The Ex-Wife's Grand Return

My husband, Brady, was supposed to be the love of my life, the man who promised to protect me forever. Instead, he was the one who hurt me the most.

He forced me to sign divorce papers, accusing me of corporate espionage and sabotaging company projects, all while his first love, Hettie, who was supposedly dead, reappeared, pregnant with his child.

My family was gone, my mother disowned me, and my father died while I was working late, a choice I'd regret forever. I was dying, suffering from late-stage cancer, and he didn't even know, or care. He was too busy with Hettie, who was allergic to the flowers I tended for him, the ones he loved because Hettie loved them.

He accused me of having an affair with my adoptive brother, Callum, who was also my doctor, the only person who truly cared for me. He called me disgusting, a skeleton, and told me no one loved me.

I was terrified that if I fought back, I would lose even the right to hear his voice on the phone. I was so weak, so pathetic.

But I wouldn't let him win.

I signed the divorce papers, giving him Simon Corp, the company he always wanted to destroy.

I faked my death, hoping he would finally be happy.

But I was wrong.

Three years later, I returned as Aurora Morgan, a powerful woman with a new identity, ready to make him pay for everything he had done.

Chapter 1

The law office of Simon Corp was always cold, the air thick with the scent of paper and quiet ambition. It was a place of power, and Karissa Simon was supposed to be its queen.

"I, Karissa Simon, being of sound mind and body, do hereby declare this to be my last will and testament." Her voice was soft, but it carried in the silent room.

Darcy Dodson, her chief legal counsel and oldest friend, watched her with a worried frown. Karissa was anything but of sound body. She was frail, the life seeming to drain from her a little more each day.

"I bequeath my entire estate, including all my shares in Simon Corp, my personal properties, and all other assets, to one person."

The pen in Darcy' s hand paused. She knew what was coming.

"To my husband, Brady Kennedy."

The name hung in the air, a testament to a love that had never been returned.

Darcy finally broke the formal procedure. "Karissa, are you sure about this?"

"I'm sure, Darcy."

"Let me at least get you some water. Or call a doctor. You look pale."

Karissa shook her head, a faint smile on her lips. "No, I need to get home."

"Why?" Darcy pleaded, her voice cracking slightly. "He won't even be there."

"I have to cook dinner for him." It was a duty she had performed every single day of their four-year marriage. A duty he had never once acknowledged by eating her food.

She remembered the countless nights, the perfectly prepared meals growing cold on the table, her hope dimming with the setting sun.

A deep sense of loss settled in her chest, a familiar ache.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Darcy." Karissa stood, her movements slow and deliberate.

She walked out of the office, her figure looking thin and fragile against the large glass doors.

Darcy watched her go, a bitter thought crossing her mind. Karissa Simon, the celebrated heiress of the city, was now just a shadow, clinging to a man who despised her.

The drive home was quiet. The city lights blurred into long streaks of color, mirroring the tears that welled in Karissa's eyes but never fell.

She pulled out her phone, her thumb hovering over his name. She pressed the call button.

It rang several times before he answered. "What do you want?" His voice was as cold as ever.

"Brady," she said, the name a soft caress.

"Don't call me that," he snapped. "It's disgusting."

The familiar pain twisted in her gut. She had called him that since they were children, back when he had promised to protect her forever.

Then, she heard another voice in the background, a woman's voice, soft and sweet. "Brady, who is it?"

His tone softened instantly. "No one important."

Karissa's breath hitched.

"Don't call me again unless it's to sign the divorce papers," he said, his voice laced with contempt.

She tried to keep her voice steady, to hide the tremor. "I'll have dinner ready for you."

The line went dead.

She stared at the phone, the silence of the car amplifying the ringing in her ears. A single tear finally escaped, tracing a cold path down her cheek.

She was so weak. So pathetic.

She was terrified that if she fought back, she would lose even the right to hear his voice on the phone.

When she arrived at their villa, the place was dark and empty. It was a house he'd had designed for his first love, filled with things she was allergic to but had never dared to remove.

She went to the kitchen, a space she had transformed from an unfamiliar territory to her only sanctuary. She had learned to cook for him, a world away from the boardrooms and balance sheets she was raised with.

The house was cold, echoing with a profound loneliness. She turned on some soft music, the melody a weak shield against the silence.

The clock ticked past midnight. He wasn't coming home.

She cleaned up the untouched food, her heart a leaden weight in her chest. As she was about to turn off the lights and go to her empty bed, she heard the front door open.

Hope, that foolish, stubborn thing, flared in her chest.

He walked in, bringing a gust of cold night air with him. He smelled of another woman's perfume.

"Brady, you're back," she said, her voice full of a relief she couldn't hide. "Are you hungry? I can heat up some food."

She reached out to take his coat.

He suddenly grabbed her, his grip like iron, and pushed her against the wall. His eyes were dark with a mix of alcohol and something else, something possessive and cruel.

Karissa' s heart hammered against her ribs. She was scared. "Brady, what are you doing?"

He leaned in, his lips about to crush hers, but the sound of his name on her lips seemed to sober him up slightly. He recoiled as if burned.

"Don't touch me," he snarled, his voice a low growl. "You make me sick."

He turned and strode up the stairs, leaving her shaking against the wall.

The emotional whiplash made her stomach churn, and a wave of nausea washed over her. It was always like this. One moment of hope, followed by a crushing blow of reality.

Why did he hate her so much? She couldn't understand.

She cleaned herself up, the shame clinging to her like a second skin. She went upstairs and quietly prepared his pajamas and a glass of warm milk, placing them by his bedside as she always did.

She waited for a long time.

He finally came out of the shower, a towel slung low on his hips. He didn't even look at her.

He looked at the divorce papers on his nightstand, which she hadn't signed. Then he turned to her, his face a mask of cold fury.

"I want a divorce, Karissa."

She stared at him, her world tilting on its axis. "Why? Why now?"

He looked at her, and the words he spoke next shattered what was left of her heart.

"Because Hettie is back."

Hettie is back.

The words were a death sentence. Karissa had always known about Hettie Lindsey, the woman Brady loved, the woman who had supposedly died in an accident years ago.

She had always told herself that she couldn't compete with a memory. A dead person was untouchable.

But now the ghost had returned to life.

"No," Karissa whispered, her voice trembling. "Brady, we're married. I'm your wife."

He scoffed, a cruel, humorless sound. "Wife? Do you really think you deserve that title?"

She couldn't answer. The villa was filled with Hettie' s presence. The garden was full of Hettie' s favorite flowers, the ones Karissa was allergic to. The decor, the colors, the very air she breathed belonged to another woman.

She had nothing here. Not a single thing was hers.

She swallowed the pain, trying one last time. "Brady, I have nowhere else to go. You're all I have."

Her family was gone. Her father had passed away, and her mother had disowned her for marrying Brady, whose family the Simons had allegedly ruined. She' d been working late the night her father had his heart attack, a choice she would regret for the rest of her life.

"The only family I have is Hettie," he said, his voice devoid of any emotion. He was stating a fact.

The words cut her deeper than any knife. For four years, she had believed they were family, a broken one, but family nonetheless.

He put on a fresh shirt and left without another word, the slam of the front door echoing in the cavernous house.

He left her with the divorce papers.

She stood alone in the dark, a sharp pain radiating from her stomach. It was getting worse.

She fumbled for her pills, swallowing a handful without water.

"I don't want a divorce," she whispered to the empty room. "Brady, please... don't leave me."

Her plea was lost in the silence. She closed her eyes, the darkness inside her matching the night outside.

She hated gardenias. The cloying sweetness of the flowers made her head spin. And she was allergic to them. Yet, the entire garden was filled with them because Hettie loved them.

Darcy was driving her to the hospital. Karissa couldn't stop coughing.

"Karissa, just let me have someone remove those damned flowers," Darcy said, her knuckles white on the steering wheel.

"No," Karissa said weakly. "He would be angry."

She knew it wasn't about the flowers. It was about the woman they represented. Brady would see it as an attack on Hettie's memory.

They arrived at the hospital. Her doctor, Callum Sullivan, was waiting. He was also her adoptive brother, the only real family she had left. He had been taken in by the Simons after his parents died, and he had always been fiercely protective of her.

He held up her latest scan results, his face grim.

"Karissa, you can't keep doing this," he said, his voice tight with anger and concern.

"How bad is it?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"If you continue to neglect your treatment and let your emotional state deteriorate... you have three months left. At most."

She gripped the diagnostic report, her fingers turning white. Three months.

Callum' s voice softened slightly. "Where is he? Where is Brady?"

"He's busy," she lied, the words tasting like ash in her mouth.

"Busy?" Callum's voice rose again. "Busy doing what? Does he have any idea what you're going through?"

He immediately regretted his harsh tone. "I'm sorry, Rissa."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "We can start palliative care. It will help manage the pain."

"Okay," she said, accepting her fate.

She walked out of his office, the doctor's words echoing in her mind. Three months.

She walked down the hallway in a daze, her mind numb.

She stopped dead.

Across the corridor, Brady was pushing a woman in a wheelchair. The woman was laughing, her head tilted back as she looked up at him.

Karissa recognized her instantly, even after all these years. Hettie Lindsey.

She was alive.

Then she heard Hettie' s voice, clear and triumphant, drift across the space.

"Brady, I'm pregnant."

The rain fell in a cold, steady drizzle, matching the bleakness in Karissa's heart. She didn't know where to go, how to escape the wreckage of her life.

She sent her driver home, wanting to be alone.

She walked aimlessly through the city streets, a solitary figure under a black umbrella. The bustling city, with its bright lights and happy crowds, only made her feel more isolated.

She stopped in front of a small music shop. A sad song was playing, the lyrics telling a story of love and loss that felt painfully familiar.

"Promises... what are promises for?"

She stood there for a long time, the word "promise" echoing in her mind.

She remembered the first time she met Brady. She was a lost, scared child, just found by the wealthy Simon family after being lost for years. He was the golden boy of the Kennedy family, a friend of her older brother.

He had promised to protect her then. He had called her his little sister.

She had called him "Brady," just like everyone else. It was a term of endearment, a symbol of their closeness.

When had it all gone so wrong? Was it when his family fell from grace, a disaster he blamed on her father? Was it when he was forced to marry her to save what was left of his company?

The rain turned into a downpour. Night fell.

She went home to an empty house and a cold bed. Sleep offered no escape. Her illness brought with it terrible nightmares.

She dreamed of Brady leaving her, of him standing with Hettie, their hands intertwined. In the dream, he looked at her with pure hatred. "You're the one who took everything from her," he accused.

A cold touch on her cheek woke her up.

She opened her eyes to see Brady's face looming over her, his expression cold and unreadable in the dim light.

"Brady," she murmured, still half-asleep.

He frowned. "You were having a nightmare. Calling out a name."

"Callum," she said, trying to sit up. She didn't want him to know about her illness. "I was just dreaming of my brother."

He cut her off. "Your brother? Or your lover?"

The accusation hit her like a physical blow. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Karissa," he sneered. "I saw you with him. At the hospital. You think I'm a fool?"

He grabbed her, pulling her into a rough embrace. The smell of him, a mixture of rain and something uniquely his, filled her senses.

She struggled against him, the injustice of his accusation making her feel sick. "He's my doctor! And my brother!"

He mistook her resistance for guilt. His grip tightened, his actions becoming more forceful, more punishing.

A trickle of warmth ran from her nose. She knew it was blood, but he was behind her and wouldn't see.

Suddenly, he stopped. His eyes fell on the bottle of pills on her nightstand.

"Don't forget to take your medicine," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

She remembered his conversation with Hettie at the hospital. He had promised to take Hettie to the best doctors. He was worried about Hettie's health.

The thought was a fresh wave of pain. Her throat felt tight, and she couldn't speak.

She didn't sleep for the rest of the night.

The next morning, her phone rang, shrill and urgent. It was her assistant.

"Ms. Simon, there's a problem at the company. Several of our key projects have been sabotaged. And... and Ms. Lindsey is here, claiming she's the rightful heir."

Karissa felt a chill run down her spine. "I know. I'm on my way."

She got dressed and headed to the office, her mind a whirl of pain and confusion.

On the way, she leaned back and closed her eyes, memories flooding her. She remembered being found, the confusion of her new life. She remembered another girl, Hettie, who had been mistaken for her, living her life for years. When the truth came out, Hettie was kept in the family, treated like a princess, while Karissa was always the outsider, the replacement.

She arrived at the top floor. The door to her office was open.

Hettie was sitting in a wheelchair, a smug smile on her face. Brady stood beside her, his hand resting protectively on her shoulder.

"Look who's here," Hettie said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Poor Karissa. You look terrible."

Karissa didn't respond. She just looked at Brady.

Suddenly, two security guards appeared. "Ms. Simon," one of them said, his voice firm. "You are accused of corporate espionage and sabotaging company projects. Please come with us."