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.

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. I saw right through her. She was no innocent, no meek woman wronged by circumstance. She

hovered

I demanded, not bothering to mask

tea,” she stammered, holding the tray with shaking

the cup, I could

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

would not let Christiana destroy everything I’d 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 I would find a way to pull my son back, to make him see the truth. One way or another,

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 some far- off paradise, I was here,

a charity case at best. And when he’d finally come to his senses, when he left her and that wretched

I wasn’t looking. They assumed I was lonely, that I was bitter simply because I was alone. Fools. It wasn’t loneliness that ate at me; it was the insult, the utter

raise Alex alone, bearing the weight of both parent and guide, my every decision

him down.

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. I remembered the years before the divorce, the silent tension between us whenever she entered a room. How she would plaster on that soft, saccharine

peered in nervously. She had been with me for years, and of all my staff, she was perhaps the only one brave enough to bring news she knew would

her voice quivering, “I have

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7 24 PM

Chapter 129