
Too Late To Want Me Back, Ex Husband!
For five years, Elara was the "peasant" wife, the woman who gave her kidney to save Shawn's life, only to be rewarded with his cold indifference and his family's verbal abuse. She was the dutiful housewife, hiding her true identity as the world's most feared cybersecurity genius, and the secret heiress to a global empire. She stayed for love. She stayed for the hope of a family.
But hope dies in a cold swimming pool.
When Shawn pushes a pregnant Elara into the water to save his mistress, he not only breaks her heart, he kills the only thing she had left to love.
Waking up in a hospital bed with an empty womb and a frozen heart, Elara is done playing nice. As Shawn prepares to discard her for his mistress, he's met not with a weeping wife, but with the arrival of five of the most powerful men in the world-Elara's brothers.
Now, the "peasant" is the predator. While Shawn's empire begins to crumble under a mysterious cyber-attack, he finds himself desperately chasing the woman he once despised. But Elara has already moved on to a man who never had to be taught her value.
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Chapter 3
ELARA
I smoothed the invisible creases on the red gown I wore, my eyes catching the steady tick of the clock on the wall.
7 p.m. And Shawn wasn't here yet.
Did he seriously forget?
The birthday dinner had been scheduled to start around 5:30 p.m. We were already almost two hours late!
I picked my phone up from my clutch purse, uncrossed my legs, and dialed his number.
Surely, he couldn't choose Miranda over his own grandfather? Not tonight at least...
There was no answer the first time. None the second.
Impatience bloomed into a restless, prickling heat beneath my skin. I got to my feet, my fingers tightening around my clutch as I paced the sitting room and dialed again.
My eyes caught my reflection in the mirror of the west wing of the sitting room, and I couldn't help but smile at the transformation. I wondered, for a brief, fleeting second, what he would say when he finally saw me.
Would he rethink things? Would he-
Idiot. I cursed myself. I stomped both the thought and the dying embers of love that tried to swamp me. I didn't need his approval. And I definitely didn't want his love anymore!
I had to be strong. For me. And for the baby.
Finally, he answered on the fourth dial.
"Shawn..."
Music throbbed in the background of the call. Laughter. Then his mother's voice drifted through the line, clear enough to cut.
"Where is that peasant you call a wife? Did she forget what today was?" A pause, followed by a conspiratorial hiss. "I have told you to divorce her already... you are still going on with the plans, right..."
I inhaled slowly, forcing the oxygen into my lungs even as my chest tightened with a cold ache. So they all knew. The whole family was in on the plan to ruin me.
I ended the call without waiting for him to speak.
But he called back instantly.
"Elara, where are you?! Did you forget what today was?"
I snorted softly, the sound bitter in the quiet room. The fool didn't even suspect I might have overheard. He must be quite confident in my supposed stupidity.
"You mentioned we'd be going together," I said coolly. "Did you forget?"
A pause on the other end. Then Miranda's sickly sweet voice floated into the receiver, dripping with fake innocence.
"Oh, Shawny, come on, let's go see Grandfather. They're already bringing out the gifts..."
Shawny?
I scoffed. It sounded like the name for a lapdog-which, frankly, was exactly what he was to her.
"You went with Miranda?" I baited him, my curiosity thriving over my common sense. I wanted to see how far he would go to cover his tracks.
He cleared his throat, sounding slightly flustered, the sound of a man caught in a web of his own making. "We met at the office, so I came with her since she mentioned you invited her..."
I nodded slowly to the empty room. I never invited Miranda. In fact, I had started avoiding her months ago, ever since my instincts began screaming that she wasn't the "best friend" I'd known in high school.
"All the same, start coming," he continued, his tone turning dismissive and cold. "Grandfather is getting anxious. Should I send an Uber, since you can't drive?"
"No, don't worry. Enjoy the party. I'll be there in about ten minutes..."
Then he ended the call, leaving me with the dial tone.
Inhaling deeply again, controlling my emotions, I slipped my phone back stiffly into the purse, strolled to the dining area, and collected the meticulously packaged gift I had for Grandpa Max. Then, I walked out of the house.
On second thought, I turned back, headed to the basket of keys in the hallway, and picked the one for the red Porsche, Shawn's personal baby.
Might as well confuse them.
The compound was filled with a sea of guests when I arrived at the mansion ten minutes later. There wasn't a single place to park, but because the Porsche gleamed, one of the security guards-assuming I was some visiting dignitary or high-society heiress-cleared a path immediately.
I felt the weight of a hundred gazes as the guests turned to see who had arrived two hours late.
The guard respectfully pointed me toward a parking space right near the entrance.
When I turned off the ignition, I removed my sunglasses slowly. I was fully aware of the attention-on the car, on the flash of red, on the woman driving a machine worth more than most of their homes.
I could already see Shawn's mother approaching from the entrance, her spine stiff, preparing to act like a gracious hostess to a guest she didn't recognize.
This would be fun.
Another deep inhale. Gift and purse in my right hand, I pushed open the door and stepped out.
The guard bowed, the tips of his ears turning a bright pink as he hurried aside at the matriarch's approach.
He hadn't recognized me. None of them had.
Interesting.
"Hello! Welcome, welcome!" Linda beamed, actually looking beautiful in her own way as she waved me forward with a fake, practiced smile.
I couldn't help the smug smile that slithered across my lips. "Good evening... Mother..."
I watched the transformation happen in real-time, and it was glorious.
I watched her smile dry up and wither the second she realized who was standing before her. I watched the confusion taint her face as her gaze dragged over me from head to toe, taking in every expensive inch of the silk and the terrifying confidence in my eyes.
"Elara?"
"The one and only," I mused lightly, then looked past her at the watching crowd, my chin tilted high.
The whispers were already reaching my ears like the buzzing of a disturbed hive.
"Is that Elara Lindays?"
"I can't believe it. Has she always been this beautiful?"
"Is that an Areso gown? And those killer heels... oh my goodness..."
"Shawn really hid this beauty at home, and for what?"
"She's still a peasant though... from the countryside. What's the use of her beauty then..."
I tuned them out. Ignoring Linda's shocked silence, I started toward the heart of the party, where I was sure Grandpa Max would be waiting in his seat of honor.
But my movement snapped her out of her daze. She reached out and grabbed my arm, her grip tight and claw-like.
"Where do you think you're going? Why are you coming at this time, you stupid girl!"
I cocked my head slightly, staring at her intensely, but said nothing.
She must have been unsettled by the sheer coldness of my gaze, because she blurted out, "Do you think dressing to the nines will change who you are? Will it detract from the scolding you will receive from Shawn?"
How had I tolerated this for five years? I wondered, looking down at her hand on my sleeve with a sense of clinical detachment.
Slowly, I removed her hand from my arm, finger by finger. Then I glared at her-smiling faintly when she took a step back, shock flashing in her eyes at whatever cold steel she saw reflected in mine.
Then I walked away. I had to see Grandfather.
He was exactly where I expected, under a mini canopy where the elite guests stepped forward to present their offerings. When he saw me, he beamed, his face lighting up with genuine warmth as he called me over.
"My dear, you look gorgeous!"
I smiled, fully aware of Shawn staring at me from across the lawn, standing with Miranda, with the rest of his judgmental family. I was aware of Linda stepping into the canopy behind me, her face red with fury. Aware that we had suddenly, violently, become the center of everyone's attention.
"Thanks, Gramps. Happy birthday!"
I was just about to hand him my gift when Miranda closed the distance between us, her arms lifting as if to pull me into a sisterly hug.
I raised my hand, stopping her dead in her tracks with a single gesture.
"Stay away," I said coolly, the words loud enough for everyone nearby to hear clearly. "You smell like shitty perfume."
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7.2
For three years, I was imprisoned by Anderson Hopper, the monster who forced me to watch my fiancé, Kendall, plummet into a freezing river.
But when I saw the morning news, I realized Kendall wasn't dead. He had returned as Eben Gill, a ruthless tech billionaire.
I risked my life to escape and find him, only to be met with eyes full of absolute hatred.
He publicly humiliated me, dragged me to the exact bridge where he "died," and sneered at the C-section scar on my stomach.
"Anderson Hopper's bastard," he spat, completely unaware that the baby was actually his—the very child Anderson had murdered in the operating room to break me.
To make matters worse, Anderson used Kendall's dying mother as a hostage to force me back into my cage.
I knelt on the freezing asphalt, begging the man I loved to just visit his mother, while he coldly ordered his driver to run me over.
I had lost my baby, my freedom, and my dignity, all to protect him from Anderson's blackmail. Why was I the one being tortured and treated like a traitor?
"Don't think your little kneeling stunt earned you my forgiveness."
He whispered those cruel words before walking away without looking back.
Staring at his cold, retreating figure, the last shred of my love finally turned to ash.
That night, under the cover of a torrential storm, I bypassed the estate's laser grids and walked out into the dark.

8.2
Karmen lived suffocating under a tight chest binder and a grotesque silicone scar, forced to disguise herself as her degenerate twin brother, Kem. Her only job was to maintain a fake corporate engagement with the ruthless billionaire Earl Calderon.
But her abusive father suddenly escalated his demands. He ordered her to steal Earl's revolutionary AI patents, threatening to cut off her mother's life-saving medical trust and abandon the real Kem in a locked Swiss psych ward if she failed.
The task was a death sentence. Earl absolutely despised "Kem." He treated her like a repulsive parasite, constantly threatening to break her neck. When he accidentally caught her without her wig, he mistook her for a deranged cross-dresser, forcing her to glue the dirty fake scar back onto her raw, inflamed face in sheer disgust. At home, her father hurled glass ashtrays at her, violently yanking her collar.
"Do whatever you have to do in that bedroom, Kem. I don't care how disgusting it is. Just get the signature."
Trapped between a fiancé who loathed her very existence and a father ready to sacrifice their family for greed, Karmen endured the agonizing physical pain of her disguise. She was exhausted, terrified, and running out of time as her brother's life hung by a thread.
But they all underestimated her. When the Calderon matriarch forced Earl to link his ultra-secure private phone with "Kem" to fake their romance, she unwittingly handed over the master key. Karmen wasn't just a helpless victim; she was the elite hacker Nyx, and she was going to tear their empire apart from the inside.

9.2
Arla was supposed to marry Clinton Freeman, the perfect fiancé who had promised to love her and protect her five-year-old son.
But instead, the cold steel of a dagger pierced her chest.
As she collapsed onto the freezing basement floor, she watched her adoptive sister Blair laugh.
"Look at her," Blair sneered, kicking her son's small, blue, lifeless body.
Clinton stood there, calmly wiping the bloody blade on a pristine handkerchief.
In her dying moments, the horrifying truth became clear. Her fiancé and her adoptive family had been plotting all along to steal her massive trust fund.
To break her, they had secretly tortured her child. Clinton had watched Blair pierce the little boy's arms with sewing needles, rewarding him with candy to keep him silent.
Arla's lungs burned with the taste of copper and ash.
She couldn't understand why the family she trusted could be so monstrous, or why they had to brutally murder an innocent child just for money.
The darkness swallowed her whole, drowning her in suffocating hatred and absolute despair.
Then, she gasped for air.
The concrete floor was gone, replaced by the silk sheets of a hotel penthouse suite.
Arla had been reborn to the exact night six years ago—the very day Blair first dragged her son into the dark attic.
This time, she picked up a solid silver letter opener, ready to burn them all to the ground.

7.1
For six years, I was the perfect, obedient wife to billionaire Hartwell Ware, enduring his coldness because I thought my love could eventually thaw his heart.
Then, my friend sent me a photo. Hartwell was at the airport, tenderly holding the waist of his first love, Eveline Craig.
He came home smelling of her synthetic rose perfume, accused me of stalking him, and coldly demanded a divorce.
His lawyer handed me a thick settlement agreement. It offered astronomical alimony and luxury properties, but it came with a humiliating ten-page non-disclosure agreement.
He wanted to buy my silence. He wanted to strip me of my rights to our son and gag me permanently, just so he could parade his new life with Eveline without any PR backlash.
Even now, he still thought I was a gold digger who had orchestrated a media scandal to trap him into marriage.
I stared at the man I had worshipped for two thousand days. My six years of desperate devotion had been nothing but a humiliating, one-sided delusion.
Hope was finally dead, and with it, my tears had completely dried up.
He expected me to cry, to beg, to negotiate for more millions.
Instead, I snatched the pen, crossed out the massive alimony, and signed my name on the dotted line.
"I am taking the basic child support, and not a single red cent more."
Leaving my five-carat diamond ring on the marble table, I walked out the door with nothing but my old suitcase.

7.5
I spent ten years blindly devoted to my husband, Kyler, building a perfect life together.
When I went into premature labor, he held my hand and promised everything would be fine.
But the moment I woke up in the VIP delivery room, the doctor coldly declared my newborn daughter dead.
Kyler rushed in, his face a mask of grief, insisting on taking her body away immediately to handle the arrangements.
If I hadn't heard my supposedly dead baby's telepathic voice echoing in my head, I would have handed her over.
She told me Kyler had poisoned my prenatal vitamins to induce early labor.
He bribed the medical team to fake her death so he could harvest her rare stem cells to save his sick mistress.
And worse, he had pulled the security detail from our eight-year-old son's school.
He was letting cartel kidnappers take my boy just to force me to sign over my family's billionaire trust fund.
The man I kissed every morning was a monster wearing my husband's skin.
How could he smile at me while planning to murder our children and drain my family's wealth?
The sheer terror and betrayal tore my heart into a thousand jagged pieces.
But I didn't scream or confront him.
Instead, I faked a hysterical breakdown, clutched my baby tight, and quietly contacted my family's private mercenary team.
"File the injunctions. I want him destroyed by morning."

8.7
Adelia thought she was just heading upstairs to rest in the hotel suite arranged by her caring stepsister.
But her champagne had been heavily drugged. In the pitch-black room, her rational thoughts melted away as she was violently pulled into the darkness by a terrifying stranger.
The next morning, the heavy suite door was kicked open, and blinding camera flashes shattered her world.
Her fiancé stormed in, hurling their prenuptial agreement directly at her bleeding cheek.
"You make me sick! Violating our agreement like this. You are a disgusting, unfaithful whore!"
Her stepsister squeezed to the front of the crowd, crying perfectly rehearsed tears of horror for the tabloid reporters, while her eyes gleamed with pure, unadulterated triumph.
Desperate and trembling, Adelia begged her father for help, explaining she had been framed.
But her father, the family CEO, only cared about his plummeting stock prices. He coldly stripped her of her inheritance, froze her trust funds, and had massive security guards physically drag her out of Manhattan.
She hadn't just been betrayed; she had been completely slaughtered by the people she loved most. As the elevator plummeted toward the lobby, her tears dried into a bloody, silent vow.
Six years later, Adelia stepped out of JFK Airport, flanked by her terrifyingly smart six-year-old twins.
She was no longer a disgraced, pathetic victim. She had returned as a legendary, untouchable ghost surgeon, ready to rip her family's empire apart.
And her very first move involves saving the life of the ruthless Wall Street predator who ruined her that night.