The Ex-Wife's Revenge

Chapter Four: Put on an Act

The coat still smelled like him the next morning. It haunted my room like a secret I wasn’t supposed to keep. It was draped over the chair like he’d be back for it. Like I’d wake up to him leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, watching me. That thought made me pull the coat off the chair and toss it across the couch like I hated it, which I do.

I didn’t sleep much last night. I sat on the edge of my bed, my hair sways as the wind enters my window, watching the sun spill across the floor like it belonged there. It didn’t. Not in this place. Not in this life. I used to think revenge would be sharp and cold, like a broken glass or a blade in the dark.

Turns out it’s slow. Warm. It sneaks up on you, looking like a midnight ride in a luxury car. Smelling like Hugo’s cologne. Whispering things like kiss me goodnight and let's meet another time.

Yeah. Slow.

I made coffee. Black. Bitter enough to keep me grounded. The plan was still the plan. Get close, get information, get justice. Easy enough.

But Hugo wasn’t what I expected.

He wasn’t just powerful. He was practiced. Every look was calculated. Every silence measured. The kind of man who makes you feel like a pawn and then asks if you want a ride home.

Still, he didn’t recognize me. And that? That was his first mistake.

My phone buzzed.

Unknown Number.

I stared at it for a full three seconds before answering.

“Hello?”A pause. Then that familiar voice, low, amused, and unbothered.

“You left something in my car.”

I smiled despite myself. “Did I?”

“You know you did.”

“I guess I did,” I said, walking back toward the couch, watching the coat mock me from across the room.

“You want it back?” he asked.

I let the silence stretch, just enough to sting. “Why? Missing the scent?”

He laughed—soft, restrained. A private laugh.

“Maybe.”

I sat on the edge of the couch, one leg tucked under me. “Well, I’m sure you’ve had worse souvenirs.”

“I’ve never had anything quite like this,” he said. “Or you.”

That made my throat tighten. I hated that it did.

“What do you want, Hugo?” I asked finally, acting as if he's the one who needs something from me. There was another pause. He wasn’t rushed. That’s the thing with men like him—they don’t chase. They wait. And wait. Until you lean in. He knows he's hot, of course, Hera! Guys like that are dangerous,

“Lunch,” he said, with a hint of authority. “Today.”

I raised an eyebrow even though he couldn’t see it. “So soon?”

“I bought you a drink last night and I’m offering a meal today. Balance, Celine.”

Balance, he said. Like this was some kind of game with rules. Like I wasn’t ready to flip the entire board. I didn't even get the chance to drink he bought last night anyway. I rolled my eyes.

“Text me the place,” I said, already looking at my closet, “And Hugo?”

“Mhm?”

“Bring my thong.”

He laughed again, deeper this time. “Wouldn’t dream of showing up without it.”

I hung up, heart racing. Why am I always nervous around this guy? damn, but this was it. The plan's working. I smirked. Let’s see who leaves what behind this time.

The restaurant he chose wasn’t loud. Of course it wasn’t. Men like Hugo don’t scream; they whisper and expect the world to lean in.

It was all deep wood, soft jazz, and waiters who could spot a lie in a wine order. The kind of place where meetings happen, not meals. Where deals are signed under napkins and promises taste like aged whiskey.

I arrived ten minutes late. On purpose.

He was already seated in a booth by the window, back straight, forearms resting on the table. I was carrying a paper bag, inside is his coat that he left last night.

I slid in opposite him without saying a word. He looked up from the menu, didn’t smile. That arrogance, really make girls go crazy. I brushed that thought.

But his eyes lit like a match, when he saw me, or am I delusional?

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he said, calm as ever.

“You called. I came.” I lifted the menu without looking at it. “That’s how phones work.” God, stop being smart-ass, Hera!

His mouth twitched, just barely, looking amused, “Right.”

We ordered. He got a smoked brisket with a bourbon neat, while I got grilled seafood with margarita. The silence stretched again, but it wasn’t awkward, it was calculated. Both of us testing for weak spots, watching body language like it was a language we’d both grown fluent in.

“You know,” I said, stirring my drink lazily, “most guys text after the first date. You called. Very retro.”

He smirked, leaning forward. “You didn’t strike me as someone who plays by the usual rules.”

“I don’t.”

“I like that.”

“Do you?”

“I also like knowing who I’m eating with.” He gave me that look, eyes sharp, lips still. Slowly, I got nervous. Did he know who am I already? f**k. Maybe I'm just overthinking too much.

So here it was, the slow shift from flirt to interrogation. Smooth. Predictable. A man in control trying to push the boundary without seeming like he is.

I leaned in just a little. “You already know my name.”

“I know your name,” he agreed. “But names are easy. You can buy those.”

I smiled. “You think I’m for sale?”

He tilted his head, curious. “Aren’t we all?”

A beat passed. One. Two. The air between us felt thinner.

This wasn’t about attraction anymore.

This was chess. He just didn’t know I came to flip the whole damn board.

“I don’t like being underestimated, Hugo,” I said.

“Neither do I.”

We stared each other down. And for a second, just a flicker, something raw passed through his expression. It was gone as fast as it came, but I saw it.

Not fear. Not desire. Regret.

Interesting.

Another drinks arrived. I took a sip and let the lime sting the corner of my lip.

He watched. I let him.

“What do you do, Celine?” he asked. So, he chose to still call me that, huh? What cards are you pulling, Hugo?

“I’m in PR,” I lied. I know, he's too smart to know that I'm lying, but I want him to think I'm some dumb person.

He raised an eyebrow. “For who?”

“Private clients. I fix images. Clean up reputations. Make problems go away.”

That made him smile, for real this time.

“So you’re dangerous.”

I met his gaze without blinking. “Only when I want to be.”

He looked down, shaking his head like he’d heard something funny, but I could tell, he was recalculating.

Good. Keep him guessing. The longer he stays off-balance, the more I can dig.