Strike Back With My Ex-Husband's Rival

4 ~ Signed, Sealed… Deceived

I stared down at the crisp, white pages of the divorce agreement, my pen hovering over the dotted line. The silence in Malcom’s office was suffocating, the air thick with his arrogance. He sat across from me, leaning back in his leather chair with that infuriating smirk plastered across his face.

"Why the tears, Eve?" His voice held that infuriating mix of mockery and amusement. "Weren't you the one who kept threatening to leave? And now, here you are, crying over the very thing you wanted."

I let my bottom lip tremble, my fingers tightening around the pen as if the weight of my shattered world was pressing down on me. My shoulders shook, my breaths ragged—as if I'd been gutted by my own decision.

Malcom ate it up.

Good.

I sniffled, lowering my head. Inside, rage simmered beneath the surface, but I stayed the perfect picture of a broken woman.

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling in satisfaction. "You thought you could walk away with something, didn’t you?" His gaze roamed over the documents, arrogance dripping from every movement. "But you get nothing, Eve. Not a damn thing. No alimony, no assets—just the pathetic remains of whatever life you can scrape together after this."

I sniffled, lowering my head as if I couldn't bear to look him in the eye. Inside, my stomach churned with fury, but on the surface, I was the perfect picture of a broken woman.

He laughed. "You always were unreasonable."

The words twisted like a knife, but I held firm.

Roxy's voice crackled through the tiny airpod hidden beneath my hair.

I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to remain slumped as Malcom stood, towering over me, reveling in his supposed victory.

He tapped the edge of the table, drawing my attention back to him. "I’ll send my lawyers to finalize the process. You’re free, Eve." His smirk deepened. "Or should I say… free to suffer and start back from when I met you?"

I bit my lip, trembling as I picked up my purse with shaking hands. 'Not yet, Malcom. You don’t know what's coming for you.'

"Enjoy your new life," he called after me as I walked out of the office, my heels unsteady against the polished floor.

The moment I stepped out of Malcom’s estate, the tears vanished.

Roxy was already waiting in her car, watching me from the driver’s seat with a knowing smirk. As soon as I got in, she revved the engine and peeled away from the curb.

"That," she said, voice dripping with amusement, "was an Oscar-worthy performance."

I exhaled, finally letting go of the suffocating weight of the moment. "He bought it?"

"Oh, he BATHED in it." Roxy laughed, shaking her head. "You should’ve heard his voice the way I did. The man thinks he won the jackpot."

I smirked, resting my head against the window. "Good. Let him think that for now."

"Still," Roxy mused, "I have to admit, you played that role a little 'too' well. You sure you're not actually heartbroken?"

I shot her a flat look. "The only thing I’m heartbroken about is that I didn’t do this sooner."

Was I really telling the truth?

I doubt it!

She grinned. "Now 'that' is the Eve I know."

*****

Roxy’s restaurant was a temple of wealth—dim lights, imported spices, and synchronized waiters. She led me to a private booth, sliding in across from me.

“Now that you're officially free, we celebrate.”

I forced a smile. "I'm not in the mood."

Roxy signaled the waiter. "Two of Eve's usual."

My stomach twisted. I couldn’t afford alcohol—not now.

"I'll take water," I said lightly.

Her smirk flickered but didn’t waver. "Not even for old times' sake?"

The waiter returned, placing a cocktail in front of me. The scent churned my stomach. I pushed it away.

Roxy’s eyes sharpened ever so slightly.

"Water," she called to the waiter, lips curling.

The glass arrived. I took a cautious sip.

"So, Eve—how does freedom feel?"

"Lighter," I murmured, my throat dry.

Her nails tapped against the table. "And Malcom? Think he'll come crawling back?"

I scoffed. "He’ll convince himself I was the mistake."

Roxy chuckled.

I took another sip—

The room blurred at the edges.

My heart skipped, then pounded, a frantic rhythm in my chest.

Roxy’s voice wavered with mock concern. "Eve?"

My breath hitched. *No... no... my baby.*

I staggered, clutching the table, panic rising.

"Help me," I whispered.

Roxy moved—slow, calculated. Her arms caught me as I collapsed.

"Oh, Eve," she murmured, her voice thick with worry. "Somebody, help! She's losing consciousness!"

My vision swam. Just before the darkness swallowed me—

I saw it.

A grin.

*****

I woke to the sterile beeping of a heart monitor. Antiseptic filled my lungs. My hands flew to my stomach.

"My baby—"

"Eve."

Roxy sat beside me, mascara smudged as if she’d been crying for hours.

"You scared me." She reached for my hand. "The doctors said it was stress... exhaustion."

Lies.

I swallowed hard. "My baby?"

Her fingers tightened. "Still with you."

Lucky, she called me.

I forced a smile, biting down the storm inside me.

"You saved me," I whispered.

Roxy’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

"I need to check on the restaurant," she sighed, glancing at her phone. "I'll be back soon."

I nodded, weak.

She leaned in, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "Rest while you can."

I should’ve felt safe.

Instead, unease curled through my chest.

*****

Two hours later—I think—I woke to emptiness.

A hollowness inside me.

Pain throbbed beneath my navel—a dull ache of 'absence.'

My hands flew to my stomach.

Flat. Cold.

No...

I clawed at the sheets, panic surging through me.

The hospital gown draped loosely over my frame, and beneath it, a stark bandage sat just below my navel.

No. No. No.

I tore at the bandage, desperate for proof that this was all in my head—that my body still carried the life I had sworn to protect.

"WHERE IS MY BABY?!"

A nurse rushed in, face pale.

"Miss, you need to calm—"

"Tell me!"

She faltered.

"Mrs. Delacroix—"

"Don’t f*****g call me that!" I spat, my rage shaking me to my core.

A man in a white coat stepped in—the doctor. Clipboard in hand.

The nurse used the distraction to scurry off and out the door.

I turned sharply, my gaze locking onto a man in a white coat—mid-forties, salt-and-pepper hair, glasses perched on his nose.

He held a clipboard, his expression unreadable.

“Where…” My throat was raw, my voice barely a whisper. “Where is my baby?”

A pause. A heavy, suffocating pause.

The doctor’s fingers tightened around the clipboard. “Mrs. Delacroix, I—”

“Where is my baby?! Please, I'm not crazy!” My voice cracked, desperation turning my words into something ugly, feral.

The doctor swallowed, glancing at the door like he wanted to escape, just like the nurse had done.

That was all the confirmation I needed.

A horrible, gut-wrenching realization slammed into me.

My baby was gone.

A sharp sob tore from my chest. “No… no… you’re lying.”

I tried to move, to get out of bed, but my body was weak. My hands shook as I clutched the bedsheets. “You’re lying—tell me you’re lying!”

The doctor exhaled, rubbing his temple. “There was a complication—”

“Bullshit.” I wasn’t stupid. I had been fine. I had been careful. This wasn’t a ‘complication.’

Someone had taken my child.

I turned my tear-filled gaze to the doctor, and for the first time, I noticed it—the slight twitch in his fingers. The nervous way he avoided my eyes.

He was lying.

“Who?” I demanded, my voice breaking. “Who did this?”

Silence.

Then—

“It was Mr. Delacroix.”

The words hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest.

I stilled, my breath catching. My ears rang.

“…What?”

The doctor flinched at the look in my eyes. “Mr. Delacroix gave the order, the moment he heard you murmuring in your sleep about your child.”

A sharp pain bloomed in my chest, something far worse than the physical pain ravaging my body.

Malcom.

He killed our child.

I let out a shaky breath, my mind whirling in a thousand directions, trying—desperately trying—to make sense of it.

Why?

Why would he do this?

Was he so desperate to sever all ties between us? So terrified that a child would bind us together forever? So afraid to give child support that I didn't need?

The divorce wasn’t even finalized yet.

My stomach twisted.

Did he hate me that much?

Tears burned my eyes, but beneath the overwhelming grief, something else slithered in, dark and venomous.

Rage.

Pure, seething rage.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms until I felt the sting of broken skin.

If Malcom wanted war, I’d give him HELL!!!

I wiped my tears, inhaling sharply. “Get out,” I whispered.

The doctor hesitated. “Mrs. Delacroix, I—”

“I said, GET OUT!” My voice shattered through the room, raw and unhinged.

The doctor scurried out just like that nurse, slamming the door behind him.

I collapsed back against the bed, my body trembling. My hand instinctively moved to my stomach again, to where my child should have been.

I had been naïve. I had thought leaving Malcom with a fake broken heart was enough. That playing the pitiful, discarded wife was the best way to make him pay.

But now?

Now, I’d ruin him.

Piece. By. Piece.

---

Two days later, I walked out of the hospital alone.

No flowers. No well-wishers.

Just me and the bitter wind slicing against my skin.

I barely registered the taxi ride home. My mind locked on one thing—

Revenge.

I needed to hurt Malcom the way he had hurt me.

And I knew exactly where to start.

The moment I stepped into my Villa, my phone buzzed.

I checked the screen.

A news article.

[Adam Hayes Fails to Secure Multi-Billion Dollar Deal, Loses to Delacroix Industries.]

I stared at the headline, a slow, cruel smile curling at my lips.

Perfect.

Adam Hayes was Malcom’s biggest competitor. They had been fighting over that contract for months.

If Adam had lost, then he was desperate.

Desperate enough to take my deal.

I wasted no time.

Within the hour, I tracked him down. A bar. Private lounge. High-end. Dimly lit. The kind of place where billionaires nursed their bruised egos.

Adam sat at the far end, a whiskey glass in hand, frustration written all over his face.

I walked in, draped in shadows, my face hidden beneath the hood of my coat.

His body tensed when I approached. “Who the hell—”

“I have something you want Adam Hayes,” I interrupted, my voice low, calm.

Adam’s eyes narrowed. “And what would that be?”

I leaned in, close enough that he could hear the venom in my voice.

“A way to destroy Malcom Delacroix.”

His grip on the glass tightened.

Bait taken.

“Keep talking,” he murmured, intrigue flickering in his gaze.

I smirked, tilting my head slightly.

“Not here,” I whispered. “Somewhere private.”

A long pause. Then—

He stood. “Follow me.”

I did.

And as I walked behind him, one thought burned through my mind.

'Malcom took my child. Now, I’ll take everything from him.'

Starting with his empire.