Ex-husband, Your First Love's Father Claimed Me

Cora’s POV “You should be asleep,” Reeve said, his voice cutting through the quiet bedroom as he closed the door behind him. “It’s past two in the morning.” I didn't lower my book. I kept my eyes on the page, though the words had long stopped registering. I had known he was home the exact second his tires crunched on the gravel driveway, followed by those slow, overly deliberate footsteps in the hallway. He always walked like that when he was trying to hide how late it was. “I wasn't tired,” I said, my voice completely level. I didn't raise it. I never did. Reeve tossed his car keys onto the marble vanity. The sharp metallic clink echoed in the large room. He pulled off his suit jacket and threw it carelessly over the armchair, then began unbuttoning his cuffs. As he walked past the foot of the bed, a heavy wave of perfume hit the air. It was the exact same scent. Sweet, expensive, and entirely wrong. Fourteen times. I had smelled it on his collars, his skin, and his car seats exactly fourteen times before tonight. “The board meeting dragged on,” Reeve muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. He didn't look at me. He hadn't looked directly at my face since he walked through the door. “Old man Sterling wanted to go over the quarterly projections three different times. It was a total headache.” I finally set my book down on my lap and looked at him. There was a faint, smudged streak of deep red right along the edge of his jawline. It wasn't even rubbed away properly. He was so comfortable in his lies that he didn't even bother checking the mirror before coming home to his wife. “A headache,” I repeated softly. “Yeah. A massive one.” He loosened his tie, completely oblivious, and headed straight toward the master bathroom. “I’m going to take a quick shower and get some sleep. Don’t wait up.” The bathroom door clicked shut, and within seconds, the heavy sound of rushing water filled the silence. I sat perfectly still on the edge of the mattress. My chest didn't heave. My hands didn't shake. The old pain that used to grip my throat like a tight fist didn't show up this time. There was only a cold, clear space where my feelings used to be. I looked at the bathroom door, listening to the running water, and didn't say a word. Suddenly, a soft buzz broke the quiet. My phone lit up on the nightstand. The bright screen illuminated the dark wood. I reached out and picked it up. A notification from my banking app was waiting right there on the lock screen. Alert: Deposit of $1,000,000.00 from R.H. I stared at the numbers. Every single time Reeve stayed out too late, every time a new perfume clung to his skin, or a strange lipstick mark appeared on his clothes, this exact text arrived. It was his version of an apology. One million dollars to settle the guilt. One million dollars to buy my silence for another week. I unlocked the phone, my finger steady, and opened the main banking application to look at the total savings balance. $100,000,000.00 The digits stretched across the screen, sharp and undeniable. One hundred million dollars exactly. I blinked, reading the final comma twice just to be absolutely sure. Then, very slowly, I lowered my hand and placed the phone face down on the nightstand. I handled it gently, the exact same way a person sets down an old tool that has finally stopped being useful. I stood up from the bed, the cold hardwood floor greeting my bare feet. I walked over to the walk-in wardrobe, stepping past Reeve’s expensive rows of designer suits, and walked straight to the very back where my thick winter coats hung. Tucked deep behind the heavy wool garments was a battered, ordinary shoebox from my days before wealth. I pulled it out, lifted the lid, and reached for the small, faded notebook hidden at the bottom. I flipped the cover open. Inside the pages were rows of neat ink lines. Four straight vertical marks, crossed through by a fifth. Tally marks. I ran my thumb over the rough paper, tracing the ink. I counted the groups. Twenty groups of five. One hundred tally marks in total. I had promised myself on the day of the very first transfer, three years ago, that I would keep score. I told myself I would hold on, that I would give him every possible chance to remember the vows he made, even if those vows were forced on him by his late father’s will. But I had also set a hard limit. One hundred. I closed the notebook and placed it back into the box, sliding it out of sight. My pulse didn't race. My heart didn't shatter into pieces. The crushing weight that had buried me for three years suddenly felt as light as dust. I walked back into the bedroom, grabbed my phone from the nightstand, and opened my messages. I selected a contact and quickly typed two short lines. I am ready. File the papers first thing in the morning. I hit send. The message went through immediately, the small checkmark appearing on the screen before the bathroom door even opened. Reeve stepped out into the bedroom, a white towel wrapped around his waist, his skin damp and smelling of soap. The scent of the other woman was completely washed away, gone down the drain, as if it had never existed. He didn't look at me as he tossed his damp towel into the basket and pulled on his silk pajamas. “You’re still awake?” he asked, his voice completely indifferent as he climbed into his side of the bed. “Just going to sleep now,” I replied quietly. He didn't answer. He simply reached over, turned off the bedside lamp, and pulled the heavy duvet over his shoulders. He turned his back to me. Within five minutes, his breathing became heavy and rhythmic. He fell asleep easily, without a single care in the world, confident that his money had secured his peace for another night. I lay down on my side of the bed, keeping a wide distance between our bodies, and stared up at the dark ceiling. The heavy sadness was completely gone. The burning anger had vanished too. For the first time in three long years, a profound sense of peace washed over my entire body. I looked into the darkness, a very faint, genuine smile touching my lips, and finally closed my eyes to rest. A sharp vibration under my pillow woke my screen again. I slipped the phone out and looked at the glowing display. It was a new text message from my lawyer, Mr. Cole. “I’ll prepare everything.”