Rise of the Formidable Ex-wife (Lucia and Alex) novel Chapter 83

Chapter 83

Chapter 83

The backstage area of the Metropolitan Fashion Center buzzed with controlled chaos. Models hurried past in half-finished outfits while seamstresses made-last-minute adjustments. Ria clutched a clipboard against her chest, sweat beading on her forehead despite the air conditioning. Fashion Week had turned into a nightmare of long hours and impossible demands.

“Ria!”. Margaret’s sharp voice cut through the noise. “Where are the backup accessories for the evening collection?”

Ria rushed to find the missing items, her feet aching in the expensive heels Margaret had insisted she wear. For Days now, she had been working eighteen-hour days as an unpaid assistant, doing grunt work while watching Margaret take credit for ideas Ria had sketched months ago.

The realization had been slow and painful. Margaret wasn’t mentoring her, she was using her. Every original design Ria created somehow became Margaret’s “inspiration.” Every creative suggestion Ria made appeared in Margaret’s social media posts as her own brilliant insight.

Ria had finally understood what her mother had tried to warn her about. Margaret didn’t build people up, she consumed

them.

As Ria searched through racks of clothing, she heard a familiar laugh that made her freeze. Clear, warm, genuine, a sound she hadn’t heard in almost a year.

She turned slowly, her heart stopping as she saw a woman in an elegant navy dress speaking with one of the event coordinators. Even from behind, Ria recognized the straight posture, the graceful way she moved her hands while talking.

Her mother.

Lucia stood near the main runway entrance, her brown hair styled in a sophisticated updo. She wore minimal jewelry, but everything about her radiated confidence and success. When she turned slightly, Ria saw her face in profile, serene, composed, beautiful in a way that had nothing to do with makeup or fashion.

Ria’s hands shook as she watched her mother interact with the fashion industry elite. These people clearly respected Lucia, sought her opinion, listened when she spoke. This wasn’t the broken woman Margaret had described for months.

This was someone who belonged here.

“Mom?” Ria whispered, though Lucia was too far away to hear

Ria’s feet carried her forward without conscious thought. She wove through the backstage crowd, her heart hammering against her ribs. What would she say? How could she explain months of choosing Margaret over her own mother?

Lucia was examining fabric samples when Ria approached, her movements careful and precise. When she looked up and saw Ria, her face went perfectly still.

“Ria,” Lucia said quietly, her voice neutral and cold.

“Mom.” The word came out as a breath. Ria had practiced calling her Lucia, but facing her now, she couldn’t manage anything except the truth.

Lucia’s eyes took in Ria’s appearance, the dark circles under her eyes, the expensive clothes that didn’t quite fit right, the clipboard that marked her as someone’s assistant rather than someone important.

“You look tired,” Lucia said, her voice distant and clinical.

Ria’s composure cracked. “I am tired.”

They stood in awkward silence as people flowed around them. Ria searched her mother’s face for any warmth, any sign of the woman who used to comfort her when she cried. Instead, she saw a stranger, polite but unreachable.

“I made a terrible mistake,” Ria said suddenly, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. “The worst mistake of my life.”

Lucia’s expression didn’t change. “Which mistake was that?”

“Choosing them over you. Believing what they told me about you. Walking away at that coffee shop like you meant nothing to me.” Ria’s voice broke on the last words.

Lucia was quiet for a long moment, studying Ria’s face with the same detachment she might show to a business proposal.

“You were sixteen,” she said finally. “Old enough to make your own choices.”

“I chose wrong. I chose so badly wrong.”

“Yes,” Lucia agreed simply. “You did.”

Chapter 83

The blunt agreement hit Ria like a slap. She had expected anger, accusations, even hatred. This cold acknowledgment was werse than any screaming match.

“I know you probably hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Lucia interrupted, her voice matter-of-fact. “Hate requires emotional investment I’m no longer willing to make.”

Ria felt tears burning behind her eyes. “What can I do? Tell me what I can do to fix this.”

“Nothing,” Lucia said flatly. “Some bridges, once burned, can’t be rebuilt.”

“Please.”

“You made your choice, Ria. You chose your father, Margaret and her promises over the mother who raised you. You chose lies over truth, comfort over family. Those were adult decisions with adult consequences.”

Ria sobbed then, covering her face with her hands. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Mom.”

Lucia didn’t respond to the apology or the desperate use of ‘Mom.’ She simply waited for Ria to compose herself, her face showing neither sympathy nor cruelty, just indifference.

“I can see Margaret has taught you some valuable lessons,” Lucia said finally

Ria looked up in surprise. “How did you know?”

“Because you look exactly like I did when I realized what she and your father were capable of.” Lucia’s voice held no warmth, just clinical observation. “Like someone who trusted the wrong person and is paying the price for it.”

Before Ria could respond, Margaret’s voice rang out behind them.

“There you are, Ria! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Margaret approached with her practiced smile, but Ria could see the panic in her eyes. “And Lucia! What a surprise to see you here.”

Lucia turned to face Margaret, her expression becoming even colder. “Margaret.”

“I didn’t know you were interested in fashion,” Margaret continued, her voice bright and fake. “This is Ria’s world now, of course. She’s doing amazing work with my designs.”

Ria flinched at the possessive way Margaret spoke, but Lucia’s eyes sharpened with interest.

“Your designs?” Lucia asked, looking at Margaret with new attention.

“Well, collaborative designs,” Margaret corrected quickly. “Ria and I work so well together.”

Lucia moved closer to examine the nearby display of evening gowns, her trained eye taking in every detail. Ria watched her mother study the collection, noting how her expression grew more calculating with each piece.

“Interesting,” Lucia said, her voice carrying clearly in the suddenly quiet backstage area. “This blue silk dress is nearly identical to a sketch Ria was working on before I was discarded from the family. Same neckline, same draping, even the same beadwork pattern.”

Several fashion journalists who had been nearby stopped their conversations, sensing drama.

“Inspiration comes from many sources,” Margaret said, her voice tighter now.

“Indeed it does,” Lucia agreed, moving to the next piece. “And this black cocktail dress, the asymmetrical hem is very distinctive. Very original. Remarkably similar to designs Ria showed me when she still acknowledged my existence.”

More people were listening now, phones discreetly recording as Lucia continued her examination.

“It’s fascinating how mentorship works in fashion,” Lucia said, her voice carrying to every corner of the backstage area.” The student provides the creativity and originality, while the mentor provides what exactly? The platform to display stolen concepts?”

Margaret’s face went white. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” Lucia’s voice remained calm, but there was steel underneath. “I may have been thrown away by my family, but I remember every design Ria created. Every sketch, every breakthrough moment when she solved a problem.”

A fashion blogger Ria recognized raised her phone, clearly recording everything.

“And now I see those same designs, those same solutions, being presented as someone else’s work.” Lucia’s eyes met Margaret’s directly. “How predictable.”

Margaret looked around wildly, seeing the faces of journalists, photographers, and industry insiders all focused on her with new suspicion. The whispers had already started.

“You’re trying to sabotage me,” Margaret hissed.

Chapter 83

“I’m simply stating facts,” Lucia said coldly. “Though I suppose when someone has built their reputation on theft, facts do feel like-attacks.”

Ria watched in amazement as her mother dismantled Margaret’s credibility with surgical precision. Every word was calculated, every observation devastatingly accurate. This was what real power looked like, not screaming or manipulation, but the cold confidence of someone who had nothing left to lose.

“Ria,” Margaret said desperately, turning to her. “Tell them. Tell them how we collaborated on these designs.”

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