Eloise

Morning sunlight pried through the curtains, sharp and uninvited. My eyes blinked open to an unfamiliar ceiling. The smell of coffee lingered in the air, mixed with something clean, and masculine. For a moment, I didn’t move. I just listened—to the city humming outside the window, to the thudding in my chest that didn’t feel like guilt yet, but it would.

Then memory struck like a blade — the bar, his voice, his hands, the taste of whiskey and something forbidden.

Mike…..

I turned my head. He wasn’t beside me. The sheets were warm on one side, cold on the other. My dress and coat was draped neatly across a chair, my heels placed side by side. Too neat. He hadn’t touched a thing after. That realization made something in my chest tighten.

I sat up, pulling the sheet closer around me. My mouth was dry, my skin tingled with remnants of last night’s heat — the kind that felt both reckless and real.

I wasn’t supposed to be here. I wasn’t supposed to have done any of this.

But then, wasn’t that the point?

The sound of footsteps drew my gaze toward the doorway. Mike appeared, one hand holding a mug, the other running through his still-damp hair. His shirt was half buttoned, sleeves rolled up, collar loose. He looked… handsome, extremely sexy and good looking. Like a man who’d been through storms and learned how to stand in the middle of them without flinching.

“You’re awake,” he said quietly, as though afraid the words would break something fragile between us.

I nodded, my voice a whisper. “What time is it?”

“Almost nine.” He set the mug on the bedside table — coffee, dark and steaming. “You can use the shower if you want. Towels are clean. No pressure.”

That last part — no pressure — undid me more than anything.

Lucian never said things like that. Lucian’s world had been full of pressure, perfection, and invisible cages disguised as love.

I looked at Mike again, searching for judgment, expectation, regret — anything that would make this easier to despise. But there was none. Only quiet understanding.

“Thanks,” I murmured, and his mouth twitched into the faintest smile before he turned and left me alone.

.

The shower was scalding, punishing almost. I stood beneath it until my skin flushed and the steam blurred everything, the walls, the night before, my reflection. When I finally faced the mirror, water dripping from my chin, I barely recognized the woman staring back.

Her eyes weren’t dull. Her lips weren’t trembling.

She looked alive.

By the time I dressed and stepped into the living room, Mike was at the window, watching the city move. He didn’t turn right away. He just said, “You don’t owe me anything, Eloise.”

The sound of my name from his mouth made something in me stutter. I didn’t even remember telling him it last night, but hearing it now felt like he’d known it longer than a few hours.

“I know,” I said softly. “But thank you. For not—”

“For not making it complicated?” he offered.

I gave a dry laugh. “Exactly that.”

He finally turned, meeting my eyes. “Take care of yourself.”

I wanted to say something, something meaningful, maybe even something stupid like you too — but the words tangled in my throat. So instead, I just nodded and left.

.

The drive home was quiet, the city too bright for how heavy I felt. My fingers clenched around the steering wheel, but my chest… my chest was light. I should’ve felt filthy, ashamed, and ruined.

But I didn’t.

For the first time in years, I hadn’t been Lucian’s wife, his puppet, his reflection in a glass cage. I had just been a woman, messy, flawed, human, and somehow, that felt like breathing again.

The engine hummed as I turned onto the estate, the comfort of routine seeping back in. The house came into view, elegant, silent, sterile, like nothing had changed.

At the passenger seat sat the divorce papers, that I kept looking at every now and then. It was the right thing to do even though my heart breaks every time I think about signing my under the paper. I packed in front of the house, heart thudding, my breath coming in shallow gasps.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door and stepped inside, my heels clicking on the pavement as I walked toward the entrance.

As I stepped inside, whispers from the maids echoed through the hallway.

“Isn’t that Mrs. Sinclair?” I heard one of them murmur, eyes wide with uncertainty.

“I thought she wasn’t coming back...” the other whispered, her voice barely audible.

The words trailing off as I pushed past them.

The house felt different, colder or maybe it was the realization that I had never truly belonged here. I was here for one reason only. To take my son and end this marriage.

I heard voices coming from the living room as I neared. Max was there, but so was Lucian. My breath hitched, a mix of dread and anticipation knotting my stomach. I paused outside the doorway, listening in.

“Dad,” Max’s small voice echoed from the room, tinged with confusion. “Where’s Mom? Why haven’t I seen her since morning?”

My heart shattered at that question, He deserves so much better. ‘This was not the definition of the happy family he imagined”

My eyes stinged with unshed tears.

Lucian shifted on the couch, his voice cold, almost too calm.

“Max, your mom and I aren’t going to be living together anymore. She’s going to live somewhere else, away from us.”

I froze instantly, I knew he was going to say those words but hearing it aloud still felt like a slap to the face.

“Why? Does that mean you don’t love Mom anymore?” Max’s voice, small and innocent, broke through the thick silence.

I closed my eyes for a moment, sliding down the corner, tears streaming down my face. I already knew the answer, but I was hoping that Lucian would spare Max the heartache of knowing the truth.

“Your mom and I just... weren’t happy anymore, Max. But that’s okay. She’s moving on. You’re going to have a better mom now, one who will love you even more than she did.” He said, without hesitating.

“A better mom?” The words echoed in my head like a nightmare. How could he refer Jennifer as the best mom, when I'm well and alive?

I had hoped, in some small part of his heart, that Lucian would spare Max from the harsh reality. But no. He was already turning my son against me.

I couldn’t hold it back anymore, so I stood up and wiped my tears… I let out a shaky breath, fighting the tears that threatened to fall, I stepped into the room.

Lucian’s eyes locked onto mine for the briefest moment, his face hardened when he saw the divorce papers in my hand.

Without a word, I dropped the papers on the coffee table in front of him. My voice was strained but steady as I looked him dead in the eyes.

“Lucian,” I said, my voice cracking with the weight of everything I was holding in, “I’m here to take my son. He’s coming with me.”

Max looked up at me, his eyes wide and confused, but I couldn't just look at him. Not yet. I kept my eyes locked on Lucian, my heart hammering.

For a moment, everything stood still. Max’s small voice trembled as he asked, “Mom…?”

Lucian stood up slowly, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face as he scanned the papers.

He didn’t say anything at first, but the silence was thick. Then he continued, his voice cold and dismissive.

“We never discussed you will be taking Max, Eloise. He’s my son too!”

I clenched my fists, my anger rising.

“You’re not even fighting for him, Lucian,” I shot back, my voice steady despite the pain. “You’ve already given up on us. But I’m not going to let you keep him from me. Not now, not ever!”

Before he could respond, the door to the living room swung open with a loud crash. A voice—too familiar—cut through the conversation.

“Eloise, wait!”

My heart skipped a beat as I turned. Standing in the doorway, a smug expression on her face, was Jennifer.

Jennifer stepped further into the room, her posture confident as she stood next to Lucian. “I’m sorry, Eloise, but Lucian and I have things to discuss. You can’t just barge in here and take Max. “His my son now.”

My heart raced with fury and disbelief. I didn’t know whether to yell or scream. The audacity. The nerve of both of them. Max? Is suddenly now your son?

Lucian stood beside Jennifer, his eyes flicking between them. “Eloise, you need to leave. This isn’t the time for this.”

I took a step forward, my voice firm as I finally found my footing. “How does your conversation have anything to do with Max?” I demanded, my gaze locked on both of them.

“I’m taking him to his grandmother’s house. “So, you,” I said, pointing directly at Lucian, “Can deal with whatever mess you've created, but you’re not keeping him from me.”

Jennifer tried to say something, but i cut her off with a sharp look. “He's my son, not yours! Stay out of this.”

The look on Jennifer and Lucian's faces was one of utter shock. I was surprised by my own resilience. I had always feared rebelling against them, but now I no longer have to.

Max’s small voice echoed from the corner. “Mom…?”

My heart broke as I turned to him. I knelt down to his level, taking his small hand in mine. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” I said softly. “We’re going to go stay with Grandma for a little while”