Second Chance of the Ex Wife

Barlor Wayne was the most powerful man in Celest City, a figure everyone respected or feared, depending on where they stood. Meanwhile, in the hospital, Dr. Kenny was in shambles, his hands trembling as he fumbled with his phone. He tried dialing the same number over and over, but only after the fourth attempt did he get it right.

His voice shook as he spoke, "Sir, she's losing a lot of blood, and we've run out of the necessary supplies. Please, if you can, come see her one last time."

The response was ice-cold. "She's not dead yet? Call me when she is," the voice on the other end replied, cutting the call before Dr. Kenny could say another word.

Lying on the hospital bed, Linda Autumn's heart sank into despair. Was this really how little she meant to him? Even now, when she was barely holding onto life, Barlor couldn't be bothered to see her?

The beeping from the machine grew louder, then flatlined. Linda felt the last bit of strength drain from her body, her spirit slipping away. She was only twenty-seven, and this was how it ended-in a sterile hospital room, alone, after giving everything she had for a man who didn't care.

In her final moments, she thought about how she had loved Barlor deeply, how she had thrown away her birthright as the Autumn family's only daughter for him. But that love had led her here, to a tragic and lonely death.

Her vision blurred, and she let her eyes close for the last time. If she could do it over, she wouldn't make the same mistakes. She wouldn't choose him again.

Then, unexpectedly, she heard a voice. "Madam, Mr. Wayne wants to take you to the auction tonight. What would you like to wear?"

Linda opened her eyes. It was Allie Lowe, her assistant. The scene around her was too familiar-it was Barlor's mansion, their home. This was shortly after they got married, a time when she still believed they could have a real marriage. 

But that was five years ago. What was happening? Was this some kind of dream, or had she been given another chance? 

Allie held up a white gown, her expression hopeful. "This one, maybe?"

Linda remembered how she used to dress in white because that's what Viole Stale, the woman Barlor truly loved, always wore. She had foolishly tried to mimic Viole, hoping to catch Barlor's eye. 

But not this time. Linda glanced at the dress, then shook her head. "No. I'll wear this instead," she said, picking out a bright red gown from the closet. 

Allie looked concerned. "But Mr. Wayne prefers the white..."

Linda smiled faintly, almost bitterly. "I don't care. Get rid of all the white dresses. I never liked them."

Allie hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. "As you wish, Madam."

Linda stared at her reflection in the mirror. She was still young, still beautiful. But she knew how this story ended if she followed the same path. She was determined to change it.

That evening, Linda dressed in the crimson gown, the rich color accentuating her every curve. Her makeup was flawless, her hair styled into soft waves that framed her face. A beauty mark just below her eye added a touch of allure. She was striking, like a vision from a painting.

As she walked into the auction hall, she felt all eyes turn toward her, including those of Fern Lane, a man known for his sharp wit and even sharper tongue. He took in her appearance with keen interest.

"Who is that?" Fern asked, intrigued.

Vardy Foster, his friend and notorious playboy, grinned beside him. "That's Linda Autumn, Barlor Wayne' wife. But rumor has it Barlor's here with another woman. We might just see some fireworks tonight."

Fern didn't reply, his attention fixed on Linda as she moved gracefully through the crowd.

Inside the venue, Viole Stale clung nervously to Barlor's arm, her white dress a stark contrast to the vibrant colors around her. "I'm not sure I should be here," she murmured, uncertainty in her voice.

Barlor, ever composed, replied, "You'll get used to it. You'll be attending more of these in the future."

As they approached the main entrance, Barlor's secretary, Larry Lewis, stepped forward. "Mr. Wayne, isn't Madam supposed to join you tonight?"

Barlor's face hardened. "I told you to tell her not to come."

Larry glanced at Viole, who quickly interjected, "I asked Larry not to. I didn't want people talking about us. It seemed better for Linda to accompany you instead."

Barlor sighed, rubbing his temples. The last thing he wanted was Linda showing up tonight.

"Mr. Wayne," Viole whispered, her voice tinged with worry.

"It's fine," Barlor replied, though his irritation was clear. He turned to Larry. "Go outside and stop her. Make sure she's sent back home if you see her."

But before Larry could move, a ripple of shock passed through the crowd. 

"It's too late," Larry said quietly, his eyes wide as he saw Linda enter the hall.

Barlor's eyes followed Larry's, narrowing as they both noticed the striking splash of red among the crowd. Linda stood out in a wine-red gown that accentuated her every movement. Whether she smiled or furrowed her brow, every gesture seemed to captivate those around her. The media cameras focused on her as if she were a movie star on a red carpet.

It took Barlor a moment to realize that the woman in red was Linda. This was not the Linda he was used to seeing-the Linda who favored soft, understated colors and simple styles. Tonight, she was a revelation.

Beside him, Viole's face paled. This was her first time seeing Linda in person, and the contrast between them was stark. Where Linda exuded sophistication and allure, Viole seemed young, almost out of place, like a schoolgirl who had wandered into the wrong event.

"She's... beautiful," Viole murmured, unable to hide the tinge of envy in her voice.

Linda had already spotted Barlor and Viole. With calm composure, she walked toward them, her smile never faltering. Viole expected Linda to be shocked or embarrassed upon seeing Barlor with another woman, but Linda's demeanor remained unruffled, as if she had anticipated this moment.

"Is that Mrs. Wayne? Then who's the girl beside Mr. Wayne?" one of the reporters whispered, adding to the murmur of curiosity that followed Linda's every step.

When Linda reached them, she slipped her hand into Barlor's and turned to Viole with a gracious smile. "You must be Viole, the student Barlor mentioned. I'm Linda. You can call me Mrs. Wayne."

Viole, feeling the weight of the title Linda had just introduced herself with, awkwardly released Barlor's arm and shook Linda's hand. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Wayne," she managed, though the words felt like a thorn in her throat.