The Ex-Wife's Grand Return

My husband, Brady, was supposed to be the love of my life, the man who promised to protect me forever. Instead, he was the one who hurt me the most.

He forced me to sign divorce papers, accusing me of corporate espionage and sabotaging company projects, all while his first love, Hettie, who was supposedly dead, reappeared, pregnant with his child.

My family was gone, my mother disowned me, and my father died while I was working late, a choice I'd regret forever. I was dying, suffering from late-stage cancer, and he didn't even know, or care. He was too busy with Hettie, who was allergic to the flowers I tended for him, the ones he loved because Hettie loved them.

He accused me of having an affair with my adoptive brother, Callum, who was also my doctor, the only person who truly cared for me. He called me disgusting, a skeleton, and told me no one loved me.

I was terrified that if I fought back, I would lose even the right to hear his voice on the phone. I was so weak, so pathetic.

But I wouldn't let him win.

I signed the divorce papers, giving him Simon Corp, the company he always wanted to destroy.

I faked my death, hoping he would finally be happy.

But I was wrong.

Three years later, I returned as Aurora Morgan, a powerful woman with a new identity, ready to make him pay for everything he had done.

Chapter 1

The law office of Simon Corp was always cold, the air thick with the scent of paper and quiet ambition. It was a place of power, and Karissa Simon was supposed to be its queen.

"I, Karissa Simon, being of sound mind and body, do hereby declare this to be my last will and testament." Her voice was soft, but it carried in the silent room.

Darcy Dodson, her chief legal counsel and oldest friend, watched her with a worried frown. Karissa was anything but of sound body. She was frail, the life seeming to drain from her a little more each day.

"I bequeath my entire estate, including all my shares in Simon Corp, my personal properties, and all other assets, to one person."

The pen in Darcy' s hand paused. She knew what was coming.

"To my husband, Brady Kennedy."

The name hung in the air, a testament to a love that had never been returned.

Darcy finally broke the formal procedure. "Karissa, are you sure about this?"

"I'm sure, Darcy."

"Let me at least get you some water. Or call a doctor. You look pale."

Karissa shook her head, a faint smile on her lips. "No, I need to get home."

"Why?" Darcy pleaded, her voice cracking slightly. "He won't even be there."

"I have to cook dinner for him." It was a duty she had performed every single day of their four-year marriage. A duty he had never once acknowledged by eating her food.

She remembered the countless nights, the perfectly prepared meals growing cold on the table, her hope dimming with the setting sun.

A deep sense of loss settled in her chest, a familiar ache.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Darcy." Karissa stood, her movements slow and deliberate.

She walked out of the office, her figure looking thin and fragile against the large glass doors.

Darcy watched her go, a bitter thought crossing her mind. Karissa Simon, the celebrated heiress of the city, was now just a shadow, clinging to a man who despised her.

The drive home was quiet. The city lights blurred into long streaks of color, mirroring the tears that welled in Karissa's eyes but never fell.

She pulled out her phone, her thumb hovering over his name. She pressed the call button.

It rang several times before he answered. "What do you want?" His voice was as cold as ever.

"Brady," she said, the name a soft caress.

"Don't call me that," he snapped. "It's disgusting."

The familiar pain twisted in her gut. She had called him that since they were children, back when he had promised to protect her forever.

Then, she heard another voice in the background, a woman's voice, soft and sweet. "Brady, who is it?"

His tone softened instantly. "No one important."

Karissa's breath hitched.

"Don't call me again unless it's to sign the divorce papers," he said, his voice laced with contempt.

She tried to keep her voice steady, to hide the tremor. "I'll have dinner ready for you."

The line went dead.

She stared at the phone, the silence of the car amplifying the ringing in her ears. A single tear finally escaped, tracing a cold path down her cheek.

She was so weak. So pathetic.

She was terrified that if she fought back, she would lose even the right to hear his voice on the phone.

When she arrived at their villa, the place was dark and empty. It was a house he'd had designed for his first love, filled with things she was allergic to but had never dared to remove.

She went to the kitchen, a space she had transformed from an unfamiliar territory to her only sanctuary. She had learned to cook for him, a world away from the boardrooms and balance sheets she was raised with.

The house was cold, echoing with a profound loneliness. She turned on some soft music, the melody a weak shield against the silence.

The clock ticked past midnight. He wasn't coming home.

She cleaned up the untouched food, her heart a leaden weight in her chest. As she was about to turn off the lights and go to her empty bed, she heard the front door open.

Hope, that foolish, stubborn thing, flared in her chest.

He walked in, bringing a gust of cold night air with him. He smelled of another woman's perfume.

"Brady, you're back," she said, her voice full of a relief she couldn't hide. "Are you hungry? I can heat up some food."

She reached out to take his coat.

He suddenly grabbed her, his grip like iron, and pushed her against the wall. His eyes were dark with a mix of alcohol and something else, something possessive and cruel.

Karissa' s heart hammered against her ribs. She was scared. "Brady, what are you doing?"

He leaned in, his lips about to crush hers, but the sound of his name on her lips seemed to sober him up slightly. He recoiled as if burned.

"Don't touch me," he snarled, his voice a low growl. "You make me sick."

He turned and strode up the stairs, leaving her shaking against the wall.

The emotional whiplash made her stomach churn, and a wave of nausea washed over her. It was always like this. One moment of hope, followed by a crushing blow of reality.

Why did he hate her so much? She couldn't understand.

She cleaned herself up, the shame clinging to her like a second skin. She went upstairs and quietly prepared his pajamas and a glass of warm milk, placing them by his bedside as she always did.

She waited for a long time.

He finally came out of the shower, a towel slung low on his hips. He didn't even look at her.

He looked at the divorce papers on his nightstand, which she hadn't signed. Then he turned to her, his face a mask of cold fury.

"I want a divorce, Karissa."

She stared at him, her world tilting on its axis. "Why? Why now?"

He looked at her, and the words he spoke next shattered what was left of her heart.

"Because Hettie is back."