After the Divorce, I Made My Hockey Superstar Ex-Husband Kneel

Florence POV:

"Frankie, the doctor said it's just a mild sprain. You're worrying too much."

The first thing I saw through the two-inch gap in the oak door was my husband Francesco Cannon's hand-the same hand that broke jaws on the ice-He was at that moment stroking the ankle of the young and captivating heiress Candace Rich, as though she were made of glass and might shatter at any moment.

Sitting alone on the leather bench in the VIP waiting room, my hand froze on my sixteen-week baby bump. My phone screen still glowed with the morning headline: Francesco Cannon, the star captain of New York's NHL team, had scored a hat trick at Madison Square Garden last night.

Seeing that they were about to come out, I immediately stood up.

I stood up too fast. A dull ache shot through my lower back, but I barely felt it. Dragging my heavy legs out of the waiting room, I stepped into the hallway corner and shrank behind a massive pillar.

Candace leaned her head against Francesco's shoulder with a soft giggle. Francesco looked down at her, his ice-blue eyes-always so ruthless on the rink-filled with a warmth he had never once given me in two years of marriage.

Candace tilted her head, her gaze catching the hem of my coat. She deliberately raised her voice.

"Oh my, isn't that Auntie Florence?"

Francesco's tall frame stiffened. He snapped his head around, his gaze locking onto me behind the pillar. Dropping his hand from Candace's waist, he strode over. The warmth vanished from his face, replaced by a cold scowl that made the air around us drop ten degrees.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, towering over me as if interrogating a stalker.

I took a slow breath, digging my fingernails into my palms.

"It's my sixteen-week ultrasound today. You promised last month you'd come with me."

He furrowed his brow, looking like he barely remembered, then let out a short, cold laugh.

"I'm busy, Florence. I don't have time to play house with you. Have the driver take you home."

Candace limped over, covering her mouth in mock surprise.

"Gosh, Florence, you look awful. Pregnancy really takes a toll on a woman's face, doesn't it?"

I ignored her, keeping my eyes fixed on my husband.

"So your 'busy' schedule means accompanying her for a twisted ankle?"

Francesco took a heavy step forward, his sheer size forcing me half a step back against the wall.

"Candace's family runs Rich Holdings, the team's biggest sponsor. This is a PR obligation. What do you know about business?"

I was speechless. Before I became Francesco's invisible wife, I had been a graduate student at a top university-I'd even had the chance to pursue a doctorate-and now my own husband was insulting me in that tone.

My gaze dropped to a single long, blonde hair clinging to his silk tie. My stomach churned violently, acid rising in my throat. No PR obligation required that kind of proximity.

"Does a PR obligation require you to look at her like that?" I gritted my teeth, my voice trembling.

"Enough, Florence. Put away your neurotic jealousy." He turned his back on me without another glance. "Don't embarrass me in public."

He walked back to Candace, took her arm, and guided her into the VIP rehab room down the hall.

I stood alone in the empty corridor until a nurse approached with my chart, quietly asking if I was ready. I nodded numbly and followed her into the exam room. Lying on the cold table, listening to the strong, rapid heartbeat coming from the fetal monitor, hot tears finally spilled over my cheeks.

After the checkup, I didn't call the family driver. I flagged a yellow cab and rode back to our Upper East Side penthouse.

When I pushed open the heavy front door, our housekeeper, Maria Foster, was lounging on the living room sofa sipping coffee. Seeing me, she didn't even bother to stand up.

"Ma'am, Mr. Cannon won't be home for dinner tonight. The kitchen didn't prepare a portion for you," Maria said, rolling her eyes.

My hand paused as I took off my shoes. Looking at a servant who felt comfortable trampling all over me in my own home, the last fragile illusion I held onto shattered completely.

Instead of swallowing the insult in silence like I used to, I walked straight past her into the kitchen. I poured a tall glass of ice water and drank it down in one breath, letting the freezing liquid numb the ache in my chest. Resting my palm over my stomach, I stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the Manhattan skyline. I had to leave him, and I had to do it soon.