Forgiveness Isn't Free: James Davidson Returns

Chapter 4

James Pov

The car pulled into the driveway quietly.

James stepped out, leaning on his cane, ignoring the pain in his ribs. The night was still. No wind. No lights. The house looked just as he left it—silent, cold.

But something felt… off.

As he climbed the stairs slowly, his hand tightened around the cane. The driver stayed in the car. This moment—he needed to face it alone.

He pushed the door open.

The hallway was dark, but the light upstairs was on. A low hum buzzed in the background—music, maybe. The smell of red wine and perfume floated in the air.

Then… he heard it.

A sound.

Not just a sound—moaning.

His heart stopped.

No.

No, it couldn’t be.

James stared up the stairs. The sound came again—clearer this time. Laughter. A woman’s voice. Her voice.

Rose.

Without thinking, he gripped the railing and climbed. Each step felt like a mile. The ache in his side burned, but his rage burned hotter.

He reached their bedroom door.

It was slightly open.

The sounds grew louder—moaning, panting, bed creaking. He pushed the door open.

And the world crashed.

There she was.

Rose.

On their bed.

Naked. Twisted in bedsheets. Her hair messy. Her lips swollen.

Beneath her—

Mr. Charles Hagan.

CEO of Woodlord Global. The man Rose was flirting with at the party.

James stood there frozen. His cane slipped from his fingers and hit the floor with a loud thud.

They both looked up.

But Rose didn’t scream.

She didn’t cover herself.

She didn’t even look surprised.

Instead, she raised her brows and said coldly, “Well… you’re home.”

James opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. His chest tightened. His breath caught.

Charles pulled the bedsheet around himself awkwardly.

But Rose didn’t move. She sat up calmly, hair falling over her bare shoulder, and reached for a glass of wine.

“How long, Rose?” James finally asked, his voice low. “How long have you been doing this?”

Rose sipped the wine and shrugged. “A few months. Maybe more. I lost count.”

James stared at her, stunned. “You… you’ve been cheating on me? While I was in the hospital—fighting for my life—you were here?”

“Don’t be dramatic,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You’re alive, aren’t you? And besides… you were already useless to me before the accident.”

Her words cut like a knife.

“Useless?” he repeated, heart pounding.

“Yes,” she snapped. “What do you want me to do with a broke, pitiful man like you? You think I married you for love? Wake up, James. Your time’s up. Real men provide. You couldn’t even give me that.”

He felt his head spinning. His legs unsteady.

His world—already shaking—finally collapsed.

He had prepared to divorce her.

But this… this betrayal still crushed him.

James stared at her—at the woman he once gave everything to. He step out of the room.

The air outside their bedroom was thicker than before, as if the house itself sensed the betrayal.

James stood by the staircase, silent, steadying his breath. He could still hear laughter behind him—Charles’s low chuckle, Rose’s smug murmur. But he didn’t flinch. He turned back toward the doorway, and with firm steps, re-entered the room.

Rose was adjusting the straps of her silk robe, now comfortably seated at her vanity, brushing her hair as though nothing had happened. Charles lounged in bed, half-covered, sipping wine from the glass.

“I won’t waste any more words,” James said calmly. “I came to tell you something.”

Rose turned to him with a smirk. “Let me guess… you finally grew a spine?”

“I want a divorce.”

There was silence for a breath—then Rose burst into laughter. “You want a divorce?” she repeated, almost choking on her own amusement. “Oh, James… don’t make me laugh harder. You should be thanking me for staying this long.” James didn’t respond.

Charles chuckled behind her. “She should’ve left you months ago, man. You’re the last to catch up.”

Rose stood up, arms folded. “Let me save you the trouble, darling. I’ll have the papers drawn up first thing in the morning. Consider it a gift. A generous one.”

But James shook his head. “That won’t be necessary.” From his coat pocket, he pulled out a neatly folded document—already signed, already stamped. He walked toward her, placed it gently on the vanity beside her hairbrush, and said simply, “It’s done.”

Rose’s smile faded just slightly as she looked at the papers. “You… you already prepared this?”

“Yes.”

She picked them up and flipped through the pages. Her fingers hesitated for a moment, then she scoffed. “So you really meant it. .” She tossed the paper back down. “Fine. If this is how you want it.”

“I didn’t want this,” James said, his voice quiet but firm. “But you made your choice long before I did.”

Rose didn’t look at him. She stood tall, eyes fixed on her own reflection in the mirror.

“No matter how many papers you sign, James… you’ll still walk out of here alone. Broken. Empty.” James studied her for a moment. She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t regretful. She was proud.

He gave a small, almost sorrowful nod.

“Then let this be your victory.” Without another word, he turned and walked out of the bedroom. Down the stairs. Through the door. Out of the house.

The night greeted him with cool wind and silence. He got into the waiting car, and the door closed behind him with a soft click. As the car pulled away from the house that once held his hopes, his marriage, and his trust—James didn’t look back. Not even once. Something inside him had been burned to ashes. And from that ruin, something colder—something stronger—was starting to rise.