Rise of the Formidable Ex-wife (Lucia and Alex) novel Chapter 52

Chapter 52

Monica and Lucas stepped through the front door like shadows. Every movement felt heavy. Every step was measured but hollow. Their faces were pale. Their eyes were red. They were broken, each carrying the weight of five years of punishment before their mother would even consider speaking to them again. Five years to pay for months of betrayal.

The house smelled faintly of dust and old wood, of memories tainted by anger and neglect. Margaret appeared at the top of the stairs, arms crossed, her expression sharp and suspicious. “Where have you been? You’ve been gone for hours. I called Lucas six times. Six times and you didn’t answer.”

Lucas did not respond. He walked toward the stairs, head down, toward his room, toward any place that would let him

escape.

“I asked you a question,” Margaret said, her voice sharper now, a whip of accusation. “Where were you?”

“Out,” Lucas said, not stopping. Not looking at her.

“Out where? Doing what?” Margaret descended the stairs, blocking their path. “You don’t just disappear for hours. Your father is at work. I need to know where you are. I am responsible for you.”

Monica’s voice was flat. Defeated. Too tired to lie. Too broken to care. “We went to see Mom.”

Margaret’s face went white, then red. Her eyes narrowed. “You what?”

“We met Mom at a coffee shop,” Lucas said. Still not looking at her. “We tried to apologize. To explain. To ask for another chance.”

Margaret laughed, sharp and bitter. “And? What did your precious mother say? Did she welcome you back? Did she forgive you for choosing me? Did she?”

Monica whispered, trembling, “She told us to wait five years. Until I turn eighteen. She said we discarded her like trash. Now we have to face the consequences.”

Margaret’s laugh was cruel. Harsh. “Five years? She told her own children to wait five years? What kind of mother does that?”

Lucas finally looked at her, his eyes hard. Angry. “The kind we destroyed. The kind we laughed at. The kind we betrayed. The kind who has every right to hate us.”

“She does not hate you,” Margaret spat. “She is bitter. Jealous. Pathetic. She is punishing you to hurt me. To hurt your father. She is using you as weapons in her petty revenge.”

“She is not using us,” Monica said. Her voice shook, but there was certainty now. “She is protecting herself. From people who hurt her. Even her own children.”

“Protecting herself?” Margaret’s voice rose. “A real mother forgives her children. Understands them. Wants them back no matter what.”

“Like you wanted us?” Lucas’s voice was cold. “You called us burdens. Brats. You threw things at us. Hit us. Screamed at us. You never wanted us. You wanted Dad’s money. That is all.”

Margaret’s hand shot up, aiming for Lucas’s face.

Lucas reacted instantly. His hand shot out, stopping her wrist inches from his cheek. “Do not,” he said, voice deadly calm. “ Do not ever hit me again.”

Margaret struggled, trying to pull free. Lucas’s grip was firm, unyielding.

“Let go of me,” she hissed.

“My mother never hit me,” Lucas said, each word deliberate. “Not once in fifteen years. She never threw things at me. Never called me names. Never made me feel worthless. You have done all of that in months. I will not let it happen again.”

He released her wrist, pushed her hand away, and stepped back. Margaret’s face twisted with fury, her eyes wide and blazing.

“How dare you! How dare you put your hands on me! You ungrateful brat!” she screamed. “After everything I have done! After everything I have tolerated! You defend that woman? That cold, bitter, jealous woman who abandoned you?”

“She did not abandon us!” Monica’s voice cracked. She found her strength in anger. “We abandoned her! We chose you! We believed Dad’s lies! We destroyed her! And now we must live with it. We must wait five years. Because we threw away gold for trash!”

The words landed like hammers. The house felt smaller, heavier. Every wall seemed to lean in, judging them, suffocating.

Margaret laughed, sharp and high–pitched. “Gold? Your mother is not gold. She is ordinary. Boring. A kept woman living off Alexander Kane’s money. She is nothing. She has always been nothing.”

Chapter 52

“She is twice the woman you will ever be,” Lucas said. Voice hard. Steel in every syllable

Margaret lunged forward again, hand raised. Lusas caught her wrist. This time he pushed her back firmly. Not violent. Controlled. Definite.

“I said do not,” he warned. “Do not ever try it again.”

“You put your hands on me!” Margaret screamed. “Physically attacked me! Marco! MARCO! Your son attacked me!”

Footsteps thundered down the stairs Ria appeared. Hair messy, face shocked. “What is happening? Why is everyone screaming?”

She froze when she saw Lucas holding Margaret’s wrist. Margaret’s face red with fury. Monica crying. The tension frozen midair like a storm paused.

“He tried to hit him,” Margaret shouted, voice shaking, dramatic. “He grabbed me! Pushed me! He is violent! He needs to be punished!”

“He tried to hit him again,” Monica said. “Lucas just stopped her. Like he said. Like he has every right to stop her.”

Ria’s eyes widened. “She tried to hit you again?”

“Yes,” Lucas said. “And I told her never to do it again. My mother never hit me. Never made me feel worthless.”

The front door opened. Marco walked in. Briefcase in hand. Tie loosened. Exhaustion written on his face. Defeat in his shoulders.

“What happened?” he asked, voice tired, already knowing the answer.

“Your son attacked me!” Margaret cried, running to Marco. “He grabbed me! Pushed me! He is dangerous!”

Marco looked at Lucas, at his son. Fifteen. Almost sixteen. Growing. Stronger. Angry. Determined.

“Is that true?” Marco asked. Voice tired. Not wanting confrontation. Not wanting to choose.

“I stopped her from hitting me,” Lucas said. “She tried. Like before. I caught her hand. Told her never to do it again. That is all.”

“That is all?” Margaret’s voice rose, shrill, frantic. “He grabbed me! Pushed me! He is violent!”

“Did you try to hit him?” Marco asked Margaret. Finally the right question. Firm, piercing.

“That is not the point!” she shouted. “He is violent! He deserves discipline!”

“Answer the question,” Marco said. Cold now. “Did you try to hit him?”

Margaret flushed. “He was disrespectful. Defending that woman. He deserved punishment.”

“Not your mother,” Ria said, stepping forward. “You cannot discipline us. You cannot hit us. You cannot do anything but leave us alone.”

“I am your stepmother,” Margaret said. “I have every right.”

“You have no rights,” Lucas said. “You are Dad’s wife. That is all. Not our mother. Not our family. You are the woman who destroyed our family. Trash. Nothing else.”

Marco looked between his wife and his children. Torn. Weak. Helpless. He wanted to choose, but could not.

“They should not have gone to see Lucia without telling us,” he said finally. Weak. Defeated. “But Margaret, you cannot hit them. You cannot discipline them physically.”

“Cannot discipline them?” Margaret shrieked. “They are out of control! They defend her! They call me trash! They choose her over us! And you will just stand there?”

“What do you want me to do?” Marco whispered, voice cracked.

“Be a man!” Margaret shouted. “Control your children! Make them respect me! Make them choose us! Make them stop defending that woman!”

“We did choose you,” Monica said, voice quiet but firm. “At the party. At the wedding. Every day for months. We chose you. It was the worst mistake of our lives.”

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