Don't Cry Now, My Heartless Ex-Husband
The smell of leaking gasoline burned my nostrils, but the cold look in my husband's eyes hurt worse.
Trapped in the overturned car, I watched Jacob reach in. He didn't reach for me, his wife. He unbuckled his mistress, Cassandra, shielding her head with a tenderness he never showed me.
He walked away, leaving me to burn.
I survived, but at a brutal cost. My right hand—the hand that played Chopin—was crushed into a useless claw.
Jacob didn't apologize. Instead, he moved Cassandra into our home. He let her wear my diamonds, mock my injuries, and burn my sheet music.
When I tried to expose her embezzlement, he called me unstable. To punish me for "betraying the family," he dug up my mother's grave and threw her ashes into the sea.
That was the moment the wife died, and something else was born. He thought he had buried me under the weight of his cruelty. He didn't realize he had planted a seed.
I staged my death and vanished into the snowy streets of Vienna.
Five years later, I am a world-renowned composer, and Jacob is a ruined man in a wheelchair, begging for a forgiveness I no longer have the energy to give.
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Chapter 7
Alexia POV
Garbage bags cushioned my fall, but the impact still rattled my teeth.
I rolled out of the dumpster, gagging on the stench of stale wine and rot. My side, where the kidney used to be, throbbed in violent sync with my heartbeat.
I pulled my coat tight around my shivering frame and merged into the shadows of the alley.
I didn't run far. I couldn't. Instead, I circled back to the edge of the Cummings estate, staying hidden within the dense treeline. I needed to see it one last time. I needed to excise the hope like a tumor.
The main house was ablaze with light, glowing like a Christmas tree against the dark sky. Red and gold banners hung from the balconies.
It was a celebration.
For her.
I watched from the darkness. The patio doors were thrown wide open. I saw the Bell family elders—my own blood—clinking glasses with the Cummings capos.
"To Cassandra!" my uncle shouted, raising his flute high. "The heart of the family!"
They were erasing me. It wasn't just Jacob. It was everyone. I was the inconvenience they were relieved to forget.
A memory clawed its way up: being a little girl, tugging on my father's sleeve, asking him to listen to a song I wrote. He had pushed me away without looking down. *Go practice, Alexia. Make yourself useful.*
I had spent my whole life trying to be useful enough to be loved.
I watched Jacob step onto the terrace. He looked handsome. Regal.
The band started playing a waltz.
The crowd hushed. It was the moment. The Don had to choose a partner to open the floor.
Jacob hesitated. He looked out into the dark garden. For a second, just a fleeting second, I thought he felt me. I thought he remembered the girl who had taught him how to waltz in this very garden.
Then Cassandra appeared. She placed a hand on his chest.
He looked down at her. He smiled. He took her hand and led her to the center of the floor.
They danced. He held her close, whispering in her ear. They looked like a fairytale.
And I was the witch watching from the woods.
The pain in my chest finally stopped. It didn't fade; it just died. The organ that beat for him, the heart that broke for him, finally turned to stone.
The truth didn't set me free. It killed me. And then, the dead girl stood up.
I turned my back on the lights. I turned my back on the music.
I walked toward the service gate. I had a passport with a new name sewn into the lining of my coat—a contingency I had prepared for years. I had a ticket to Vienna in my pocket.
I didn't look back. Not once.
"I don't need your crumbs," I whispered to the night, my voice distinct and cold. "I define my own value."
The snow began to fall, covering my footprints as I walked away.
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