Haunted By The Wife He Lost

Eloise Stephenson POV:

The charity gala hummed with the superficial elegance of the city' s elite. Crystal chandeliers glittered, champagne flutes chimed, and polite laughter echoed through the grand ballroom. I found Ema Acosta near a display of antique jewelry, her modest black dress a stark contrast to the glittering gowns around her. She looked like a dove among peacocks, shrinking into herself. A perfect victim.

I walked up to her, my heels clicking on the marble floor. The sound was sharp, deliberate, cutting through the background noise.

"Miss Acosta," I said, my voice sweet, almost sickly so. It barely disguised the steel underneath. "Such a pleasant surprise to see you here."

She flinched, her eyes, wide and innocent, darting to me. "Mrs. Finley," she stammered, curtsying slightly. "I… I didn' t expect to see you."

"Oh, darling, where else would I be?" I smiled, a predatory gleam in my eyes. "This is my event, after all. And my husband' s company is a major sponsor."

I leaned in, my voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. "Tell me, Ema, do you enjoy playing dress-up? Or do you truly believe you belong here?"

Her cheeks flushed, a deeper red than the roses adorning the tables. "I… I was invited, Mrs. Finley," she whispered, her hands twisting nervously.

"Of course you were." I took a sip of my champagne, letting the silence stretch, letting her squirm. "Jacob is so kind, isn' t he? Always picking up strays."

My gaze swept over her, lingering on the delicate gold chain around her neck. It was a simple piece, yet familiar. Too familiar. It was a gift Jacob had given me years ago, before everything.

"That necklace is lovely," I said, my voice still dangerously calm. "A gift, I presume?"

She touched it, her fingers trembling. "Yes. From… a friend."

I laughed, a harsh, brittle sound that drew a few curious glances. "A friend? How quaint. You know, Ema, one should be careful with other people' s property. Especially when it' s so easily recognizable."

I reached out, my fingers cold against her skin as I plucked the necklace from her throat. It snapped easily, a cheap imitation anyway. I held it up, the tiny gold charm glinting under the lights.

"This," I declared, loud enough for a few nearby socialites to hear, "was a gift from my husband. To me. Years ago. I suppose he has a type."

Ema gasped, tears welling in her eyes. The crowd, now fully aware, buzzed with whispers. Her carefully constructed facade was crumbling, and she looked utterly devastated.

"I didn' t know," she choked out, her voice barely audible.

"Of course you didn' t," I said, dropping the broken necklace into my champagne flute. It sank with a gentle splash. "Just like you didn' t know he was married. Or that I' m still his wife. Or that this company, your precious internship, is mine. Or was, anyway."

I leaned in again, my smile gone, replaced by a cold, hard stare. "Consider this a warning, little intern. Play with fire, and you get burned. And trust me, I burn hotter than anyone you' ve ever met."

I turned, my back ramrod straight, and walked away, leaving her weeping in the middle of the ballroom. The whispers grew louder, fueled by scandal and schadenfreude. I felt a grim satisfaction. This was just the beginning.

Jacob found me later, his face thunderous. He didn't yell. Jacob never yelled. His anger was a silent, suffocating presence, like a storm cloud gathering.

"What was that, Eloise?" he asked, his voice low, deadly calm. He gripped my arm, his fingers digging into my skin. It didn't hurt. Not anymore.

"That," I replied, pulling my arm free with a sharp tug, "was me setting boundaries for my husband' s… intern."

"You humiliated her," he said, his eyes narrowed. "In front of everyone."

"She humiliated me first," I countered, my voice flat. "Or did you think I wouldn' t notice the cheap imitation of my own necklace, worn by your little plaything?"

His jaw tightened. "She' s a sweet girl, Eloise. She doesn' t deserve this."

"Sweet?" I laughed, a mirthless sound. "You fall for it every time, Jacob. The damsel in distress. The gentle lamb. It' s always the quiet ones who stab you in the back."

"You' re unhinged," he spat, taking a step back as if I were contagious. "You' ve always been unhinged. And I'm tired of it."

"Unhinged?" My voice was rising now, despite my best efforts. "Because I refuse to stand by while my husband flaunts his affair with a girl half my age?"

"She means nothing to me," he said, but his eyes betrayed him. They softened, just for a moment, when he mentioned her.

"Then why are you defending her?" I challenged. "Why did you let her wear my necklace?"

He looked away, running a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair. "It was a mistake. A moment of weakness."

"Your weakness has become my humiliation," I said, my voice trembling with suppressed rage. "And I won' t stand for it, Jacob. Not anymore."

The next day, a formal letter arrived. I was stripped of my position on the company board. My family' s company, the one he now controlled, was officially closing its doors to me. His final blow.

My retaliation was swift and brutal. I leaked the story. Not just the affair, but Ema Acosta' s past, the hushed rumors of her manipulative tendencies in previous internships, the way she' d climbed the corporate ladder on the backs of unsuspecting mentors. The press, sensing blood, tore into her. Her reputation, carefully cultivated, was in tatters overnight.

Jacob confronted me again, this time in the privacy of our bedroom, the sanctuary that had once been ours. His face was contorted with a fury I hadn't seen since the early days of our marriage, before the trauma, before the quiet despair had set in.

"You destroyed her," he snarled, pushing me, hard, against the wall. The impact jarred my teeth. "You ruined everything."

"I only exposed the truth," I whispered, my breath catching in my throat. "Something you seem to have forgotten how to do."

He laughed, a bitter, vicious sound. "The truth? Is that what you call it? You' re just a venomous viper, Eloise. Always have been."

His eyes, once filled with a love I believed was boundless, were now cold, devoid of any warmth. They were the eyes of a stranger.

"You' re tainted, Eloise," he spat, each word a physical blow. "Always have been. Ever since that… incident. Fifteen days, wasn' t it? Fifteen days in hell. What do you think happened in those fifteen days, hm? What did they do to you?"

The air left my lungs. My knees buckled. The world spun. The room, the man in front of me, everything blurred into a kaleidoscope of terror. His words echoed, amplifying the screams from a past I had fought so hard to bury. He knew. He knew how much that hurt. He had used it against me.

A sudden, sharp pain lanced through my abdomen. My hand flew to my stomach, a dull ache beginning to bloom. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage.

"Jacob…" I whispered, my voice barely a thread. "I' m… I' m pregnant."

His face, which had been twisted with rage, drained of all color. For a fleeting second, I saw a flicker of something, maybe shock, maybe even regret.

Then the phone in his hand buzzed. He glanced at it, his eyes hardening instantly. He read a message, and his face transformed. A new kind of rage, cold and absolute, replaced the old.

"Ema… she had a miscarriage," he said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. "The stress, the humiliation you put her through… it cost us our child."

My blood ran cold. "No," I breathed, shaking my head. "That' s not possible. She' s lying."

"Lying?" He laughed, a cruel, derisive sound. "She' s delicate, Eloise. Not like you. She' s pure. You… you' re just a black pit of vengeance."

He looked at me then, his eyes burning into mine, and delivered the final, devastating blow. "I want a divorce. And you will terminate that pregnancy. You are unfit to be a mother. You are unfit to carry my child."

The words hit me like a physical force, knocking the wind out of me. My baby. Our baby. And he wanted me to… end it. The pain in my abdomen intensified, a searing fire. My vision tunneled. I felt a warm gush between my legs.

No. Not now. Not like this.

I crumpled to the floor, my hands clutching my belly, tears streaming down my face. The red spread, a dark, blossoming stain on the expensive Persian rug.

The last thing I heard before the world went dark was Jacob' s voice, cold and distant, calling for the staff. Not for me. Never for me.