Rise of the Formidable Ex-wife (Lucia and Alex) novel Chapter 38

Chapter 38

Chapter 38

Margaret woke on the floor.

Cold marble pressed against her cheek. The room smelled of perfume and dust. Morning light slipped through the curtains and exposed everything she had done.

Shattered glass covered the carpet. A broken vase lay near the bed. Picture frames were cracked. Jewelry was scattered across the dresser and floor like something torn apart in a storm.

Her bedroom looked like a battlefield.

She pushed herself up slowly. Her body ached. Her head throbbed. For a moment she stood still and let the silence settle around her.

No one had come to check on her.

Good.

She stepped carefully over the glass and walked toward the mirror.

The woman staring back at her looked worn out. Hair tangled. Makeup smeared beneath swollen eyes. Her dress was wrinkled from sleeping on the ground.

She looked like someone who had lost.

Margaret placed both hands on the dresser and leaned closer to the mirror.

“I have not lost,” she whispered.

Lucia had walked into that gala glowing with confidence, with wealth, with a man who commanded every room he entered. Lucia had not needed to say anything. Her presence had been enough.

That was what hurt.

Not the dress. Not the diamond. Not the whispers.

The power.

Margaret straightened her shoulders.

Power could be taken back.

She would not become a broken woman on the floor. She would not let Lucia take her husband, her home, her

life.

She walked to the bathroom and turned on the shower.

The hot water hit her skin and she closed her eyes. She scrubbed hard. As if she could wash away the shame of last night. The screaming. The children’s frightened faces. Marco’s disappointment.

She stayed under the water until her breathing slowed.

When she stepped out, her expression had changed.

She dried her hair neatly. Applied soft makeup. Chose a pale sweater and fitted jeans. Something gentle. Something warm. Something that said stability.

Not rage.

Not jealousy.

Not fear.

By the time she left the bedroom, the broken pieces had already been swept into a corner. She had gathered the jewelry and hidden what she could not fix.

No one needed to see the evidence.

It was five in the morning. The house was quiet.

Margaret walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.

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She had not cooked in months. The housekeeper handled meals. She preferred lunches out, catered dinners, effortless living.

But this morning required effort.

She took out flour, eggs, milk. Bacon. Fresh fruit. Coffee beans.

The kitchen slowly filled with warmth. Butter melted in the pan. Pancakes browned. Bacon crackled. Coffee brewed.

The smell traveled through the house.

She arranged the table carefully. Plates aligned. Silverware straight. Napkins folded with care.

When she stepped back, the table looked perfect. Like something from a family magazine.

She inhaled deeply and waited.

At seven, footsteps echoed down the stairs.

Marco appeared first. He wore pajama pants and a tired expression. His hair was messy, his eyes still heavy with sleep.

He stopped when he saw the table.

“What’s going on?”

“Breakfast,” Margaret said gently. “I made it.”

He stared at her. “You cooked?”

“Yes.”

He did not move right away. He walked closer and glanced at the food as if expecting a trick.

More footsteps followed.

Monica came down, then Lucas and Ria. They slowed when they saw the scene.

Margaret smiled.

“Sit down,” she said softly. “Please.”

They exchanged uncertain looks before taking their seats.

Margaret served them one by one. Pancakes. Bacon. Fruit. She poured juice into glasses. Coffee into Marco’s

cup.

No one spoke.

Finally she sat beside Monica.

“I owe you an apology,” she said quietly.

Monica kept her eyes on her plate.

“What I said last night was cruel. I was angry. I was jealous. I threw something at you. That should never have happened.”

The girl’s hands tightened around her fork.

“You did not deserve that,” Margaret continued. “You are not a burden. You are not in the way. I am sorry made you feel small.”

Monica blinked quickly and nodded once.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Margaret gave her hand a brief squeeze and then looked at the other children.

“I am sorry to all of you.”

Lucas shifted in his seat. Ria watched her carefully.

After a moment Lucas took a bite of pancake.

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“This is good,” he said.

It surprised everyone.

Margaret allowed a small smile. “I’m glad.”

The tension in the room eased slightly. It did not disappear, but it softened.

When the children finished eating, they gathered their bags for school. Monica paused at the door and glanced back at Margaret.

There was still doubt in her eyes, but there was less fear.

That was enough for now.

When the door closed and the house became quiet again, Margaret began clearing the table.

Marco stood and joined her without speaking.

They washed dishes side by side. Warm water ran over their hands.

After a while, Margaret broke the silence.

“I meant what I said,” she began. “I don’t want to lose this family.”

Marco dried a plate slowly. “Last night was bad.”

“I know.” She looked at him. “Seeing Lucia shook me.”

He did not respond.

“I thought I was strong,” she continued. “But when I saw her, when I saw the way everyone looked at her, I felt like I was disappearing.”

Marco set the plate down.

“She has moved on,” he said. “She is with Alexander Kane now. That is her life.”

The name hung in the air.

Alexander Kane.

Wealth. Influence. Power.

“Do you regret leaving her?” Margaret asked.

Marco’s jaw tightened.

“I regret how I handled it,” he said carefully. “I regret humiliating her in public. I regret being careless.” “That is not what I asked.”

He looked at her then. Truly looked at her.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Sometimes I wonder if I destroyed something I should have protected.”

The honesty hurt more than anger would have.

Margaret swallowed.

“But you chose me,” she said.

“Yes.”

“Do you still choose me?”

Silence stretched between them.

“You are my wife,” he said finally. “I am not going back to Lucia.”

That was not the same answer.

Margaret stepped closer.

“I can be better,” she said. “I can support you. I can stop overspending. I can be someone you are proud of.” He searched her face as if trying to decide whether to believe her.

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“Another chance,” she whispered.

Marco exhaled slowly.

“Alright,” he said. “Another chance.”

Relief flooded through her chest.

She touched his face and kissed him softly.

He kissed her back.

The air shifted.

The kiss deepened. His hands moved to her waist. Hers slid up his chest.

“Come upstairs,” she murmured.

They moved toward the bedroom.

The room was cleaner now. The worst of the damage had been hidden. Sunlight fell gently across the bed.

Marco closed the door.

Margaret pulled off her sweater slowly. She watched his expression change from hesitation to desire. She stepped closer and pressed herself against him.

“I need to know we are still strong,” she whispered.

His hands gripped her firmly.

They kissed again, harder now. Urgent.

Clothes fell to the floor.

They moved to the bed, skin against skin. The connection was not gentle. It was fierce. Desperate. Driven by fear and need.

Marco held her tightly as if he could anchor himself through her body.

Margaret wrapped her legs around him, refusing to let distance exist between them.

“Tell me,” she breathed against his ear. “Tell me you love me.”

He hesitated only a second.

“I love you.”

“Say it again.”

“I love you.”

She needed the words. Needed to hear them clearly.

“I choose you,” he added.

The reassurance fueled her. She pulled him closer, demanding more, demanding proof.

Their movements grew faster. Rougher. They were not making love. They were fighting for control. Fighting against doubt.

When release finally came, it left them both breathless and quiet.

They lay tangled together, hearts still racing.

Margaret traced a finger over his chest.

“You meant it,” she said softly.

“Yes.”

“I will not let her take this from me,” she whispered. “I will not let anyone take you.”

He wrapped his arm around her.

“I am not leaving.”

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She closed her eyes, satisfied.

But Marco stared at the ceiling.

Lucia’s image returned to him. The way she had walked into the ballroom. The confidence in her eyes. The diamond at her throat. The calm strength she carried.

She had not needed him anymore.

That truth unsettled him.

He had once believed Lucia would never survive without him. He had believed she would crumble.

Instead, she had risen.

And he was the one struggling.

Margaret shifted beside him, resting her head on his shoulder.

He kissed her hair automatically.

“We will be fine,” he said.

He wanted to believe it.

Yet doubts crept in.

His company was losing investors. Bills were stacking up. The children were distant. And Margaret’s temper still frightened him.

He had chosen passion over stability.

He had chosen excitement over loyalty.

Now he lay in a bed that felt both familiar and foreign.

Lucia had loved him quietly for years. She had stood by him when he had nothing. She had built a home filled with patience and warmth.

He had called that boring.

Now she stood beside a man who could offer her the world.

Alexander Kane had looked at Marco during the gala with calm certainty. Not anger. Not jealousy.

Pity.

That look burned more than any insult.

Marco tightened his hold on Margaret as if that could erase the memory.

He had made his choice.

Admitting he might have been wrong would mean admitting he had destroyed something precious.

He was not ready for that.

Margaret stirred and looked up at him.

“You are thinking again,” she said lightly.

“Just about work.”

She studied him for a moment, then smiled and kissed his chest.

“I will help you,” she said. “I will stand beside you. You will see.”

He nodded.

He wanted to believe her.

But deep inside, he sensed the cracks.

He sensed that apologies and passion were not enough to repair what had been broken.

Lucia had not fought him. She had not begged. She had simply walked forward into a better life.

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That quiet strength unsettled him more than anger ever could.

Margaret closed her eyes and drifted into a light sleep.

Marco remained awake.

He listened to the steady rhythm of her breathing.

He wondered if love built on insecurity could survive.

He wondered if regret would grow louder with time.

Outside, the morning moved forward. The world continued as usual.

Inside that bedroom, two people clung to each other, pretending certainty.

Marco closed his eyes at last.

“We will be fine,” he repeated softly.

But the words felt thin.

For the first time, he understood something clearly.

Lucia had not won because she tried to hurt him.

She had won because she no longer needed him.

And that truth followed him into uneasy sleep.

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