The Return of the Ex Wife

Chapter 3. Back to Hell

Ivanna Taylor

4 years later…

Milo Prince is a complete i***t. It’s not enough for him to have me running around all day—now he also expects me to organize his parties and do the work of an entire event planning team, including catering.

All for a damn bonus.

“Ivanna, did you check what I told you about the valet parking? I don’t want unnecessary traffic jams when the guests start arriving.”

I roll my eyes while my back is turned to him. I take a deep breath and put on my best fake smile before turning around.

“Everything is ready, Mr. Prince. Two attendants have been assigned to each section of the parking area, and they have clear instructions regarding the types of cars expected at this event.”

Milo’s smile is pure arrogance. I keep my annoyance to myself—he wouldn’t take it well if he knew I think he’s ridiculous. He is my boss, after all.

“That’s good. My guests are high-profile—they expect nothing less from me.” He turns and picks up the whiskey decanter from his bar. He pours himself a wide glass with more amber liquid than a normal drink would hold and takes a large sip before continuing his nonsense. “Everything else?”

“In order and running smoothly, sir.”

He nods again, takes another sip, then looks me up and down before making a face.

“I assume you’re going to change, right? I pay you enough bonuses for you to have a decent wardrobe, and yet you always wear those…” he gestures at my clothes with distaste, “rags.”

I tell myself that scoffing in his face would be disrespectful, so I bite my tongue before replying. He knows perfectly well this is how I always look, and that’s not going to change. Aston made that clear.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t like wasting money, and what I have meets the company’s requirements. Tonight, I’ll be inside handling logistics—it won’t be necessary to wear anything eye-catching while I’m between dishes and giving instructions.”

Milo narrows his eyes at me. I can almost see him listing all the reasons I should change—the first one being that I look terrible.

But I already know that. I don’t need him to say it.

“Can you at least take off those glasses?” he insists, like it physically pains him to ask.

“If I do, you’ll be left without an assistant, sir.” I hide the smile that threatens to appear.

The truth is, I don’t need glasses. My vision is perfectly fine. I only wear them because Aston Myers himself suggested it. Something about his friend hating loose clothing and thick-framed glasses. And since I have no intention of ending up on the radar of a man who chases every woman who crosses his path, I’ve made sure to look as unattractive as possible.

I think I hear him scoff, but he turns away before I can confirm it. He takes another drink and straightens his shirt, getting ready to receive his guests.

“Did you call Marissa?”

“Yes, she should be arriving any minute,” I confirm, swallowing the bitterness of having to manage even his lovers.

What can I do? It’s part of the job.

“Good. You can go downstairs and make sure everything is perfect. Once about fifty guests have arrived, send me a message so I can come out.”

I nod at his order and turn to leave his office. I can’t stand his personality—I really can’t—but I have to endure it as long as I have this job. It took me too much to get here to walk away over something as simple as not being able to tolerate my boss.

I step out of the confined space and move through his mansion as if it were my own. I know it like the back of my hand. It’s not like I’ve been here long—Milo only moved to Boston a week ago—but he’s worked me so hard these past few days that I could walk these halls with my eyes closed.

And even though I complain about the workload, at least it has kept me busy enough not to dwell on the fact that I’m back in the city that witnessed my worst version of myself—the place where I lost everything.

I shake my head, pushing away unwanted thoughts, and reach the lower floor with a list of last-minute checks and instructions. Everything is as it should be, and at exactly eight in the evening, the guests begin to arrive.

From my position in the kitchen, I keep the entire event under control. There have been no issues at the entrance, and none in the parking area either. I made sure everything was covered so I could focus on the catering side, because Milo may be a millionaire, but he’s incredibly cheap, so he refused to hire additional staff.

When Marissa arrives, I have to step out of my hiding place to escort her to her wealthy lover. Standing beside her, a flicker of insecurity tries to settle in—but I remind myself that I don’t want to look good. She looks beautiful in a dress Milo will undoubtedly approve of.

“Good evening, Marissa. Welcome. Would you come with me, please?”

I’m polite and professional because it’s my job. I don’t have a reason to hate her, but the truth is, Marissa is just another one of the many women passing through Milo’s life. I can’t even say I like her—that would be a lie. Every single one I’ve met so far has been the same: women interested in his money, willing to do anything to have his attention for a night.

“Where’s Milo?” she asks in a shrill voice behind me.

“In his office, waiting for you so he can come out.”

“Aww, how sweet. You can let a couple of guests in who aren’t on the list, right?”

Without turning around, I answer,

“I could, but only with Mr. Prince’s approval.”

“Oh, come on, Ivanna. Milo won’t say anything. It’s a couple he benefits from having close—they’re very influential and among the richest in the city. They probably didn’t get an invitation because you didn’t do your job properly.”

I almost laugh at that. I couldn’t care less what she thinks I did right or wrong.

We reach the elevator that leads to the upper floors, and I press the button for the doors to open.

“My boss will be the one to evaluate that detail, Marissa.” I gesture for her to step inside. “Mr. Prince is waiting for you.”

She looks at me like she wants to say everything she’s holding back, but it’s just frustration from not being able to order me around. She walks past me, heels clicking, hips swaying. Once inside, she lifts her chin, her attitude dripping with arrogance.

“Shane Robinson should have been at the top of that list. And Milo will hear about it.”

The elevator doors close, thankfully, and I’m not exposed in front of Marissa with what that name makes me feel. Hearing it is like being slapped out of nowhere. I knew what I was exposing myself to when I came back to this city, but I told myself Boston was too big, and Milo too arrogant to associate with someone who would be his competition. I convinced myself of that so I could accept coming back if I wanted to keep my job.

Knowing Shane could show up here, if Marissa manages to convince Milo, makes a knot form in my throat. But I tell myself I’m over it, that it can’t affect me more than it did four years ago.

I step away from the elevator and head back to the kitchen. I’m breaking out in a cold sweat, and I need a moment. I need a drink.

Little by little, I manage to pull myself together. I decide to forget the words Marissa threw at me—especially the part that gave me news I never asked for.

…A couple he benefits from having close…

I don’t know how healthy it would be to look into that right now. The urge to do a quick Google search hits me, but I stop myself. I can’t go there. I’ve spent four years without knowing anything about him—I’m not starting tonight.

I focus on my work, organizing everything from the kitchen. An hour later, I’m sweating from the heat when Milo calls me directly.

“Ivanna, I sent someone to the kitchen asking for you. Take care of it.”

His order makes me scoff, but I remind myself I’m doing this for a reason. An important one.

I step away from where I’m arranging the trays being sent out, and when I reach the kitchen entrance, the last person I wanted to see tonight stops right in front of me.

Abigail Allen.

She appears with a calm, almost innocent expression, but the moment her eyes land on me and she realizes who I am, surprise flashes across her face. She opens her mouth, trying to say something, but nothing comes out. She looks me up and down, taking in every detail—from my glasses to my loose, cheap clothes.

A slow smile begins to form on her lips.

And I mentally prepare myself to control both my mouth and my fists before I smash them into her face.

“Who would’ve thought this is where you were hiding, like a sewer rat?” she mocks, crossing her arms as she looks at me with superiority.

“Whoever needs to hide, that’s their problem, dear. I’m not one of them,” I reply, with no intention of giving her the satisfaction.

She raises an eyebrow, skeptical.

“Oh, really? Then where have you been? After you ran away like the coward you are, empty-handed like you deserved, I didn’t think you’d dare show your face around here. But I see you’re still making bad decisions.”

I roll my eyes. Of course she has to bring up everything that happened—and the way Shane demanded a divorce without giving me anything.

“For some women, dignity matters more, Abigail. Are you the one they sent to the kitchen? No one unauthorized is allowed in this area…”

When she sees I don’t react to her venom, she makes a face—but she keeps pushing. She can’t walk away without a confrontation.

“So you went from being the proud wife of the millionaire tycoon Shane Robinson to a waitress—is that what you are now?” She looks at me with disgust. “You don’t even look the part. You look so awful it’s pathetic. Why did you come back, Ivanna? Are you planning to show up in front of Shane and humiliate yourself again?”

Her words don’t surprise me—I expected nothing less. But despite her apparent confidence, I can still see that insecurity in her, the one she always had whenever I was around. And I use it, because yes, that i***t cheated on me with her—but I won’t let anyone talk to me like that without defending myself.

“What I am and what I’m doing here is none of your concern. Show up in front of Shane? Why would I want that? You can keep him, if you’re so busy guarding him from me.”

“Well, just so you know, we’re engaged—like we should’ve been from the start,” she announces.

And even though it still hurts to hear it out loud, it doesn’t surprise me.

At this point, after four years, knowing my ex-husband is about to marry the woman he cheated on me with doesn’t catch me off guard.