After the Divorce, My Billionaire Husband Lost His Mind

Chapter 7

I should have stopped.

I knew I should have.

But obsession isn’t polite. It doesn’t wait for reason. It doesn’t care about boundaries. And I was in full-blown obsession mode.

Elara’s message from yesterday echoed in my mind: “Stop following me.”

Her words were calm, precise, deliberate. And they should have scared me.

They didn’t.

Instead, they lit a fire under me. I wasn’t going to stop. I couldn’t. Not when the woman I had discarded—my own wife—was out there, thriving, untouchable, daring me to reach her.

I followed her again. Not far, this time, not publicly. She went to a small, private art gallery opening. Minimal crowd, elegant but quiet. I parked around the corner, watching her through the tall windows.

She was breathtaking. Radiant in a sleek black dress, her hair cascading effortlessly over her shoulders. People approached her, whispered, asked questions—but she navigated it all with the calm, unshakable grace of a woman who knew she was untouchable.

And I… I couldn’t breathe.

I forced myself to enter the gallery. Carefully, I moved between displays, pretending to examine paintings, pretending I belonged there, pretending I could play it cool. But every step brought me closer to her, closer to the woman who had already made me irrelevant.

She spotted me immediately.

Her eyes met mine, and I felt my chest tighten. The same calm, composed gaze. But this time, there was something else. Something sharper. Something dangerous.

“Elara,” I whispered, stepping closer. “We need to talk.”

She tilted her head, regarding me with that infuriating mixture of amusement and disdain. “Julian… again?”

Her tone was deliberate, controlled. I felt heat rise in my face.

“I can’t stay away,” I admitted, voice low, hoarse. “I was wrong. I know it. I…”

“I know,” she interrupted, her voice steady, cutting me off before I could spiral further. “And yet… here you are. Following me.”

I swallowed hard. “I don’t care what it takes. I need you. You—”

“You needed me,” she corrected, her eyes sharp. “Past tense. You destroyed us. You threw me away. And now… now you’re chasing shadows, Julian.”

I wanted to grab her hand, plead, promise I had changed. But I didn’t. I just stood there, paralyzed by the calm certainty in her voice.

She turned, moving toward the back of the gallery where a private exit led to a quiet courtyard. People followed her eyes, giving her space. And I… followed.

The courtyard was bathed in warm evening light. The city hummed around us, oblivious to the silent storm between us.

“Elara,” I said, stepping closer, lowering my voice. “Please. Look at me. Talk to me. I—”

She stopped. Turned fully. Eyes blazing, lips curved in that same faint, deliberate smirk.

“You crossed a line,” she said. “You think chasing me, appearing wherever I am, proves anything? It doesn’t. It only proves that you’ve lost control of yourself.”

Her words cut deeper than any insult I had ever thrown at her.

“I’ve never—” I began.

“You’ve never respected me,” she interrupted. “You’ve never seen me. And now you’re desperate. Weak. Pathetic. And that,” she said, voice low and deadly calm, “is exactly why I’m untouchable.”

I couldn’t speak. My chest heaved. My hands shook. My mind raced, trying to find an answer, a way back, a way to undo what I had done.

And then she smiled.

Not kindly. Not softly. Not warmly. But the kind of smile that promised: I’m in control. You’re nothing without me.

I stepped closer, my voice trembling. “I will fix this. I will make it right. I will—”

And she raised a finger, cutting me off.

“Stop. Or I swear… you’ll regret it.”

I froze, heart hammering. For the first time, I realized she wasn’t just untouchable—she had the power to destroy me completely… and she wasn’t bluffing.