His Father's Wife

Arielle's POV If there’s anything worse than signing divorce papers in a glass-walled office with your ex-husband sitting across from you pretending not to care, I haven’t lived it. Not yet, anyway. Julian Blackwood looked too damn calm for a man who’d just shredded five years of marriage like it meant nothing. He didn’t blink when the papers were placed in front of him. He didn't even flinch when I signed my name, shaky and hurried, like I was trying to outrun the heartbreak that had been building for years. He just... watched me. "It's done," the lawyer said, sliding the final document into a folder like it was just another Tuesday. I stood up. My knees wobbled slightly in my heels, but I didn’t let him see. "Good luck, Julian," I said, somehow managing not to choke on the lump in my throat. He gave me that same smirk he always wore when he wanted to seem indifferent. I used to know better. Now, I don’t know anything at all. "You too, Arielle." I walked out of that office like a ghost, haunted, invisible, already forgotten. The sky was heavy with clouds when I stepped outside. As if the heavens were mourning with me. My phone buzzed in my clutch. I almost ignored it. Almost. But when I saw the name, I picked it up. "Arielle," Harper’s voice was gentle but firm, laced with concern. "Don’t do anything drastic, okay? Just breathe. Go home, get some rest. Everything will settle." I swallowed. “It’s already done, Harp.” “I know, babe. I know. But don’t let the pain cause your next move. Let yourself feel this first. Then decide.” “I’m not going to jump off a bridge, if that’s what you’re asking.” “That’s not funny.” I didn’t laugh either. “I just need to get my things.” Harper sighed. “Then go. But promise me you’ll call me after. Don’t be alone tonight.” “Okay.” It started raining as I hung up. Not a drizzle. It was a full-on storm. My driver, Thomas, rushed from the car and opened the door. “Please, ma'am, get in. You’ll get soaked!” I hesitated for a second before ducking inside. We drove in silence, the windshield wipers slicing through the downpour like a metronome of misery. When we reached the Blackwood estate, the house that was once mine, I didn’t wait for an umbrella. I stepped out into the rain, letting it drench me. Head high, spine straight, heart crumbling. “Ma’am!” Thomas rushed after me with a jacket. “Please, you’ll catch a cold.” “I’m fine, you don't have to call me madam anymore,” I said, though my voice betrayed me. Thomas responded, I'll always be his boss. I walked up the steps like a woman in a trance, my heels clicking against the stone, water streaming down my face, mixing with the tears I refused to admit were falling. Servants inside gasped when they saw me. A couple rushed forward, urging me in, their hands tentative but urgent. “Miss Arielle, please, you’ll fall sick!” I let them pull me in. Let them dry my arms and hand me a towel. “Draw her a warm bath,” someone said. “Quickly!” I barely registered the warmth of the water. I sat there for what felt like hours, letting it melt away. When I emerged, I wrapped myself in silence and a robe, and began packing my things from the bedroom I once shared with Julian. It felt like erasing pieces of myself. I was folding the last of my sweaters when I heard footsteps. Slow, heavy, certain. I turned. Leonard Blackwood stood at the doorway. Tall. Imposing. Eyes sharp as ice, with the weight of the world, and maybe a little more resting in them. “Sir,” I said quietly, surprised to see him. He didn’t speak at first. Just looked at me, wet hair, tired eyes, half-packed bags and all. Then he said, “Marry me.” I froze. “I beg your pardon?” Leonard stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. “You need protection. I need leverage. We both get something we want.” “I…what are you saying?” “A partnership. A marriage, Arielle. Legal. Binding. Strategic.” My heart thundered. “You want to marry your son’s ex-wife?” “Yes.” “Why?” “Because you deserve better than being discarded. And because I don’t let what belongs to this family go to waste. You're valuable.” I didn’t know whether to scream or laugh. But I knew one thing. My life was about to change again. And this time, I didn’t know who would survive the wreckage. The next day, I was wearing a white dress again. Not the big, fluffy kind. This one was sleek, tailored, almost too perfect. It hugged my waist, dipped tastefully at the collarbone. A dress chosen by someone who knew exactly what image needed to be presented. I was getting married again. To his father. I still wasn’t sure how the hell I ended up here. Now, standing beside Leonard at a private ceremony attended by investors, family, and enough photographers to light up a city block, I was beginning to realize just how real this all was. The moment the officiant said, "You may kiss the bride," Leonard leaned in and pressed a brief, unreadable kiss to my cheek. Cameras flashed. Somewhere, Julian would see this. And maybe that made me a monster. Maybe I wanted him to feel even a shred of what I did when he walked away like I was disposable. But mostly, I just wanted to survive. Later that night, in the penthouse Leonard insisted I move into, I sat on the edge of a bed too big and too unfamiliar, still wearing my wedding dress. He entered the room like a shadow, loosening his tie. “We made headlines,” he said, glancing at his phone. “Congratulations, Mrs. Blackwood.” My throat tightened. “Is that what I am now?” He looked at me for a long moment. “Yes. And no.” I frowned. “What does that mean?” “It means I won’t expect anything from you, Arielle. Not tonight. Not ever, unless you want it.” I swallowed hard. “Thank you.” He nodded once. Then he turned to leave, pausing at the doorway. “But make no mistake, this arrangement will make enemies. And when they come, you’ll need to decide whose side you’re really on.” I didn’t respond. Because I didn’t know. I was no longer Julian’s. But I wasn’t Leonard’s either. I was floating in some in-between, and the fall hadn’t stopped yet. I dreamed of Julian that night. Of the way his hands used to trace fire along my skin. Of how he used to whisper my name like it was the only truth he knew. Of the laughter, the fights, the cold, empty silences that eventually buried us. I woke up with tears in my eyes and a weight in my chest that no amount of silk sheets could comfort. Whatever this new life was, it had begun.