Married To My Ex-husband's Rival

CHAPTER 3 – Cast Out

The days that followed were like I was living in someone else's life. I got up, I went to work, I came home, and I did not hear from Leonardo at all. He did not call, did not text, did not even ask if I was still alive.

Mrs. Russo started visiting the shop more often, under the pretense of "checking on me," but she was really checking to see if I had lost hope.

"You're pale," she said one afternoon, standing at the counter, pretending to browse through the bridal magazines. "Still no word from my son?"

I folded a piece of fabric and placed it on the table. "He's been busy," I muttered.

She smiled, not kindly. "Busy? I'm sure he is. Vivienne's been helping him get settled back into the mansion. You should see how cheerful he looks these days.

My hands froze on the table. "He moved back?"

"Oh, didn't you hear?" she said, feigning surprise. "He needed peace. And come on, Isabella, a wife who can't even bear him an heir—what kind of marriage is that?"

The words hurt, but I said nothing. She didn't know I was pregnant. She didn't know I had been vomiting every morning and hiding it behind smiles.

I forced myself to take deep breaths. "I'm positive he'll call," I said to her.

She softly patted my shoulder. "Don't wait too long, dear. Some women just aren't cut out to be wives."

I went home that evening and sat on the bed for a while, staring at my phone. I wanted to tell him. I wanted to type, I'm pregnant, just hear me out. But every time I typed the message, I erased it again.

On the tenth day, I could not wait any longer. I got dressed and went to the mansion. The gates swung open after a moment's hesitation, and the guards looked at each other nervously but did not stop me.

Everything in the mansion seemed the same—same furniture, same paintings, same smell of Mrs. Russo's perfume. And yet something was different.

Vivienne's light, cheerful voice called from the living room. "Leonardo, I swear, this color is suits me than the last one!"

I walked in, and she spun around, draping a fabric sample over her shoulder.

Her smile vanished. "Oh. You're here."

Leonardo stood by the window. He looked up briefly, then looked away. "What are you doing here, Isabella?"

"I came to talk," I said. "We need to talk."

Vivienne rolled her eyes and sat down on the couch. "You really don't get it, do you?"

I ignored her. "Leonardo, please. Five minutes. That's all I'm asking."

He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Not now. This isn't the time."

"When is the time?" I asked, exasperated. "You've been avoiding me for almost two weeks. I just need you to listen to me."

Vivienne lay back, pretending to be bored. "This is awkward. Maybe I should—"

Mrs. Russo appeared before she could go on. "What's going on here?"

"She just appeared," Vivienne said, nodding in my direction. "I thought she knew the deal by now."

Mrs. Russo's eyes turned icy. "Isabella, I warned you already—this doesn't concern you anymore."

I turned to her. "He's my husband."

Vivienne suddenly stood. "Not for much longer," she said, brushing past me.

While walking, she tripped slightly on the carpet. And then, out of nowhere, she screamed loudly and fell backwards onto the floor, clutching at her leg.

"Oh my God!" Mrs. Russo exclaimed, rushing over to her. "Vivienne! Are you all right?"

Vivienne burst into tears, tears and all. "She—she pushed me!"

"What?" I gazed, horrified. "I didn't touch you!"

Leonardo whirled around fast. "What did you do?"

"Nothing!" I protested. "She tripped! I didn't even move!"

Vivienne wailed louder. "I swear she pushed me! I was just trying to get past, and she pushed me!"

"I didn't!" My voice cracked. "I swear I didn't!"

Mrs. Russo frowned at me. "You've gone too far, Isabella."

Leonardo knelt down next to Vivienne. "Are you hurt?"

"I think my ankle," she sobbed, sniffling. "It hurts so much."

He stood up slowly and glared at me. His eyes were cold, not at all like the man I married. "Get out."

"What?"

"Get out of this house," he said again, now more angrily. "Now."

"Leonardo, please listen to me—"

"I said out!" he shouted.

I stepped back. "You really believe her? After all this?"

"She wouldn't lie about something like this," he said. "You've been unpredictable lately. You've shown up here unannounced—"

"I'm your wife!"

"Uh-uh," he answered tersely. "You're done here."

Vivienne sobbed some more. "I don't want her near me, Leo. Please, make her leave."

Mrs. Russo was beside him, nodding. "You heard him, Isabella. Leave before things get worse."

I could feel my chest tightening. "You're all insane," I said under my breath.

"That's enough," he said. "Leave."

I just stood there for a moment. I was waiting for him to stop me, or at least look at me once more. But he didn't. He turned his back on me like I was nothing.

I snuck upstairs, dodging Mrs. Russo's glare. Everything was still there in the bedroom—my clothes, my perfume, the wedding photo on the nightstand.

I opened the wardrobe and pulled out a suitcase. My hands were trembling too much to fold anything properly, so I just threw them in. Some dresses, shoes, my documents.

When I finished, I sat down on the bed and looked at the ring on my finger. The gold looked tarnished in the dim light. I tried to take it off, but it paused for a second before it came free.

I placed it on the dresser beside our wedding photo. "You can have that too," I muttered.

I could still hear Vivienne crying downstairs.

I carried my bag quietly by them. Mrs. Russo did not even glance up. Leonardo's hand rested on Vivienne's shoulder, comforting her. That was the last thing that I witnessed when I walked out the door.

It was overcast outside. It started to drizzle by the time I reached the gate. The guard opened it for me, remorseful in his eyes but quiet.

I walked down the driveway till my shoes were damp and my hair was sticking to my face. My chest felt tight, as if I couldn't breathe.

I had nowhere to go. My key to the apartment would no longer be usable; he would have had the locks changed by now. I dug through my bag—some bills, my phone, clothes. That was it.

I ended up near the bridge without even realizing how far I’d walked. The rain was heavier now. Cars passed by, headlights flashing across the wet road.

I stood by the railing, holding onto it with both hands. The water below was dark and moving fast.

I didn't stir for a while. I thought about everything—our marriage, our house, the baby I was carrying. I thought about how easily he threw me away.

My phone buzzed once in my pocket. I pulled it out. It was a message from Gina: Are you okay?

I stared at it until the screen dimmed and went black.

My legs were shaking. The wind was cold on my face. I did not even realize that I was crying again until I tasted the salt on my lips.

I closed my eyes. "Maybe it would be easier," I said.

Then I heard a voice behind me, cold and steady.

"If you're going to jump," the man said, "at least wait until I finish my cigarette."

I turned slowly around.

A man stood a few feet away, leaning against the railing, cigarette smoke curling from between his fingers. He didn't change expression, but his eyes, slitted and impenetrable, were fixed on me.