Rise of the Formidable Ex-wife (Lucia and Alex) novel Chapter 62

Chapter 62

Chapter 62

The package arrived on Tuesday morning.

Monica saw it the moment she stepped into the kitchen. It sat in the center of the table like it belonged there. A black box. Smooth. Elegant. Gold Tettering pressed into the surface. Her name written clearly.

Monica Hart.

Her chest tightened.

She stopped walking.

For a few seconds, she just stood there and stared at it. Something about it felt too deliberate. Too careful. She had not ordered anything. No one had told her to expect anything.

Her fingers curled slightly at her sides.

A strange feeling crept up her spine. Not fear exactly. Not excitement either. Something in between. Something that made her heart beat faster.

“Why are you standing there like that?”

Margaret’s voice cut through the silence.

Monica blinked and looked up. Margaret was already seated at the table, holding her coffee cup, watching her with narrowed eyes.

Monica swallowed. “I… I don’t know what it is.”

Margaret followed her gaze. Her eyes landed on the box. Her expression changed immediately. Suspicion settled in.

“It’s addressed to you,” Margaret said slowly.

“Yes.”

“Then open it.”

Lucas was already sitting at the table, leaning back slightly in his chair. His eyes moved from Monica to the box, then back. to her face.

“Go on,” he said quietly. “I’m right here.”

Monica nodded, even though her hands still felt unsteady.

She walked toward the table. Each step felt heavier than it should. She pulled out the chair and sat down slowly, her eyes never leaving the box.

Up close, it looked even more expensive.

The gold lettering caught the morning light. The edges were perfect. No scratches. No dents. Whoever sent this had money. A lot of it.

Her fingers hovered over the lid.

Then she opened it.

Inside was white tissue paper. Soft. Carefully folded. The kind that made everything inside feel important.

Monica took a slow breath and peeled it back.

A letter sat on top.

Thick paper. Heavy. Not something cheap. The header was embossed.

“Elite International Arts Foundation.”

Her heart skipped.

Her fingers tightened around the paper as she lifted it.

She read.

“Dear Miss Monica Hart…”

Her breathing slowed. Then quickened again.

“…we are pleased to inform you…”

Her eyes moved faster.

“…recipient of our Distinguished Young Artist Scholarship…”

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Her throat went dry.

folly funded six–week intensive program in Milan, Italy…”

Everything inside her stopped.

Milan.

Italy.

Six weeks.

All expenses paid.

Her vision blurred for a second.

“…based on your exceptional first place artwork…”

Her chest ached.

“…congratulations on this prestigious honor.”

The room went quiet.

Monica lowered the letter slowly. Her hands were shaking now. Not a little. lot.

“I…” Her voice came out soft. “I got in.”

Lucas leaned forward. “What?”

“I got in,” she repeated, louder this time, but still breathless. “It’s a scholarship. An art program. In Milan. They’re paying for everything.”

Lucas grabbed the letter from her hand and read quickly. His eyes widened.

“This is real,” he said. “Monica, this is huge.”

Margaret stood up so fast her chair scraped loudly against the floor, She snatched the letter next.

“You are not going to Italy,” she said immediately, before she even finished reading.

Monica blinked. “What?”

“You’re thirteen,” Margaret continued sharply. “You have school. You have responsibilities. You don’t just run off to another country because of some letter.”

“School will be out,” Lucas said, his voice calm but firm. “It’s a summer program. And they’re covering everything.”

Margaret ignored him. She kept reading. Her expression shifted slowly. The anger did not disappear, but something else appeared under it.

Interest.

Calculation.

She reached into the box again.

“There’s more,” she muttered.

Her fingers found a smaller case. Velvet. Dark. Expensive.

She opened it.

The light caught immediately.

For a second, no one spoke.

The diamond shimmered. Not in a simple way. It broke the light into tiny pieces, sending reflections across the table, the walls, even Monica’s hands.

The chain was thin. White gold. Delicate. But the pendant held all the attention.

It was beautiful.

Monica leaned forward slightly, her breath caught in her chest.

“Can I… see it?” she asked.

Margaret did not answer right away.

She was staring at it too hard.

Her grip tightened around the case.

“Do you know what this is?” Margaret said quietly.

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Monica shook her head.

This is not normal jewelry,” Margaret continued. Her voice had changed. It sounded different now. Lower. Sharper. “This is a high–grade diamond. Look at the clarity. The cut. The size.”

Lucas frownied “What does that mean?”

“It means this is worth a fortune.

Monica let out a small breath. “How much?”

Margaret looked up.

“At least two million.”

The words dropped heavily into the room.

Monica shook her head immediately. “No. That’s not possible. It’s just part of the scholarship. It can’t be worth that much.”

“It is,” Margaret said. “I know what I’m looking at.”

She lifted the necklace slightly, watching how the light moved through it.

“This is not something you give to a child for winning a school competition.”

Monica swallowed.

“There was… there was supposed to be a message,” she said softly. “On the back.”

Margaret turned it over.

She read the engraving.

Her face changed again.

“For the artist who sees truth,” she read slowly. “For the girl who honors what was discarded. For the daughter who understands gold.”

Silence filled the room again.

Margaret’s eyes lifted slowly to Monica.

“Who sent this?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Monica said.

But something inside her tightened.

She knew.

Not for sure. Not completely. But deep down, in a place she could not explain, she knew.

The words. The meaning. The way it connected to her painting.

To her mother.

“To the daughter who understands gold.”

Her chest hurt.

Margaret’s grip on the necklace tightened.

“You’re not keeping this,” she said.

Monica’s head snapped up. “What?”

“This is too valuable,” Margaret continued. “Too suspicious. No one sends a thirteen–year–old something like this without a reason. This needs to be handled properly.”

“It was sent to me,” Monica said. Her voice was steadier now. “It’s mine.”

“You’re a child,” Margaret snapped. “You don’t get to make that decision.”

“It’s mine,” Monica repeated.

Margaret stepped closer.

“I am responsible for this family,” she said. “And that includes anything of value that comes into this house.”

“You mean you want to sell it,” Lucas said flatly.

Margaret shot him a sharp look. “I want to protect us.”

“No,” Monica said. She stood up, clutching the necklace tightly in her hand. “You want to take it.”

Margaret’s patience snapped.

Chapter 62

“Give it to me.”

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Margaret reached out.

Monica pulled back.

The movement was fast.

Too fast.

Margaret grabbed her wrist.

Hard.

Pain shot up Monica’s arm.

“Give it to me,” Margaret said again, her voice low and dangerous.

“Let go!” Monica struggled, trying to pull free.

Margaret did not loosen her grip.

She pulled Monica closer, her other hand reaching for the necklace.

Monica twisted her body, trying to shield it.

The chain pressed into her palm.

Her heart pounded.

“No. It’s mine.”

Margaret’s nails dragged across Monica’s neck as she reached.

Sharp pain exploded across her skin.

Monica gasped.

Warmth followed.

Wet.

Blood.

“ENOUGH!”

Marco’s voice filled the room.

He moved quickly.

Faster than Monica had ever seen him move before.

He grabbed Margaret’s wrist and pulled her hand away.

“Let her go.”

His voice was quiet, but it carried weight.

Margaret released Monica slowly.

But her eyes stayed locked on the necklace.

“She can’t keep that,” Margaret said. “It’s too much. Too suspicious.”

“You want it,” Marco said.

Margaret froze.

“You see money,” he continued. “Nothing else.”

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“I see danger,” Margaret snapped. “Someone is sending expensive gifts to your daughter. Don’t you think that matters?”

“The scholarship is real,” Lucas said. “The foundation is legitimate. This is recognition.”

“And the necklace?” Margaret demanded.

Marco looked at it again.

Then at Monica.

Then at the small line of blood on her neck.

His jaw tightened.

“You hurt her,” he said.

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Margaret said nothing…

You scratched her over a necklace,” he continued.

“She refused to listen.”

“She’s a child.”

“And I am trying to protect this family!”

“No,” Marco said quietly. “You’re trying to control it.”

Margaret’s face went pale.

“You don’t get to take this from her,” Marco continued. “You don’t get to touch her things. And you definitely don’t get to

hurt her.”

“I am her guardian!”

“You are my wife,” Marco said. “That is all.”

The words landed hard.

Margaret stepped back as if she had been struck.

“You’re choosing them?” she asked.

“I am protecting them.”

Monica stared at him.

This felt new.

Different.

He had never done this before.

“And she’s going to Milan,” Marco added.

Margaret let out a sharp laugh. “She is not going anywhere.”

“She is.”

“She’s thirteen!”

“She earned this.”

“She needs supervision!”