Chasing My Divorced Ex Wife

Anastasia

The distant murmur of the domestic staff made me wonder if I had been naïve, sitting alone on the balcony of the grand estate that belonged to my husband. It was my birthday, another one spent in solitude, waiting for him. It had always been like this-waiting for his attention, waiting for him to share a meal with me.

"Mrs. Winfrey," Naomi's voice interrupted my thoughts, drawing me back to the present.

"Yes, Naomi?" I turned, raising an eyebrow at her interruption.

"Um..." she hesitated, fidgeting with the hem of her apron, uncharacteristically unsure of herself. "Well..."

"Naomi, you're never this hesitant. What is it?"

Naomi was the most outspoken of all the staff and the one closest to me. Her hesitation only made me more curious.

"Well, Mrs. Winfrey," she began, avoiding my gaze, "do you really think waiting for Mr. Winfrey is necessary? You always wait for him on days like this, and he ne-"

"He will come," I cut her off, turning my eyes away from her. "Naomi, you know better than to bring the staff's gossip to me."

"It's past dinner time, and the house feels like we're mourning... The others are worried," she said, her tone dry but her concern evident.

I sighed, finally meeting her gaze. Naomi, in her early thirties, was someone I sometimes envied. She was married to one of the kindest men I knew. They both worked for us, and yet they were content, happy even.

"Have the chefs dispose of the dishes," I instructed, my voice firm. "But leave the ones I made for Quinn. Birthdays are better celebrated at night."

She gave me a look, one that silently reminded me of the truth I had been denying for so long-that Quinn didn't care for me the way a husband should.

"My husband doesn't love me," I knew it. Everyone knew it.

"Mr. Charter is here... He's the reason for the murmur," Naomi explained, trying to steer the conversation away from the sensitive topic.

"Fleur?" I asked, lifting my head. "Alone?"

"Yes," she confirmed before turning to leave. "He's alone."

I sighed deeply, rising from my chair to go meet Quinn's personal assistant. Fleur worked closely with my husband, so his presence here had to be related to Quinn.

As I walked down the hallway towards the living room, I noticed that Naomi had already dismissed the other staff. I opened the door to find Fleur standing there, holding a basket of flowers against his chest.

"Mrs. Anastasia" he greeted, bowing slightly. A smile tugged at my lips when I saw the flowers.

"Happy birthday."

"Oh my goodness! My husband sent these?" I asked, unable to contain my excitement as I moved closer to accept the basket. Flowers were my secret love, something only Naomi knew.

"No," he said, his confusion evident. "Mr. Winfrey didn't send me here."

"Oh..." I said, the smile faltering as I accepted the gift.

"You're a beneficiary of the company, so it's customary to wish you well," he explained, his smile broadening.

"Well, that's... thoughtful," I said, glancing at the wall clock. It was past ten.

"And your boss?" I asked, trying to mask my curiosity. "I haven't seen him yet."

"He'll be running late, Mrs. Anastasia."

I frowned. Fleur had always called me by my first name, but today it felt particularly grating.

"I advise you not to wait for him," he added, bowing again before heading towards the door.

"Wait," I called out. "Why don't you stay for dinner?"

That wasn't what I wanted to say. I wanted to ask him why I shouldn't wait for Quinn, where my husband was, and what was going on.

"Thank you, Mrs. Anastasia, but-"

"Mrs. Winfrey," I corrected, a bit of irritation seeping into my voice. "Isn't it logical to address me by my husband's last name? We are married, legally."

He smiled, bowing once more. "Very well then. Goodnight, Ma'am."

He left, closing the door behind him. I stood there, feeling the weight of the silence around me.

"You lashing out at him wasn't necessary," Naomi said from behind me, making me jump. She reached out to me but quickly pulled back. "The fact that Mr. Winfrey's company acknowledged your birthday means he cares."

"I never said he didn't care, Naomi. Just... don't say anything more tonight."

"Sure, Ma'am," she replied quietly. "But the food... it's getting cold."

"I know, Naomi. Leave it. He'll be here soon."

"It's almost midnight, Mrs. Winfrey," she said, her worry palpable. "You haven't eaten anything, and..."

"I will when he returns. I promise," I said, sitting at the table, staring at the untouched dishes. My birthday cake sat there, the candles unlit, the night slipping away. "Go to bed, and say hello to Caleb for me. I'm sorry for keeping you so late."

"You're not dismissing me, are you?" she asked, stubborn as always.

"I am. Please, don't argue with me tonight. I'm too tired."

"That's because you haven't eaten anything," she added, making me sigh in frustration.

"Just... go. Please," I pleaded, resting my head against the back of the chair and closing my eyes. "Goodnight."

"Alright," she relented. "I'll be upstairs if you need me."

The silence that followed Naomi's departure was almost suffocating. My mind drifted back to the day I married Quinn, believing it was my happiness ever after. But reality had been harsh. The luxury he provided was undeniable, but it came at the cost of my happiness.

I glanced again at the wall clock, and tears filled my eyes. It was midnight, and Quinn still wasn't home.

He was a busy man, involved in many things, from being an entrepreneur to managing his businesses. I understood that. But asking for a little time together wasn't too much, was it?

Besides it was my birthday, my fucking birthday.

Feeling a tightness in the back of my neck, I stood up. It was clear now; Quinn wasn't coming home tonight. Perhaps I had been selfish to expect otherwise. We never really celebrated his birthday either.

As I climbed the stairs, memories of our early days together flooded my mind. The only good times were when we were dating-if a few random visits could even be called dates.

I pushed open the door to our bedroom and collapsed onto the bed, my hair falling over my face, shielding me from the light above. I wanted to brush it away, but I couldn't find the strength. Soon, sleep claimed me, bringing a temporary end to my misery.

A loud knock on the bedroom door startled me awake. I blinked groggily, glancing at the clock-it was just past two in the morning.

I forced myself out of bed and opened the door, only to be shoved aside by Quinn. Raymond was with him.

"You sleep like a log too?" Quinn's voice was rough, his appearance disheveled yet still strikingly handsome. Even in his drunken state, he managed to show his disdain for me.

"Hi, Anastasia," Ray greeted, pushing Quinn into my arms. "Sorry for bringing him home like this... he had a bit too much to drink."

Ray was Quinn's closest friend, and a bad influence at that. I never liked him, but Quinn was not someone easily swayed by others.

"Oh..." I muttered, trying to steady Quinn as he leaned heavily on me, pushing me against the wall.

Ray gave us a quick glance before tapping Quinn on the shoulder. "Don't get too carried away, man. She arrives tomorrow."

"She?" I asked, confused, but Quinn's intense gaze held me captive. It was unlike him to look at me this way, with a warmth I had never seen before.

"Why did you leave me?" he suddenly asked, pulling me closer. "Just why?"

"Quinn, you're drunk. Don't do something you'll regret," I whispered, my heart racing. I couldn't resist him, but I feared the aftermath.

"I want you now..." he murmured, pressing me tightly against his chest before his lips crashed into mine.

I was stunned, but I kissed him back. I loved Quinn, and I wasn't going to waste this rare moment of affection. I closed my eyes, savoring the taste of him. But before I could fully immerse myself in the kiss, he pushed me onto the bed, tearing my clothes off with a roughness that shattered the fragile illusion of love.

He took me quickly, without tenderness, leaving me no time to even call his name. The act was over as abruptly as it began, a stark reminder that being his wife was a title I should be grateful to hold.

Quinn pulled away, and I knew instantly that the man I loved was gone, replaced by the cold, distant version of him I had grown accustomed to.

I looked away, not wanting to see the hatred in his eyes. I didn't want to be reminded that I meant nothing to him.

He stood up, heading to the drawer where he kept a bottle of pills. I knew what was coming. He would insist I take them, to erase any trace of this unwanted encounter.

He threw the pills at me, along with a bottle of water.

"Take them," he ordered me to take the pills, watching me intently as I shakily opened the bottle and swallowed two. I washed them down with half the water in the glass, my hands trembling.

When I finally looked up at him, my eyes burned with unshed tears. He pulled open a drawer and took out an envelope, walking toward me with deliberate steps. Confused, I took the envelope from him, my brow furrowing as I tried to make sense of it.

"What's this?" I forced the words out, my voice cracking as I fought to keep my composure.

"We're getting a divorce," he said flatly, shrugging into his suit jacket. "I want those signed before I return."

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I clutched the envelope tighter, my chest tightening as I struggled to process what he'd just said.

"A divorce?" I whispered, the word tasting foreign on my tongue. "Why? Why do we need a divorce?"

He gave me a blank stare, his expression cold and unfeeling. He adjusted his jacket, clearly ready to leave again.

"Do as you're told, Anastasia, and don't ask questions. I'm done with this farce we call a marriage," he said, turning on his heel and walking out of the room.

Not wanting to let him leave, I quickly wrapped the blanket around myself and followed closely behind him, still concerned about his state of mind. He was obviously extremely drunk when Rey brought him in.

"What on earth is this, Quinn?" My voice trembled, the words barely holding together as I felt myself unravelling. "You're not doing this on my birthday, are you?" I asked, tears blurring my vision as he turned and glared at me with disdain. "You can't leave me like this after I sacrificed three whole years of my life for you!"

"And I'm giving you a chance to be free. Isn't that better?" he shot back, reaching for the dreaded file I clutched tightly in my hands. "Consider this a birthday gift and leave. I'll make sure you get all the benefits from the divorce."

"You're..."

"Leave, Anastasia." He cut me off sharply. "Leave now and say nothing more. You can have the Ferrari or one of the estates in Paris as part of the settlement... just go."

Just go!

I marvelled at how easily those words slipped from his tongue, as if they meant nothing. My eyes stung with fresh tears. I knew Quinn never loved me-it was always obvious to anyone who wasn't family. But I never imagined his hatred ran this deep.

I stumbled backward, my heart shattering into a thousand pieces as he tightened his grip on his suit jacket.

"Quinn," I called out, but the only thing I saw in his eyes was determination-determination to get rid of me.

"Addison will be here later today to finalise the divorce. Don't be stubborn, Anastasia," he said coldly, before turning and leaving the house.

I watched him walk away, and then I crumbled to the floor, doing the only thing I knew how to do: crying.

Anastasia

"Ana," Naomi's gentle voice called out from behind me as I sat motionless, staring at the papers Quinn had given me earlier.

I didn't know how long I had been sitting there, but my body felt numb and weak.

Hearing Naomi's voice pulled me back to reality, and I quickly scrambled to my feet, wiping my eyes so she wouldn't see how broken I felt.

"You've been sitting here for a long time," she added, concern lacing her words.

I turned slightly to face her, but I couldn't bear to fully meet her gaze. Instead, I walked past her in silence, the blanket still wrapped tightly around me, and headed toward the stairs where she stood.

Naomi knew better than to ask if I was okay.

My footsteps echoed in the quiet house as I hurried to the room Quinn and I shared. I collapsed onto the bed, the weight of Quinn's words still pressing down on me.

He wanted a divorce.

I couldn't sleep. My mind raced with thoughts, each one darker than the last. Where was Quinn? Where had he gone in the middle of the night? Every possible scenario played out in my head, each one more torturous than the last.

I reached for my phone on the nightstand; the clock showed it was well past three in the morning. My heart pounded as I scrolled through my recent calls, all to Quinn, all unanswered.

I had called him countless times while I sat on the balcony yesterday, waiting for him to come home.

With trembling hands, I dialed his number again.

It went to voicemail. I needed him to explain what he meant by Addison coming over to finalize this. There was no way I was going to divorce him without understanding what I had done wrong.

I tried again, and again, and again. Each time, the call ended with no one picking up. I decided to give it one last try.

The ringing seemed to last an eternity before it abruptly stopped. For a moment, all I heard was silence, and then...

"Veronica..."

He said the name softly, almost tenderly, followed by the rustling of sheets. My breath caught in my throat. Veronica.

Her name was all I had heard him whisper almost every night since I married Quinn. I had asked Naomi, and she confirmed what I feared-Veronica was his ex. The woman he never spoke about, the woman I always suspected held a piece of his heart I could never reach.

Before I could say anything, the call ended. The silence that followed was deafening, as if the entire world had gone mute. I stared at the phone in disbelief, my mind struggling to catch up with what I had just heard.

Veronica.

Her name echoed in my mind, each repetition more painful than the last. I felt like I was suffocating, my heartbeat louder with each thud.

Desperate for answers, I opened my social media apps, hoping to find some explanation, some reassurance that this was all a horrible misunderstanding. But instead, what I found made my blood run cold.

Pictures of Quinn and Veronica Rodriguez, the model, were everywhere. They were plastered all over the internet, smiling together at a lavish party. Her arm was draped casually over his shoulder, her head tilted toward him in a way that made my stomach churn.

And Veronica looked like me. It was uncanny how much we resembled each other.

The resemblance was haunting-the same dark hair, the same delicate features. But where I looked tired, worn out from years of trying to hold our marriage together, she looked radiant, glowing with confidence and joy.

The headlines were brutal, speculating about their rekindled romance, about Quinn leaving me for her. My hands shook as I read each article, each comment tearing my world apart piece by piece.

How could he do this to me? How could he so easily replace me with someone who was, in so many ways, just like me? The realization hit me like a ton of bricks-he had never truly loved me. I was just a placeholder, a substitute for the woman he really wanted.

No wonder Quinn came to me himself. He offered a helping hand when I needed it.

Tears streamed down my face as I curled up on the bed, clutching the phone to my chest. The pain was unbearable, a deep, gnawing ache that consumed me. I had given everything to this marriage, sacrificed so much, only to be discarded like I was nothing.

Veronica Rodriguez. The name would haunt me forever.

I tried to calm myself, taking deep, shaky breaths, but nothing worked. The tears kept coming, the despair overwhelming. The woman in those pictures, the woman Quinn was with, was everything I wasn't-confident, successful, adored. And he had chosen her over me.

No... he didn't choose her over me; he just went back to the arms that gave him solace.

I thought back to our wedding day, to the vows we made to each other. I had believed in those promises, believed that we would build a life together. But now, it felt like a cruel joke, like I had been living in a dream that had finally turned into a nightmare.

I knew I had to confront him, to demand answers, but I couldn't bring myself to move. I was paralyzed by the pain, by the betrayal. My mind kept going back to the phone call, to the way he had said her name with so much tenderness. It was a stark contrast to the way he had spoken to me earlier tonight, with nothing but coldness and disdain.

It occurred to me yet again why he came home drunk and had sex with me. He must have thought I was her.

As the night wore on, I felt myself slipping into numbness, a cold, empty void where the pain couldn't reach me. I welcomed it, needing it to survive what was happening. My heart had been shattered into a thousand pieces, and I didn't know if I could ever put it back together.

Morning light began to filter through the curtains, and I knew that soon the world would wake up and carry on as if nothing had happened. But for me, everything had changed. My marriage, my life, the man I loved-it was all over.

And all that was left was the unbearable silence of an empty house, and the knowledge that Quinn was somewhere out there with her.

Veronica Rodriguez.

It's now or never. I will go to him and seek answers.