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. I 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 some frivolous vacation with her, of all people, while I sat here, alone, waiting, like a fool.

My lips tightened, and I slammed my teacup onto the table. The delicate porcelain cracked under the force, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. One of the maids flinched from the doorway, her wide, fearful eyes peering out as if I were some wild creature ready to pounce.

“Clean it up,” I 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. I had no quarrel with them. But Christiana? That woman didn’t deserve to share in our family name, to bask in the life I built after my husband’s death. I 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. I stood, brushing off my skirt, and walked to the window. Through the glass, I 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 I need is for people to understand loyalty.” My voice came out colder than I’d intended, even to my own ears, but it couldn’t be helped. I dismissed him with a wave, and he backed away, clearly relieved to escape my sight.

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. I saw right through her. She was no innocent,

hovered at the doorway, her eyes

not bothering

tea,” she stammered, holding the tray with

I took the cup, I could feel

deep breath, reminding myself that I was not some reckless woman, that I could be calm. But trembling with the force of my anger. “Get out,” I hissed, not even looking at her. She darted away, her footsteps

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.

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 some far- off paradise,

seeing Alex unshackled from that woman’s influence. She had always been beneath him, a charity case at best. And when he’d finally come to his senses, when he left her and that wretched

wasn’t looking. They assumed I was lonely, that I was bitter simply

education, the best connections, every advantage life could offer. When his father passed, I was left to raise Alex alone, bearing the weight of both parent and guide, my every decision calculated

him down.

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

then, I heard a slight rustle at the door. My maid, Anna, peered in nervously. She had been with me for years, and of all

her voice quivering, “I have a message from Mr.

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Chapter 129