Rise of the Formidable Ex-wife (Lucia and Alex) novel Chapter 44

Chapter 44

The dining room gleamed under soft lighting, the table set with the expensive china Margaret had purchased to replace Lucia’s “outdated” collection. Crystal glasses caught the light, throwing tiny rainbows across the white tablecloth. Everything looked perfect, exactly as Margaret had demanded.

Ria sat straighter in her chair, nervously adjusting her portfolio beside her plate. Tonight was supposed to be her moment, a celebration of her first official school presentation at the design competition. She’d won third place, a bronze medal that now sat propped against the centerpiece. Margaret had insisted on celebrating with a formal family dinner.

“More wine, Marco?” Margaret held the bottle poised over her husband’s glass, her smile tight at the edges. She’d already refilled her own glass three times, a flush creeping up her neck.

Marco nodded, distracted by something on his phone. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, new wrinkles cutting deeper lines around his mouth. The past weeks had aged him visibly as his company’s troubles mounted. “Dad, you promised no phones at dinner,” Monica said quietly from her place at the far end of the table. At thirteen, she’d been relegated to the foot of the table, as far from Margaret as possible, an arrangement that suited them both.

“Sorry, princess.” Marco set his phone down, attempting a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Just checking some numbers from today’s meeting.”

“Always working, Margaret sighed, the words edged with something sharper than concern. “Though with the way things are going, perhaps you should work more.”

Marco’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, reaching for his newly filled wine glass instead.

“Let’s focus on Ria’s good news,” Lucas suggested, casting a warning glance at his stepmother. At almost sixteen, he had become the family peacekeeper, constantly working to defuse the land mines Margaret planted in every conversation.

“Yes!” Margaret brightened artificially. “Tell us all about it, Ria. How did the judges react to your presentation?” Ria fidgeted with her napkin. “They seemed impressed with the concepts. Especially the sustainable fashion approach to transitional pieces.”

“That was brilliant,” Lucas said. “Using recycled materials in high–end designs.”

Margaret’s smile flickered. “Third place is quite an achievement for a first competition. Of course, first or second would have been better, but third is… adequate.”

“Third place out of fifty schools,” Ria said quietly, her excitement dimming.

“I’m very proud of you,” Marco offered, though his mind was clearly elsewhere, his eyes drifting back to his phone.

Ria pulled glossy printouts from her portfolio. “These are the trend forecasts I used for next season. Deep burgundies, forest greens, and this golden yellow as an accent.”

Monica leaned forward, studying the images with genuine interest. “The yellow won’t work. Purple would be better, something in the lavender family. It would balance the heaviness of the other colors.”

Margaret laughed, the sound like glass breaking. “How adorable. Fashion advice from someone who wears the same two dresses in rotation because we can’t afford new ones.”

Monica’s cheeks flushed, but she didn’t back down. “I read the trend forecasts online. Purple is gaining momentum for fall, especially dusty shades that complement those deeper tones.”

“Oh, Monica,” Margaret sighed, reaching for the wine again. “You’re embarrassingly naive about how the real world works. The industry decides trends, not the other way around. People will buy what designers tell them to buy.”

“Actually,” Ria said hesitantly, “some of the judges mentioned that purple accents might have pushed my design into second place. They said the yellow felt dated.”

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Chapter 44

Margaret’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Are you suggesting Monica knows better than you, who actually competed? Who actually won a medal?”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Ria shrank back in her chair, the brief moment of support for her sister evaporating under Margaret’s glare.

“No, I just meant…”

“You meant to undermine me,” Margaret cut in, her voice hardening as she poured yet another glass of wine. To suggest your sullen little sister understands fashion better than everything I’ve taught you.”

Marco cleared his throat. “I think that’s enough wine, Margaret.”

Wrong move. Margaret’s head swiveled toward him, her eyes flashing with sudden fury.

“Enough wine? You’re monitoring my drinking now?” She laughed, a brittle sound with no humor. “That’s rich, coming from the man who can’t manage to keep his own company afloat.”

Marco flinched as if struck. “We’re celebrating Ria tonight. Let’s not…”

“Celebrating what, exactly?” Margaret’s voice rose sharply. “Her bronze medal that no one will remember in a week? Let’s be honest, Ria has mediocre talent at best. Third place proves it.”

Ria’s face crumpled, tears springing to her eyes. Lucas reached across the table, squeezing her hand in support.

“That’s enough,” he said firmly. “You’re drunk, Margaret.”

“Oh, the academic genius speaks!” Margaret swung her attention to Lucas like a predator spotting new prey. ” Tell me, how’s that Ashford dream working out? Still crying over daddy’s broken promises?” Lucas’s face paled, but he held her gaze steadily. “We’re not discussing this now.”

“Why not? Afraid to admit your impractical academic ambitions are worthless in the real world?” Margaret took another long swallow of wine. “Let me save you some time, no one cares about your science competitions or your precious grades. Money and connections are what matter, and your father is rapidly losing both.”

Marco slammed his hand on the table, making the crystal jump. “That’s enough, Margaret!”

The room fell silent, shock rippling through the air. Marco rarely raised his voice, had once prided himself on his cool control in all situations.

Margaret smiled, a slow, dangerous curve of her lips. “Temper, temper, Marco. How common of you.” “You’re upsetting the children,” he said, fighting to lower his voice.

“The children?” Margaret laughed again, gesturing wildly with her glass, wine sloshing dangerously close to the rim. “You mean your children. Your disappointing, ungrateful burdens that I’ve somehow inherited.” Monica pushed back from the table, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. “I’d like to be excused.” “Sit down,” Margaret ordered. “We’re having a family dinner. A family that I’m tolerating, by the way, since your father’s business is circling the drain.”

“Margaret, please,” Marco begged, his anger giving way to something closer to fear. “You’ve had too much to drink. Let’s continue this conversation when you’re…”

“When I’m what? Sober? Compliant? Willing to pretend we’re not on the verge of financial ruin because you’re too weak to make hard decisions?” Margaret’s voice turned venomous. “I didn’t sign up for this, Marco. I agreed to marry a successful businessman, not a failure grasping at straws.”

Ria wiped tears from her cheeks, looking between her father and stepmother with growing horror. “Dad? Is the company really failing?”

Marco couldn’t meet his daughter’s eyes. “We’re facing some temporary challenges. Nothing for you to worry about.”

“Temporary?” Margaret snorted. “Is that what you call losing Stone Maritime? Is that what you call your stock dropping thirty percent in one day? Is that what you call the board meeting scheduled to discuss your removal?”

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The blood drained from Marco’s face. “How did you know about the board meeting?”

“I make it my business to know everything that affects me,” Margaret replied coolly. “Including exactly how much time you have left before you’re voted out of your own company.”

For a moment, no one spoke. The revelation hung in the air like poison gas, suffocating the last pretense of normalcy in the room.

“You didn’t tell us it was that bad,” Lucas said quietly.

Marco’s shoulders slumped. “I was handling it. I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Handling it?” Margaret laughed, the sound ugly and raw. “Is that what you call begging investors for extensions? Scrambling to replace partnerships you destroyed through your own arrogance?”

Ria gasped. “Dad?”

“A temporary setback, Marco mumbled, unable to meet his children’s accusing stares. “The company will recover once we secure new contracts.”

“Which is why I should have insisted you put more assets in my name,” Margaret snapped, slamming her glass down. “I told you months ago to protect our wealth, but you were too stubborn, too sentimental about your precious Lucia’s legacy.”

The children exchanged confused glances. Lucas leaned forward. “What do you mean, put assets in your name?”

“Protection,” Margaret hissed, her face twisting with fury. “From creditors, from lawsuits, from your father’s incompetence. But no, he refused, saying some properties were meant for you children.” Her eyes narrowed at Marco. “And now everything is at risk because of your weakness.”

Monica’s voice cut through the tension, quiet but clear. “You wanted everything in your name all along, didn’t you? Was that part of the plan when you got rid of Mom?”

Marco’s face crumpled. For a moment, he looked old, defeated in a way his children had never seen before. “It wasn’t like that,” he insisted weakly. “Your mother and I… things changed. People change.”

“Not as much as your bank accounts have changed,” Margaret snarled, her mask of sophistication completely gone now. “When we married, you were worth hundreds of millions. Now you’re hemorrhaging money, and falling fast.” She drained her wine glass and slammed it down. “This isn’t what I signed up for, Marco.” Ria stared at her stepmother, seeing her clearly for the first time. “So it really was about money.” “Everything is about money,” Margaret sneered. “Your precious mother knew that too, with her careful budgets and practical choices. She just wasn’t smart enough to secure her position properly before your father threw her away.”

“Don’t talk about Mom that way,” Lucas warned, his hands clenched into fists on the table.

“Or what?” Margaret challenged, leaning toward him. “You’ll do what exactly, science boy? Run to Mommy? Oh wait, she didn’t want any of you enough to fight for you.” Her laugh was cruel and sharp. “Face it, she traded up for a better family. A better daughter. That Lena girl.”

Monica flinched, tears streaming down her face now.

“She didn’t abandon us,” Lucas protested, his voice shaking. “We chose you. We chose Dad. We stood there at that party and laughed while he humiliated her.”

“And she let you,” Margaret shot back. “A real mother would have fought for her children. But Lucia? She ran. She chose Alexander Kane and his billions over all of you.”

“Because we chose you over her!” Lucas stood abruptly, his chair falling backward with a crash. “We believed Dad’s lies. We believed you when you said she was cold and controlling. We believed everything because we were stupid kids who wanted Dad to be happy.”

Margaret’s eyes glittered dangerously. “Careful, Lucas. You live under this roof because I allow it.”

“It’s still my house,” Marco interjected weakly, a flash of his old authority trying to return. “I paid for it. I built

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Chapter 44

this life.”

“Built?” Margaret’s voice turned shrill. “You call this built? A failing company, mounting debts, and three ungrateful children who hate me? I could replace you with someone more successful tomorrow, Marco. Men with actual money. Actual power. Actual prospects.”

The words hung in the air like a slap. Marco stared at his wife, something breaking behind his eyes. Lucas stood fully now, his voice steady despite the fury blazing in his eyes. “You want to know what Dad really did? He threw away gold for trash. He had Mom. Seventeen years with someone who loved him, who raised his children, who built a home. And he threw her away for you.” He looked at Margaret with pure contempt.” Expensive, well–dressed trash, but trash all the same.”

Margaret’s face went white, then red. She grabbed her wine glass and hurled it at Lucas. He dodged, the glass shattering against the wall behind him.

“Get out!” she screamed. “Get out of my sight!”

“Your sight?” Lucas laughed bitterly. “This is our house. Our home. The one Mom made for us before you destroyed everything.”

Marco finally found his voice. “Lucas, that’s enough.”

Lucas stood fully now, his chair scraping back. “It’s still Dad’s house,” he said, his voice steady but his eyes blazing with fury. “He paid for it. He built this life.”

“Built?” Margaret’s voice turned shrill. “You call this built? A failing company, mounting debts, and three ungrateful stepchildren who treat me like the enemy?”

Lucas’s eyes narrowed. “You are the enemy. You destroyed our family, manipulated our father, and now you’re showing your true colors when things get tough.” His voice was controlled, but his words cut like knives. “You‘ re nothing but trash, Margaret. Expensive, well–dressed trash, but trash all the same.”

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