Revenge After Divorce: All Men Want Her

Elena’s POV

A storm was raging outside.

How fitting. My life was a train wreck, so why shouldn't the weather be?

I stared out the tinted window of the sedan, watching the city turn into a gray smudge. Beside me, Julian—my husband of seven years—was cooing into his phone. He wasn't even trying to hide it anymore. The volume was up, and his voice was dripping with that fake, sugary tone that used to be reserved for me.

"No, babe, I told you. I’m not with her. Just stuck in a boring-as-hell meeting. I swear."

He tossed a half-assed glance my way. I didn't move. I just kept staring at nothing.

Thinking he’d successfully played me, he went right back to his little mistress.

"Buy whatever you want. It’s an investment for your brand, right? I’ll have my assistant wire you another hundred grand tomorrow. An apartment? Sure. We’ll go house-hunting together this weekend."

He hung up, wearing a smug little grin that made my skin crawl.

Seven years.

We’d started with nothing. We’d shared dollar-store ramen in a studio so cold we had to sleep in coats just to stay warm.

And this was the payoff?

He’s a cheating multimillionaire. And I’m just the trophy wife he’s bored of.

"Elena? You’re going to give me the cold shoulder now?" He sighed, reaching out to toss an arm around me. "Look, you know those girls don't mean anything. It’s just a bit of fun."

I jerked away from him. His touch felt like a physical burn.

"Fun? You’ve been paying for her luxury suite for a year, Julian. That’s not a 'bit of fun.' That’s a full-on side life."

He actually had the nerve to chuckle.

"She just reminds me of how you used to be. You know, before you got so... bitter and uptight."

I didn't even bother arguing. I’d been living on coffee and zero sleep at the office for two weeks, and his "loving husband" routine at the airport was the last straw.

His phone buzzed again.

Her. "What’s wrong now? ... Scared of the thunder? Oh, baby... okay, I’m coming. Don't worry, I’ll be there in ten."

He hung up, pretending to look guilty. It was pathetic.

"I have to go. She gets panic attacks during storms. She’s young, Elena. She’s fragile."

"Pull over," I said, my voice as cold as the rain outside. "I’ll walk."

He looked at the literal flood happening outside for a split second.

"It’s a goddamn monsoon out there. You’ll get drenched."

"Just let me out, Julian. She’s the 'fragile little thing' and I’m the 'old reliable' who can take whatever you throw at me, right? I’m done crying over a little thunder."

He’d forgotten. He’d forgotten that after the accident, I used to scream until my throat was raw every time a storm hit.

He was the one who used to hold me. Now, he was using those same lines on a girl half his age.

"You’re being a real bitch tonight," he snapped, his patience finally snapping. "Driver, stop the car."

The door opened and the rain hit me like a wall. I stepped out and didn't look back. I stood there on the curb, soaked to the bone, watching his taillights disappear into the fog.

One day, Julian, you’re going to lose it all. And I’m going to be right there to watch you burn.

Then, a pair of headlights cut through the dark. A Rolls-Royce Cullinan pulled up, smooth as silk. The window slid down, revealing Damon. He had that "God complex" look he always wore—sharp, cold, and lethal.

"Get in. You’re coming with me."

No "hello." No "are you okay?" Just a command. That was Damon.

I didn't argue. I just climbed onto the beige leather seat.

"Her place," he told the driver.

The ride was suffocatingly quiet. Damon was focused on his tablet, but I could feel his eyes on me. My dress was soaked, clinging to me like a second skin. Without a word, he tossed a cashmere blanket into my lap.

When we pulled up to my building, I muttered a quick "thanks" and tried to make a run for it. But my keys were acting up, and before I could get inside, I heard heavy boots on the pavement behind me.

A huge hand slammed against the door, pinning it open. Damon was right there, his energy so intense I had to catch my breath.

He grabbed my waist and yanked me hard against him. His body was like a furnace against my freezing skin.

"Let me go, Damon!"

He let out a low, dark laugh that vibrated in his chest.

"Are you a masochist, Elena? Why the hell are you still with that loser?"

"Mind your own business."

"Divorce him," he growled, leaning so close his lips brushed my ear. "Walk away. Come to me instead."

I let out a hysterical laugh and grabbed his tie, pulling him down to my level.

"Are you for real? He’s your best friend. You’re just a vulture waiting for his buddy’s marriage to die. You’re no better than he is."

"Wrong," he whispered, his breath hot against my skin. "The difference is, I don't share. And I sure as hell wouldn't let you go."

My phone started screaming in my bag.

Julian.

Damon saw the name on the screen. He snatched the phone out of my hand before I could blink, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

"Wanna see what happens if I answer this?"