My Divorced CEO Wife Is Begging for Me Back

Chapter 5

Conan arrived home, but the moment he stepped inside, he stopped.

Rhea and Daven sat close together on the couch, their shoulders touching as Daven leaned toward her and whispered something that drew a smile from her lips. The moment she noticed Conan, she shifted away, but the guilty gesture did little to hide what he had already seen.

He said nothing. He simply turned toward the kitchen.

"Conan!" Rhea's sharp voice stopped him. "You skipped making breakfast, and now you're planning to skip lunch too? Don't even think about it."

He slowly turned to face her. "Why don't you prepare something yourself?"

Rhea stared at him as though he'd spoken a foreign language. "What kind of question is that?"

"A reasonable one. I can't remember the last time you prepared a meal for even yourself."

Her expression tightened. For a fleeting moment, something resembling guilt crossed her face. But with Daven sitting beside her, she quickly regained her composure.

"Daven is our guest. Prepare lunch for him."

"No."

Her eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"You're being incredibly rude!" she snapped. "Daven only arrived this morning. He prepared breakfast, so the least you can do is prepare lunch. You shouldn't treat a guest this way."

Conan stared at her, struggling to believe what he was hearing.

"A guest," he repeated quietly. "He's been here for one morning, and you're already defending him as though he's the most important person in this house."

"Because he is. Got it!"

"I get it. And I am? The cook? The cleaner? The man you keep around to make your life comfortable?"

She rolled her eyes, feigning annoyance. "Stop being dramatic."

A bitter laugh escaped him. Of course. He was being dramatic. He was always the unreasonable one now he dared to question her treatment of him.

"It's my home, too," he said.

Rhea's expression hardened. "It's my home. You never had a home."

The words silenced him.

He had been so certain of her love that he'd never bothered to establish himself independently. Why would he? He'd believed they were building their future together.

Now, standing before the woman he'd sacrificed so much for, he realised how foolish that assumption had been.

He turned away before Rhea could see the bitterness settling in his eyes.

He wouldn't beg her to understand what a husband should mean to his wife. And he certainly wouldn't compete with Daven for a place in a home where his own wife treated him like an unwanted servant.

Clara had warned him long ago not to depend on anyone, no matter how much he loved them. He'd dismissed her words as needless pessimism, convinced that Rhea was different.

How wrong he had been.

He walked into the kitchen and drew a slow breath, forcing the ache in his chest into the background. Then he reached for a pot and began preparing a light broth for Clara.

-----

Back in the living room, Rhea huffed and crossed her arms. Through the kitchen window, she watched Conan move around the stove. He's just being stubborn, she told herself. He went in there to cook for Daven.

Daven leaned back on the couch, watching the same window. "You know, for a man who lives off his wife's money, the most he can ever be in this life is a housekeeper. Maybe a nanny if he's lucky."

Rhea didn't respond. She shifted on the couch, putting a few more inches between them. The words sat badly in her chest, though she couldn't say why.

In about thirty minutes, Conan finished the meal and packed it into a lunch box. He was reaching for the lid when Rhea walked in, Daven behind her.

She looked at the healthy spread on the counter and smiled. "Since you made such a rich lunch to welcome Daven, then as long as you apologize to him, all will be okay."

Conan blinked, taken aback. "Apologize?"

She nodded. "Acknowledge that everything you said lately was a big mistake. I'll pretend nothing happened and we can still get along normally."

Conan stared at her. A small, humorless laugh escaped him. "You think I cooked this for him?"

"Who else would it be for?"

He sneered. "She's special. Nothing like you."

Rhea's expression flickered. His words had stung but she pretended not to be affected at the slightest. "Conan…"

"You hear yourself, don't you?" He picked up the lunch box. "You want me to apologize to a man who spoke ill of Mother. And you think that's reasonable."

Rhea hissed. "You're being unreasonable."

"And you've lost it. You're nuts." He shook his head slowly. 

Rhea's face flushed red. "How dare you? Apologize. Now. Otherwise I won't forgive you."

Conan barely looked at her and picked up the lunch box and walked past her to her biggest surprise.

Daven turned to Rhea, his voice smooth as polished glass. "A man with a woman like you and he doesn't know how to appreciate it. If you were mine, I'd count my blessings every morning and thank the heavens every night."

Rhea smiled, but it faded as she looked around the kitchen. There was really no food. She was upset. Then she remembered what Conan had said. His Mother's surgery.

"He only cooked for his Mother," she murmured.

Daven stepped closer. "What?"

"Nothing." She shook her head. "I thought Conan had come to his senses. I was wrong."

Daven put a hand on her shoulder. "I won't tolerate seeing you sad. Not today. Not ever."

She let him guide her back to the living room. He picked up his phone. "I'll treat you. Takeout. The best in the city."

The food arrived within the hour, delivered in elegant containers and served by a private chef Daven had requested. A spread fit for a magazine cover.

Daven dug into his meal, occasionally glancing at Rhea, who had barely touched hers.

She pushed the plate away. "Did you forget I'm allergic to shellfish?"

He shrugged. "I thought you'll give it a try for once."

She was speechless for a moment over his utterance. "Are you that inconsiderate?"

His jaw tightened. He had spent a fortune arranging the dinner, yet somehow, all she could see was what he'd gotten wrong.

Rhea looked down at the untouched food, disappointed over his action. Conan would never have made such a mistake. But the man she had loved her life seemed not to care.

"Try the rice," he said, his voice carefully gentle.

She ate a few spoonfuls. None of it compared to the light meals Conan prepared. He always made everything so intentionally.

After the meal, she pressed a hand to her stomach.

"Are you alright?" Daven asked.

"It's nothing. I'm just not used to eating these."

He gritted his teeth behind his smile, hoping she doesn't push him to his limit.

Then he stood up. "I should go. Find a hotel for the night."

Rhea responded, a bit faster than he expected. "You should."

He froze. "What?"

"You can go. I haven't formally divorced Conan yet. Bringing someone else to live here like this, it isn't appropriate."

Daven stared at her. A muscle twitched in his jaw. "Of course. I understand."

He gathered his coat and walked to the door. When it closed behind him, his expression twisted. His fists clenched at his sides.

“She didn't even ask me to stay for a day.” He hissed and walked off.

Inside, Rhea sat alone in the quiet living room. She missed Conan's thoughtfulness. The way he always knew what she needed before she asked. The way he never made her feel like a burden, even in the slightest.

The feeling stifled her and made her angry. He had gone too far this time. Mentioning divorce. Signing those papers like it meant nothing.

She crossed her arms and stared at the wall. “Unless Conan kneels down and begs me, I will not forgive him or accept him back. Never.”