Seducing my Ex-husband back (Claire) novel Chapter 18

Chapter 18

MASKS OFF

~RICHARD’S POV~

The restaurant is all glass and steel, where conversations happen in whispers and every smile costs extra. Monica chose it, of

course.

She loves places where she can perform.

I watch her across the white tablecloth, her red nails drumming against her wine glass.

She’s beautiful in the way expensive things are lovely–shiny, perfect, and completely hollow.

“You look tired,” she says, not bothering to hide her irritation. “My friends are talking about your company issues.”

Since when did Monica give a fuck about my business? I take a sip of water, letting the silence stretch between us.

“Since when do you care about anything beyond your credit card limit?”

Her smile is as sharp as broken glass. “I care because it affects me too.”

“You mean it affects your cash cow.”

The mask slips for just a second. I see the flash of rage in her eyes before she smooths it over with gifted lightheartedness.

“However you want to see it,” she says, cutting into her salad with violent accuracy. “I won’t watch my perfect life crumble because you got careless.”

My hand tightens around my water glass. The urge to throw it against the wall, to watch something shatter for once, nearly overwhelms me.

“Careful,” Monica purrs, noticing my white knuckles. “You might actually break the glass.”

The waiter appears with our entrees, all rehearsed smiles and silent efficiency. As he sets down my steak, the restaurant’s television catches my attention.

Good Morning New York. The anchor’s voice floats over the dining room chatter.

“…and here with us today, Manhattan’s newest power couple, billionaire Alexander Hayes and his fiancée Claire Winfred…”

The fork freezes halfway to my mouth.

There she is.

My Claire….no, not mine anymore…..sitting next to Alexander Hayes on a cream–colored sofa. She’s wearing a soft blue dress that brings out her eyes.

Her hair falls in waves over her shoulders, and when she smiles…God, that smile used to be mine.

“They’re perfect together, aren’t they?” Monica’s voice cuts through my thoughts like acid. “Alexander really seems taken with her, though I don’t know what he sees in a woman like Claire.”

She keeps cutting her steak, each slice deliberate and violent.

“I suppose he’s attracted to her pretty face and body. Claire always did have the kind of figure that made men weak in the knees. Lucky witch.”

Monica pauses, her knife stopped over her plate. She looks up at me, studying my face like she’s searching for cracks in armor.

I force myself to lean back in my chair, to look relaxed. Unaffected. But my eyes drift back to the screen where Claire is laughing

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Chapter 18

+15 Bonus

at something the anchor said.

“Tell us,” the host is saying, “what’s the most romantic thing Alexander has done for you?”

Before Claire can answer, Alexander’s hand finds hers on the sofa arm. His fingers intertwine with hers…..possessive, claiming

The camera catches it all.

“Every day with Claire is romantic,” Alexander says, his voice smooth as silk. “She makes ordinary moments extraordinary.”

He lifts their joined hands and presses a kiss to her knuckles, never breaking eye contact with her. The studio audience practically melts.

I want to put my fist through the television.

The woman who used to beg for my attention, who once told me she would rather have five minutes of my time than a lifetime with anyone else, is giving her smiles to another man.

Her touches. Her body.

And the bastard is my father’s illegitimate son.

“Look at them,” voices from nearby tables drift over. “So beautiful together.”

“You can tell they’re really in love.”

“Goals, honestly.”

The sharp noise of metal striking porcelain catches the attention of everyone within a ten–foot range.

Monica’s fork and knife bang against her plate, the sound reverberating through the lavish environment.

“Sorry,” she says to the other diners, her cheeks flushed. “It slipped from my hand.”

Liar. Monica’s hands never slip. Everything she does is planned.

“You should be careful,” I tell her, my voice low. “I wouldn’t want my lovely wife to get hurt.”

She gives me that look….the cold, sickening expression I’ve come to hate. It’s the look that says she owns me, that I’m trapped in this joke of a marriage with no way out.

“You don’t look happy,” she says, nodding toward the television. “About Claire marrying Alexander, I mean.”

I shrug, forcing disinterest into every line of my body. “She looks pitiful, actually. Desperate for attention, as usual.”

But even as the words leave my mouth, I’m remembering the engagement party.

The way Claire looked in that white dress. The fire in her eyes when she stood in front of me against that conference table, her hand gripping my tie like she owned me.

‘Is she everything you thought she’d be? Is your marriage everything you dreamed of when you were fucking her behind my back?‘

The memory strikes me with an overwhelming force.

The way she smelled–not the cloying perfume Monica wears, but something unpretentious and warm.

The way her body fit against mine was like it was made for me. The way she looked at me was like she could see straight through to my soul.

Pitiful? No. Claire was many things that night, but pitiful wasn’t one of them.

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Chapter 18

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Monica is still watching me, those calculating eyes missing nothing. But I don’t care anymore. Let her suspect. Let her wonder.

I pick up my water glass and take a slow sip, meeting her gaze over the rim.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” I ask, nodding toward her untouched steak. “You were the one who suggested lunch. Though I’d rather be anywhere else than here, pretending to be something we’re not.”

Her jaw tightens, but she doesn’t answer.

God. I’m tired of pretending.

The house is silent when we get home, the kind of oppressive quiet that feels like a held breath.

Monica storms upstairs without a word, her heels clicking angrily against the marble. The bedroom door slams hard enough to rattle the windows.

I don’t follow her. Instead, I head to my study and close the door.

The room smells like leather and whiskey…..familiar, comforting scents that remind me of my father’s office. Back when I thought I knew what I wanted from life.

I pull out my phone and dial a number I know by heart.

“Victor,” I say when my private investigator picks up. “I need everything you have on Alexander Hayes. And Claire. Every detail, every connection, every secret they think they’re hiding.”

“How deep do you want me to dig?”

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