My Ex-Wife Will Regret Leaving Me

Chapter 004

I forced myself to tear my gaze away from her. The sight of her flushed skin and disarrayed beauty was a siren song, and I knew that if I surrendered to the impulse to pounce on her again, I would cross a point of no return from which no apology could ever bring me back. My life was already a series of unfortunate events; I didn't need to add a life sentence for sexual assault to the list.

As I shifted my eyes to the clutter on the mahogany coffee table, a glint of plastic caught my light. I reached out, picking up a lanyard attached to a work ID and a small stack of embossed business cards. There was a photo—professional, polished—and a name that matched the face of the woman shivering on the sofa: Kristinav Johnson.

According to the ID, she was a teacher at Guangnan Elementary School. A cold shiver that had nothing to do with the morning air ran down my spine. That was the very school my son attended. It was a small world, but this felt like a cruel joke played by a cosmic puppeteer. Her business cards, however, listed a secondary role: a consultant and lead instructor at an elite English language training center. She was clearly driven, a high-achiever juggling two careers while I was barely keeping a tricycle on the road.

Next to the ID lay a smartphone, its screen currently displaying a digital photo of a group of people—a classic "family portrait" style shot. I leaned in, my breath hitching as a face in the background jumped out at me. I snatched the phone, my thumb nearly smudging the glass as I stared at the woman standing on the far left.

It was her. Emma Hopkins. My ex-wife.

She looked radiant, her arm looped tightly around a man in his mid-thirties who radiated success. He was handsome, dressed in a bespoke Italian suit that probably cost more than my tricycle. On the other side of this man stood Kristinav Johnson, looking younger and happier in the photo than she did now, huddled in the corner of her sofa with red-rimmed eyes.

I raised the phone, my hand trembling slightly as I showed the screen to the girl. "This woman in the photo," I said, my voice sounding like gravel under a boot. "Who is she to you?"

Kristinav looked up, her pale face a mask of exhaustion and suspicion. Her eyes, usually bright and intelligent, were now clouded with a mix of fear and burgeoning hatred. "What do you want now?" she spat. "Haven't you taken enough?"

I took a deep, steadying breath, the weight of the past five years crashing down on me. "She’s my ex-wife," I said, the words feeling like ash in my mouth.

The color drained from Kristinav’s face. She stared at me, her mouth falling open in a small 'o' of pure shock. "That... that’s my sister-in-law," she whispered. "She’s been with my brother for years."

The revelation hit me with the force of a physical blow, but instead of pain, I felt a sudden, dark surge of vengeful satisfaction. It was twisted, I knew, but the thought was undeniable: You took my wife, you bastard. You stole the mother of my child. And in return, I’ve taken your sister’s innocence. I had claimed "first blood" from the one person he likely cared about most.

The thought was intoxicating. I felt a shameful, primal heat rising in my gut again. My gaze turned predatory as it drifted back to Kristinav’s form, which was now only partially shielded by a thin, silk-tasselled towel she had managed to snag from the back of the sofa.

"What... what are you doing? Why are you looking at me like that?" she stammered, her voice rising an octave as she tried to retreat further into the cushions.

I didn't answer with words. A wolfish grin spread across my face as I stood up, the floorboards creaking under my weight. I closed the distance between us in two steps and reached out, hooking my arm around her neck.

She stiffened, a brief struggle flickering in her limbs before she went limp, letting out a sharp, cold laugh that cut through the air like a knife. "What's the matter? Didn't get your fill last night?"

Her words caught me off guard. The mockery in her voice was a shield, but it was effective.

"I see how it is," she continued, her eyes narrowing as she read the confusion on my face. "That little speech earlier... the 'I'll accept the consequences' act. It was all a game, wasn't it? A way to make sure I didn't call the cops the moment you stepped out the door."

"I..." I started, but the words died in my throat. She wasn't entirely wrong. Part of me had been playing for mercy, even if the other part was genuinely struck by her.

"What now, then?" she challenged, her smile turning icy. "Are you getting worried? Planning to silence the witness?"

"Shut up!" I snapped, my temper flared by the sting of her insight. The cocktail of resentment toward my ex-wife and the adrenaline of the moment boiled over. I lunged at her, tearing the towel away and pinning her down with a brute force that left no room for negotiation.

The encounter was different this time. The tentativeness of the night before was gone, replaced by a raw, vengeful energy. Perhaps because her body was already sensitized from our previous bouts, or perhaps because I now knew every curve of her like a map, there was no resistance. She let out a sharp, muffled grunt of surprise, which quickly dissolved into the same rhythmic, hazy moans that had haunted the apartment all night.

I was merciless. I didn't care about being gentle or "making it up to her." Every time I looked at her, I saw her brother's face, the man who was living the life I should have had with Emma. I focused on the two magnificent "snow peaks" of her chest, kneading and bruising the soft flesh with a reckless intensity that should have made her scream in pain. But she didn't scream. She took it, her body responding with an almost defiant passion, her fingers digging into the muscles of my back.

The friction and the psychological weight of the act brought me to the edge far sooner than I liked. When it was over, I rolled off her, feeling hollowed out and exhausted.

Kristinav lay there for a long time, staring at the ceiling with hollow eyes. The silence in the room was heavy, thick with the scent of sweat and spent lust. Finally, she was the one to speak, her voice low and surprisingly steady.

"Actually," she began, her words making me sit bolt upright in surprise, "I never liked that woman anyway. Ever since she slithered into our family, my brother hasn't been the same. He stopped looking out for me. She’s a parasite, Sean. She’s been systematically stripping away everything my parents left us—the businesses, the land. Everything except this apartment, and believe me, she’s already got her eyes on the deed to this place too."

She began to sob then, small, hitching sounds that made her shoulders shake. I’ve always been a sucker for a woman’s tears; it's my greatest weakness. After a moment of hesitation, I reached over and handed her a box of tissues from the table.

"Thanks," she whispered, dabbing at her eyes.

I stared at her. "You're... you're thanking me? Are you in shock? Did I break something in your head?"

Kristinav wiped a stray tear and let out a sudden, bitter chuckle. "You're probably wondering why I was drugged in the first place, aren't you?"

I looked at the family photo on the table and then back at her. A cold realization dawned on me. "It wasn't her, was it? Emma Hopkins?"

"Oh, it was her alright," Kristinav said, her voice dripping with venom. "That viper. She invited me out for drinks last night, claiming she wanted to 'bond' and apologize for some family drama. She pressured me into having a beer. I should have known better." She laughed again, a sound of pure misery. "She's been trying to marry me off to some business associate of hers to get me out of the way so she can claim the rest of the estate. She drugged me to make sure the 'deal' went through. She wanted me to wake up in some stranger's bed so she could use the shame to control me. I realized what was happening just as the world started spinning and I managed to slip out the back of the club. I guess I just traded one predator for another."

She glared at me, but the fire in her eyes was dampened by a strange sort of resignation. My heart hammered against my ribs. I felt a weird mix of guilt and relief. If she was telling the truth, I hadn't just "picked up a stray"—I had inadvertently intercepted a hit.

"You're... you're a lot more beautiful than any 'deal' she could have made," I mumbled, feeling incredibly awkward.

"If it hadn't been you, it would have been someone much worse," she said, pulling a blanket around her shoulders. "At least you brought me home. If I'd ended up with one of the thugs she hangs around with, I don't think I'd be alive right now."

"I'll make it up to you," I blurted out, the words coming from a place of genuine, if clumsy, chivalry. "I'll take care of you. I'll make sure she doesn't hurt you again."

She threw a decorative pillow at my head, a flash of her former spirit returning. "Who asked you to take care of me?! You spent the whole night treating me like a toy, and now you want to be my hero? You've got some nerve, Mr. Barnes!"

I caught the pillow, my eyes wandering over her again. Even covered in a blanket, the memory of her body was burned into my mind. "If I got to 'treat you like a toy' for the rest of my life, I'd give up ten years of it right now," I whispered.

She stood up, her movements fluid despite the ordeal, and walked toward the bedroom, the door slamming shut behind her with a definitive thud. A few minutes later, she emerged wearing a heavy wool bathrobe that covered everything from her neck to her ankles.

"It looked better before," I teased, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere.

She rolled her eyes. "You've seen enough for a lifetime. And you took pictures? You're a sick man."

I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling the heat rise to my face. "I was... I just wanted to remember. Anyway, back to your brother. Does he really not see what Emma is doing?"

Kristinav’s expression darkened. "He’s blind. He trusts her completely. Without proof, he’d sooner kick me out than believe a word against her." She paused, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Last year, I saw her with a man. A low-life thug named Brady Feyne. They were... close. I told my brother, and he nearly hit me for 'slandering' his wife."

I nearly jumped out of my skin. "Brady Feyne? That piece of trash? They're still together?!"

Kristinav frowned. "You know him?"

I clenched my fists until my knuckles turned white. "I’d know that cockroach anywhere. He’s the one she ran off with five years ago. I thought she’d dumped him to climb the social ladder and marry your brother. It turns out she never left him. She’s just using your brother’s money to fund that scumbag’s lifestyle."