Dear ex-Wife please be mine again

Chapter 129

Madam Margret’s POV

The curtains in my sitting room were drawn tightly, blocking out the midday sun. | had no desire for warmth, for

light, or for anything that might ease this raw bitterness clawing its way up my spine. My son, my only son,

Alex...had left the country on sfrivolous vacation with her, of all people, while | sat here, alone, waiting, like

a fool.

My lips tightened, and | slammed my teacup onto the table. The delicate porcelain cracked under the force, but |

couldn’t bring myself to care. One of the maids flinched from the doorway, her wide, fearful eyes peering out as

if | were swild creature ready to pounce.

“Clean it up,” | snapped, waving her away with a careless flick of my wrist. She scampered in, her head bowed,

her hands trembling as she gathered the shards. Pathetic, really. If only people could learn to hold themselves

with dignity, rather than always shrinking away.

As she scurried out, my mind returned to the real source of my frustration... Christiana. Christiana, with her

sweet, innocent facade, had wormed her way back into Alex's life as if the past five years of peace, the divorce,

the hard-won freedom, meant absolutely nothing. It was unforgivable.

Oh, of course, the children were another matter. Ethan and Emma were blood, my blood, and they were innocent

in all of this. | had no quarrel with them. But Christiana? That woman didn’t deserve to share in our family name,

to bask in the life | built after my husband's death. | raised Alex from the ground up, turned him into the man he

is today, and he had the audacity to turn his back on me. For her.

The thought of it twisted in my chest like a knife. | stood, brushing off my skirt, and walked to the window.

Through the glass, | watched the groundskeepers trim the hedges, their heads bowed, their movements quick

and efficient. At least they knew their place.

One of my guards approached, hands clasped, his face set in a rigid, impassive mask. “Madam Alistair, is there

anything you need?”

“No. What | need is for people to understand loyalty.” My voice cout colder than I'd intended, even to my

own ears, but it couldn't be helped. | dismissed him with a wave, and he backed away, clearly relieved to escape

my sight.

As | turned back into the room, my thoughts darkened. Alex may have taken those children and flown off with

her, but this wasn’t over. It couldn't be. Christiana’s smile, her easy, manipulative charm, it infuriated me. | saw

right through her. She was no innocent, no meek woman wronged by circumstance. She was a parasite, a

woman who had dared to crawl back after all the damage she had caused.

“Madam?” One of the maids hovered at the doorway, her eyes averted.

“What is it?” | demanded, not bothering to mask my irritation.

“Your tea,” she stammered, holding the tray with shaking hands.

But as | took the cup, | could feel my fingers

| took a deep breath, reminding myself that | was not sreckless woman, that | could be calm. But trembling

with the force of my anger. “Get out,” | hissed, not even looking at her. She darted away, her footsteps fading

down the hall.

| would not let Christiana destroy everything Id built. She would not ruin my relationship with Alex, my legacy, or

my family. She could have her little reunion now, bask in her temporary victory. But | would find a way to pull my

son back, to make him see the truth. One way or another, Christiana would pay.

I moved to my armchair by the window, settling into it with a rigid posture, my fingers gripping the armrests

tightly. The room was silent, save for the occasional tick of the grandfather clock by the doorway. Each tick felt

like a countdown, a reminder that while they played house in sfar- off paradise, | was here, waiting,

calculating my next move.

It had been five years. Five blessed years of peace, of finally seeing Alex unshackled from that woman's

influence. She had always been beneath him, a charity case at best. And when he'd finally cto his senses,

when he left her and that wretched life she brought, I'd thought he was finally free, finally ready to becthe

man he was meant to be. But somehow, she’d clawed her way back, as resilient as a weed choking the life from

a beautiful garden.

The maids and staff knew to stay out of my way today. I'd heard the whispers, seen their pitying glances when

they thought | wasn't looking. They assumed | was lonely, that | was bitter simply because | was alone. Fools. It

wasn't loneliness that ate at me; it was the insult, the utter betrayal of my son turning againstfor someone

like her.

I'd built this life for him, sacrificed everything after his father’s death to ensure he had the finest education, the

best connections, every advantage life could offer. When his father passed, | was left to raise Alex alone, bearing

the weight of both parent and guide, my every decision calculated to lead him to greatness. | saw him as my

legacy, my greatest work. And now he was throwing it all away on the very woman who had tried to drag

him down.

| poured myself another cup of tea, the hot liquid filling the room with a faint, floral aroma. It did little to ease my

tension. My mind raced, weaving through the past, reliving every slight and insult that woman had dealt our

family. | remembered the years before the divorce, the silent tension between us whenever she entered a room.

How she would plaster on that soft, saccharine smile, as though | couldn't see through her, as though I couldn't

see her true motives. It was infuriating.

Just then, | heard a slight rustle at the door. My maid, Anna, peered in nervously. She had been withfor

years, and of all my staff, she was perhaps the only one brave enough to bring news she knew would unsettle

me.

“Madam Alistair,” she began, her voice quivering, “I have a message from Mr. Alistair. It arrived this morning.”

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Chapter 129

I held out my hand, trying to keep my voice calm. “Give it here.”

She placed the note in my hand and

quickly excused herself, disappearing

from the room like a ghost. | unfolded

the paper, my gaze apwing 28 |

rds

,

read-AI Sor 5. He spoke of the

children, how happy they were, how

cae “ ”

Christiana was “good for them,” and

“

how he hoped | could “cto

” 3

accept” her for the sake of the family.

My fingers tightened around the

letter, crumpling the paper in my grip.

“Cto accept her?” | whispered, my voice barely more than a hiss. “As if | could ever...”

The thought of her, smug and

content, basking in her little victory,

was enough to make my blood boil.

)

She thought she d wor shat 4h had

7

,

eyenything(she i ever wanted, my

son, the children, a family she could

parade around. But she

underestimated me, as they all did. |

would not sit back and let her erase

Do 19