She Was Never Just the Wife novel Chapter 18

Chapter 18

May

Chapter 18

5 Vouchers

At the city hospital, inside the temporary office on the sixth floor. The room was small, about two hundred square feet, with a desk, a chair, and a simple file rack.

On the desk sat a few consultation reports neatly stacked, a laptop, and a coffee mug. Outside the window was the hospital’s back courtyard, where the leaves of a few old locust trees swayed gently in the autumn breeze.

This was the office Matteo had arranged for Celia. Simple, clean, just enough space for her to review reports and write up charts.

At 4:30 PM, sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting striped shadows across the desk. Celia had just finished organizing the last consultation note when her phone rang. She glanced at the screen; it was Beckham.

She didn’t pick up right away. She slipped the report into a folder, closed her laptop, and only then grabbed the phone and answered it.

“Hello.” Her voice was calm.

“Celia.” Beckham’s voice came through the line. The background was quiet. “We need to talk.”

“If it’s about the divorce, fine,” Celia said, leaning back in her chair and looking out the window. “If not, there’s nothing to say.”

There was a brief silence on the other end.

“Not about the divorce,” Beckham said. “We’ve been married for three years. Don’t you have anything to say at all?”

Celia twirled a pen loosely in her fingers. Her tone stayed flat. “No.”

“Celia!” Beckham’s voice rose sharply, but he quickly brought it back down. “Three years as husband and wife, and you have nothing to say?”

“Beckham,” Celia set the pen down, her voice soft but each word clear, “from the day you brought Laylah and her son back to the Lucero house, there’s been nothing left to say.”

“That was an accident.” Frustration bled through his voice. “I can explain about Ricardo. It was…

“I don’t need an explanation.” Celia cut him off. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

A deep breath came through the line.

A few seconds later, Beckham’s voice turned cold, laced with clear threat. “Celia, think carefully. If you go through with this divorce, I won’t approve Ross Group’s loan next month.”

The office was so quiet that Celia could hear her own heartbeat.

She looked out the window at the locust tree, watching a yellowed leaf drift slowly down.

She thought back to three years ago, when her father had knelt in front of her and begged her to marry

Chapter 18

Beckham Lucero to save Ross Group from bankruptcy.

5 vouchers

Celia had said yes, not for him, but because her grandmother, on her deathbed, had told her Ross Group was her grandfather’s life’s work.

Three years. Celia had saved Ross Group, but she had lost herself.

“Beckham,” she said, her voice as calm as if she were stating a fact, “do whatever you want.”

A heavy silence fell over the line at once.

Then Beckham’s voice came back, low and dangerous. “What did you say?”

“I said, do whatever you want.” Celia repeated the words slowly. “Do whatever you want with Ross Group. But I am getting this divorce.”

“Celia! Don’t you dare regret this.”

“The only thing I regret,” she said, “is marrying into the Lucero family three years ago.” Then she hung up.

Celia set the phone down on the desk, stood up, and walked to the window. The sun was setting outside, the sky streaked with orange. She stood there quietly for a moment, then turned back to the desk and started packing her things.

Camren’s surgery was a success, and his recovery was going smoothly. Celia had done what she promised Matteo. Tomorrow, she would leave.

She slipped the last file into her bag and zipped it shut.

Just then, someone knocked on the office door.

“Come in,” Celia said, looking up.

Inside the CEO’s office at Lucero Group, Beckham stared at the phone after the call was cut off, his face dark and stormy.

His fingers gripped the phone so hard his knuckles went white. Veins bulged on the back of his hand. A faint creaking sound came from the phone in his palm, like it might shatter any second.

“Do whatever I want?” The words came out through clenched teeth, cold fire burning in his eyes. “Celia Ross. Good for you.”

“Three years. That woman who’d always been so gentle, so quiet, who’d always kept her eyes lowered and done what she was told, actually dared to talk to me like that?

‘Who did she think she was? Did she think divorce was her decision alone?’ he fumed inwardly.

Beckham raised the phone, ready to hurl it at the floor, when a knock came at the door. The knock was light, but in the silence of the office, it rang out sharp and clear.

His arm froze midair. He took a deep breath, forced the rage down, and slammed the phone back onto the desk. A dull thud echoed through the room.

“Come in.” His voice was cold as ice.

Chapter 18

5

1 witcher

The door opened, and Chad stepped inside. One glance was all it took to see Beckham’s dark expression and the phone on the desk, nearly crushed out of shape. Chad’s chest tightened, but he kept his face professional. “Mr. Lucero.”

“What is it?” Beckham turned his back to him. His voice betrayed nothing.

“Ms. Stein is here. She’s waiting in the conference room.” Chad paused, then added, “She said it’s important.”

Beckham closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the fury had been forced down, leaving only something dark and bottomless behind.

“Got it,” he said. “Tell her to wait five minutes.”

“Yes, sir.” Chad stepped out and pulled the door shut behind him.

Beckham walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked down at the tiny cars crawling through the streets below.

The light was fading outside. The last glow of the sunset came through the glass, casting shadows across his face, light and dark tangled together.

Her words kept playing in his head. ‘Do whatever you want! So calm. So indifferent. Like she genuinely didn’t care about anything anymore. Didn’t care about being Mrs. Lucero. Didn’t care about what happened to Ross Group. Didn’t care about him.

The phone buzzed on the desk.

Beckham turned and walked back. It was a new message from Celia.

[Tomorrow, 9:00 AM. The courthouse. Don’t be late.]

A few short words. Clean, with no hesitation or longing.

Beckham stared at the screen, and then a laugh crawled up from deep in his throat, low, bitter, dripping with self-mockery.

The laugh died as quickly as it had come. He turned off the screen, dropped the phone into a drawer, straightened his tie, and took a deep breath.

Then he headed for the door, his face returning to its usual composure. Only deep in his eyes, a trace of gloom still lingered, not yet fully faded.

At the temporary office in Valley Hospital, the door opened and Elliott walked in. The moment he saw Celia, his steps faltered slightly.

Celia wore a simple beige knit top and light pants. Her long hair was loosely pinned up at the back. She stood by the desk, packing her bag. The setting sun streamed through the window, gilding her in a soft, warm light.

“Dr. Ross?” Elliott said.

12:56 Sat, May 9 MMD.

Chapter 18

vouchers

Celia looked up. Surprise flickered across her face for a second, then faded back to calm. “Mr. Perry?”

“I came to thank you.” Elliott stepped into the office, his gaze quietly sweeping across the plain room: a desk, a chair, and a file rack. It looked more like a temporary crash pad.

Behind him, his assistant Owen set an elegant gift box on the desk.

“My grandfather was transferred out of the ICU today,” Elliott said, his eyes on Celia’s face. “The doctors said he’s recovering well. Dr. Ross, thank you.”

Celia glanced at the gift box and shook her head. “Don’t mention it. I’m a doctor. It’s my job.”

“This isn’t just politeness.” Elliott’s voice was serious. “You saved my grandfather’s life. The Perry family won’t forget that.”

Celia didn’t respond. She just zipped up her bag and set it aside.

“I’ve already provided Mr. Camren Perry’s recovery plan to the attending physician. As long as he has regular checkups and takes his medication, there shouldn’t be any major issues.” Her tone was flat, like she was handing over something completely ordinary.

Elliott watched her. Then his eyes landed on the desk, where a medical journal lay open. The page was turned to a paper on traditional medicine for post-op recovery from coronary artery bypass grafting. In the author byline, a name was printed: Celia Ross.

His gaze lingered there for a few seconds. Then he looked at Celia. “Dr. Ross, I’ve read your paper. It’s very insightful.”

Celia followed his eyes to the journal. She blinked, then smiled slightly. “Just something I wrote off the top of my head. Nothing worth mentioning.”

‘Off the top of her head?’ Elliott marveled inwardly.

He remembered that paper. It had been published in one of the world’s top medical journals and had caused quite a stir in the field.

If that was off the top of her head, he couldn’t imagine what kind of unstoppable level Celia would reach if she actually tried.

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