps he had never existed.

She was brought back to reality by a sudden rush of wind that shook the glass windows. She looked at the front door, somewhat expecting it to swing open. He wouldn't come. Not yet.

She reached for the fork, forcing herself to take a bite.

The food had no taste and was cold. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and chewed mechanically.

The mansion was a masterpiece, designed to impress rather than comfort. Marble floors, high ceilings and priceless wall arts. It should have felt like home but it didn't.

This house had been her favourite. She had once thought it would be great starting a life here with Nolan. Now, it felt like a prison made of glass. Beautiful but fragile, waiting for the smallest crack to shatter completely.

The sound of footsteps made her pause. Not Nolan. His shoes had a heavier sound, more deliberate. The staff. The ones who still moved around, pretending not to notice how their mistress sat alone every night, waiting for a husband who barely remembered she existed.

They never said anything. Never asked questions. Just like she never asked where Nolan was when he didn't come home.

She pushed her plate away, appetite gone. She should sleep and pretend she didn't care. Pretend she wouldn't be sitting in this same spot tomorrow, hoping for something different.

Just as she stood, the front door creaked open.

Her heart jumped before she could stop it.

He was home.

Finally.

°°°

Isabella stood frozen as Nolan stepped inside. He ran one hand through his dark hair and untied his tie with the other one. As usual, his expression was unreadable but his sharp features were set in exhaustion.

After giving her a quick acknowledgement, he looked away and shrugged off his suit jacket.

Then the scent hit her.

Not his usual cologne. Not the faint scent of whiskey from business meetings.

Perfume. Expensive. Floral with a touch of vanilla. Not hers.

Isabella's fingers curled against her silk dress. She forced herself to remain motionless but her breath came faster.

Don't overthink it.

She swallowed and spoke, keeping her voice steady. "You're late."

Nolan didn't flinch. Didn't even look guilty. He just rolled his shoulders as if the weight of the day clung to him. "Work ran late."

Her fingernails sank into her hands. "All night?"

A pause. Then a slight shift in his position. "Yes."

That was it. No explanation, no apology. Just that single word, spoken like a fact she had no right to question.

There was denying of the overpowered scent that hung between them.