CHASING HIS HEIRESS EX-WIFE

Chapter Two:

The phone buzzed in my hand the moment I stepped away from Julian’s door. My fingers closed around it tight, like it might bite back.

“Who is texting you?” Julian suddenly demanded, standing close enough that I felt his breath on my skin. His voice was calm, but the way he stood, hands curled, jaw stiff, made it sound like a warning.

I swallowed and stared at the screen. The number was strange, formal, and cold. The words were plain, too plain: “Ms. Montague. We need to speak. Now.”

My chest tightened as if a rope had pulled. That name, Montague, landed on me like a new coat someone forced over my shoulders. I didn’t know how to wear it, and I didn’t like how it felt.

“Answer it,” Julian pressed, eyes flicking from the phone to my face. “Who is Ms. Montague?”

I hated the shift in him. For three years, I was just Elara, quiet Elara, always there but never truly seen. Now I was this other thing, and he wanted to grab it before anyone else did.

“It’s probably nothing,” I whispered, even though my heart was saying a different story.

His laugh came quickly, sharp at the edges. “Nothing would be chasing you down like this. You’ve been careful to keep your life small.”

That hurt because it was half true. I kept him small because he made me feel small. And now he acted like he had always been concerned for me, when really he was scared of what I might become without him.

I stepped away from him, down the hallway where the lights were bright and the people passing stared like I was a news headline. My hand shook, but I tried to keep my face calm, the way I had done for years, quiet, steady, not making trouble.

Julian followed, and his shadow seemed closer than his footsteps. “Elara,” he called, softer now, like he was reaching without admitting he was reaching. “Don’t go running.”

Running. That was an intriguing word. It suggested I had always been the one deciding. He had been the one deciding all along.

A small bitterness rose in me, curling around my pride. I didn’t want jealousy to control me, but it tugged at my throat anyway because it wasn’t just me he was worried about. I had watched him laugh too easily with Camille, turning his eyes away from me when I needed them most.

My phone buzzed again, and this time the message included an address and time. A set place. A set move. It felt like someone was handling me like a piece in a game.

“Do you want me to go with you?” Julian asked. The offer sounded kind on the surface, but it carried another question underneath: *Are you still mine to lead?*

I looked at him, really looked, and saw not just a man I once loved, but a man who had made me doubt my own worth. The old loyalty tried to jump up and claim him again, but it felt thin now, paper instead of skin.

“No,” I said, surprising both of us. The word felt quiet, but it carried weight, like a door finally clicking shut inside me.

His face tightened, and the pride I had grown used to rushed back across his features. “Fine,” he muttered, like I was being difficult rather than brave. For a moment, the regret peeked out again, small, sudden, real, but then it disappeared behind whatever story he always told himself about me.

I walked to the street, heels tapping over smooth stone, breathing air that didn’t feel stained by his moods. The city buzzed around me like it always did, but now I watched it differently. People had plans. Families had names handed down. Some doors opened because you were born near them.

A sleek car pulled up right at the curb, sleek and neat as a sharp pencil. A driver stepped out, holding the door open with his hands folded in front of him. His eyes gave me nothing, but the way he moved made my stomach turn, like he was expecting me, like I was expected.

“Ms. Montague?” he asked, voice polite as a carefully placed rug. The name hit again, not softly this time, but pointedly.

I felt Julian’s stare from behind me, heavy as a hand on my back. He wasn’t gone; he was watching, trying to decide what I was suddenly becoming. My chest thudded, half fear, half something new, an odd sense of stepping into a space that had always been there, waiting.

“Who are you?” I replied, stepping closer but not into the car yet. My pride wanted to push and make them give answers. My insecurity whispered that maybe I wasn’t ready for answers that might change everything.

The driver’s face remained blank. “Your grandfather is requesting your presence,” he said, and the word “grandfather” made my breath catch like a hook tugging on a fishing line.

My feet felt strange on the ground, as if the street had shifted. Julian’s footsteps echoed closer behind me, slow and uncertain. I could almost hear the questions he wanted to ask, and the ones he didn’t dare to. His jealousy made his voice tighten, even while his body held still.

“Don’t,” I said, and this time it wasn’t only for him. It was for me too, my old habit of letting others decide who I was.

The driver nodded, calm as water, and held the door just a little wider. I hesitated, taking one breath, then another, tasting a future I had never imagined.

Then I stepped in.

The door shut behind me with a quiet click, and the darkened glass showed Julian standing there, hands fallen to his sides, eyes searching mine for a hint, any hint of what his years with me had really meant.

The car started moving, pulling me away, and a voice came through the speakers, soft, controlled, too familiar, saying, “Welcome home, Elara." Now it’s time we taught you what your name actually carries.”