My Ex Husband Wants Me Back

Chapter 9

WARREN’S POV

FIVE YEARS LATER

“Late again?” Nessa snaps.

I’ve barely walked through the door. I sigh.

She folds across her chest. “What the hell is wrong with you, Warren? Do you even know what time it is?”

I rub my temples, too tired to fight, too tired to explain. “I was working.”

“You’re always working!” Her voice rises. “You think I don’t notice? You think I don’t know when you’re avoiding me? You come home smelling like stress and excuses.”

I clench my jaw, forcing myself not to bite back too quickly. I’ve learned that raising my voice only fuels her fire. But tonight… I’m already at my limit.

“I’m working because someone has to keep this life standing,” I mutter. “Or would you prefer I sit here all day listening to you nag?”

Her eyes widen. Then narrow. “Excuse me?”

I meet her glare. “You’re the reason I stay late at the office, Nessa. You’re too much sometimes.”

Her lips curl in disgust, and I know what’s coming. “Too much? You bastard. You’re pathetic!”

The words hit like knives. She knows exactly where to cut, and she does it with precision. My chest tightens, my breathing sharpens, and I feel the heat crawling up my neck.

“Don’t—” I start, but I don’t get the chance to finish.

She grabs the lamp from the side table and throws it at my head with a scream.

Instinct takes over and I manage to duck just in time. The lamp smashes against the wall.

“Nessa!” I scream. The anger finally bursts out of me “Have you completely lost your mind?”

She points a trembling finger at me. “You drive me insane, Warren! You push me, and push me, and then act like you’re the victim!”

I stare at her in disbelief. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep standing here, letting her drag me deeper into this hell we’ve created.

Without another word, I grab my keys and storm out.

I slide into my car, slam the door shut, and just drive. I have no direction. No destination. Just driving.

The city lights blur past as my thoughts are all over the place. How the hell did it come to this? Five years, and I’m trapped in a prison of my own making. Michelle’s face flickers in my mind, uninvited. The softness of her smile, the warmth in her eyes when she looked at me. I grip the steering wheel tighter.

My phone rings, dragging me out of the memory. I glance at the screen—it’s my assistant.

“Sir Warren,” she says as soon as I answer. “Just reminding you, you have to be in Florida first thing tomorrow morning to close the deal with the investors. Your presence is non-negotiable.”

I close my eyes, leaning my head back against the seat. Of course. I had forgotten. I was too wrapped up in Nessa’s venom to remember the one thing that actually matters.

“Right,” I mutter. “I’ll be there.”

I hang up and pull over for a moment. My fingers tap against the steering wheel. I could go home, face another screaming match, another broken glass, another round of insults that peel away pieces of me I don’t have left. Or…

Acting on impulse, I take a sharp turn and head toward the airport.

By the time I get there, my decision is made. I don’t even hesitate. I call ahead to my pilot, order the private jet ready within the hour.

On the runway, as I step into the jet, I text Nessa: Business trip. I’ll be gone for a few days. I don’t add anything else. I don’t wait for her reply. I don’t care if she screams at me over the phone or throws another tantrum.

I sink into the leather seat, exhaling for what feels like the first time in weeks. Florida. Just two days. That’s all I need to get away.

When my assistant calls back to confirm my hotel, my finger hovers over the screen for a moment. I almost say the name of the hotel I booked five years ago—the one where Michelle and I stayed when we were engaged. Where we laughed, planned, dreamed our lives together.

“No,” I say quickly. “Book a different hotel. Something new.”

“Yes, sir,” she replies.

As the jet lifts off the ground, I stare out the window into the darkness. The city shrinks below me.

-

The next morning, I make my move. My head is clear—at least clearer than it was last night—and I’m ready for business.

By the time I walk into the sleek, glass-walled skyscraper of the CEO I came here to see, everything is already arranged. My assistant, Clara, moves efficiently beside me. She hands me a file as the secretary ushers us into the top-floor office.

The CEO stands from behind his desk. He’s a man in his late fifties, sharp in a tailored gray suit. His name is Mr. Harrison. His eyes widen just slightly when he sees me, He bows his head respectfully.

“Your Highness,” he says smoothly. “What an honour.”

I smile “Mr. Harrison, thank you for making the time. I appreciate it.”

“Of course, of course,” he replies, motioning toward a wide conference table near the windows. “Please, have a seat.”

We sit. Clara takes a seat to my left, flipping through her tablet, already taking notes. The view behind Harrison’s chair overlooks the entire city.

I lean back slightly, studying him, then slide the file across the table. “Your company is strong, Harrison. Profitable. But you and I both know the market is changing. Smaller firms are getting eaten alive. Eventually, someone will swallow yours too unless you make the right move now.”

He folds his hands, tilts his head. “And you think you’re that move.”

I smirk. “I don’t think, Harrison. I know. I’m not just here to partner. I’m here to buy.”

He raises his brows. “Buy my company?”

“Yes.” I keep my tone even, “You sell to me, and you don’t just keep your seat—you gain the backing of my empire. My resources. My global connections. You’ll sit at the top of an organization that dominates three continents instead of one corner of Florida.”

He chuckles lowly, shaking his head. “You speak boldly.”

“Because I deliver,”

We go back and forth for hours. Numbers, percentages, projections. I lay it all out, He questions my motives. He pokes at my plans. But every time, I am ready.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of fencing with words, he leans back in his chair and lets out a long sigh. He looks at he city skyline as of he’s weighing the gravity of the decision.

“Alright, Your Highness,” he says slowly. “You have yourself a deal.”

A smile spreads across my face as Clara hands him the prepared documents. I sign my name. I want to grow my empire and I’m already making progress.

As the papers are collected, Clara leans close and whispers, “Next on your schedule is dinner with Marilyn Cruz, chairwoman of Vénoria Fashion Group. Eight o’clock. The restaurant is already booked.”

I nod. I can’t help but feel curious.

“Marilyn Cruz,” I repeat under my breath. The name has been echoing through the business world for a while now. They say she’s a woman who built an empire from ashes, who turned couture into gold. Ruthless, they say. Unshakable. The kind of power you don’t underestimate.

I picture her in my mind as I leave the meeting. Maybe she’s older, elegant, with silver hair and sharp eyes. Or maybe she’s younger than expected. Either way, she’s someone worth my time.

–––

By night, I’m seated at a candlelit table in one of the city’s most exclusive restaurants.

I check my watch. 7:59. Clara has already confirmed Marilyn is on her way. I adjust my cufflinks, lean back in my chair, and prepare myself.

The door opens. I glance up casually.

And then my heart stops.

The woman walking toward me is not a stranger. Not a business tycoon draped in gold. Not Marilyn Cruz.

It’s Michelle.