The Rejected Live-in Husband Returns

Part III: A Shocking Message

He picked up his phone, the same one he’d used to take Olivia’s call. The first number he dialed was swift and efficient.

“Olivia, the officials behind the success of my wife's SEC approval,” He paused for a while, “Shower them with gifts, and send my regards to them!”

“Consider it done, Leo,” Olivia replied, the sound of typing in the background. “They’ll feel appreciated without any fanfare.”

“Good.” Leo paused, drawing a slow breath. This next part was the culmination of a plan years in the making. “Now, initiate Project Legacy. I want to transfer up to 80% of my controlling shares under Aether Ventures in Oceanic Group of Companies to Amelia’s name. I want them transferred!”

There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line. “Leo… Aether Ventures is your life’s work. It’s worth ten times what Apex is, even after today. Are you sure?”

A faint, sad smile touched Leo’s lips. “It was never my life’s work, Olivia. It was always meant to be hers. A safety net. A legacy. She just never knew I was building it for her. Now that she’s reached this peak on her own, she deserves to have the foundation secured beneath her feet. Make it happen. I want the paperwork ready for her signature by the end of the week.”

The call ended, leaving a profound silence in the little office. 

Aether Ventures!

The name was a ghost in the business world, a silent, immensely powerful investment firm known for its prescient moves and anonymous benefactor. It was the source of the capital that had, through a series of deliberately opaque channels, funded Apex Dynamics’ most critical growth phase. It was the reason the Nasdaq listing had been so smooth. And soon, it would all belong to Amelia.

Buoyed by this final, decisive act, Leo threw himself into a different kind of work.

He moved through the kitchen with a focus he usually reserved for boardroom strategies. He selected a bottle of a 1990 Bordeaux from the cellar—a wine for a historic occasion. 

He prepared her favorite dishes— a delicate beetroot and goat cheese tart, a main course of miso-glazed black cod, and a dark chocolate fondant that would melt at the touch of a fork. 

He set the table in the informal dining nook, a more intimate space than the cavernous formal hall. Crystal glasses gleamed, silverware shone, and the candles in the centerpiece waited for their flame. This wasn’t just a dinner; it was an offering. A silent confession and a new beginning.

As if on cue, he heard a flurry of activity from the front door. Eleanor and her friends were leaving, their voices a mixture of rushed excuses and lingering excitement. 

“I’m going for an urgent meeting,” Eleanor called out, not even looking his way. 

“I will back home tomorrow!” The door slammed, and the house was finally, truly, his.

Or so he thought.

The clock on the wall ticked past eight, then nine. The perfectly cooked cod sat under a cloche, its warmth fading. The ice bucket held only cold water. 

Leo sat at the table, the flickering candlelight casting long, dancing shadows that seemed to mock his growing solitude.

He tried her phone. 

Once. 

Twice. 

Three times. 

But no response from his wife. 

He tried again for the fourth time and luckily, it picked.

 Relief flooded him.

“Amelia? Where are you? The dinner’s getting cold—”

A man’s laughter cut him off, loud and boisterous, filled with the clinking of glasses and background chatter. 

“Hey, beautiful! It’s your… what did you call him? The ‘house manager’?” The man’s voice was intimate, possessive.

Leo froze, his knuckles white around the phone. “Who is this?” he asked, his voice dangerously calm. “This is Amelia’s number.”

“It is indeed,” the man chuckled. “She’s a little busy right now. Celebrating her massive success? You know, the thing she actually worked for? Hold on.” There was a muffled sound. “Mia! Your husband is on the phone. He seems worried about dinner.”

He called her Mia. A name Leo never used. A wave of cold dread washed over him.

When Amelia came on the line, her voice was sharp, laced with annoyance and the distinct slur of expensive champagne. “Leo? What is it? I’m in the middle of something important.”

The chill in her tone was a physical blow. “I… I prepared a celebration dinner,” he stammered, the eloquent man from the phone call with Olivia gone, replaced by a stumbling, hopeful fool. “Your mother’s out. I thought we could have the evening to ourselves. When will you be home?”

Her sigh was a gust of pure impatience. “A dinner? Leo, for God’s sake, be serious. The company is throwing a banquet at the Grand Metropolitan. It’s a crucial networking event. I’m not coming home tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“But Amelia, I have something important to tell you—”

“Not now,” she cut him off, her voice final and cold as ice. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Don’t wait up.”

The line went dead.

Leo sat there, the phone still pressed to his ear, listening to the dial tone that echoed the hollow emptiness in his chest. The carefully set table, the candles, the ruined food—it was all a pathetic tableau of his own delusion. He was about to put the phone down when it vibrated with an incoming message. An unknown number. A video.

With a sense of foreboding, he tapped the screen.

The video was shaky, shot in a glamorous hotel ballroom. There was Amelia, more radiant than she had been on TV, laughing, her face flushed with victory and drink. And next to her was a man—tall, handsome, with the easy confidence of someone who owned every room he walked into. It was Julian Thorne, her college sweetheart, the one who had left for a banking career in London years ago. The one who had returned six months ago, swooping in as a consultant for Apex.

The camera zoomed in as Julian, amid cheers and raised glasses, pulled Amelia into a deep, passionate kiss. Then, still holding her, he dropped to one knee. The crowd erupted. Leo watched, his heart hammering against his ribs, as Julian produced a ring box. He couldn’t hear the words, but he saw Amelia’s hands fly to her mouth, her eyes wide with dramatic surprise. She nodded, tears of joy streaming down her face as he slipped a massive diamond solitaire onto her finger. The crowd swarmed them, a wave of congratulations.

Leo couldn’t breathe. He played the video again, then a third time, as if hoping the images would rearrange themselves into something that made sense. Panic, cold and sharp, seized him. He fumbled with his phone, dialing Amelia’s number again and again. It was now switched off.

He was alone in the silent, mocking grandeur of the house, the ghost of a celebration hanging in the air, while on a small screen, his wife was accepting another man’s proposal.

---

Across the city, in a penthouse suite at the Grand Metropolitan, the celebration had moved to a more private venue. Champagne flutes lay discarded on a table, and Amelia’s designer gown was pooled on the floor. She lay entangled in the silk sheets with Julian, his arm draped possessively over her.

“You were magnificent tonight, Mia,” Julian murmured, nuzzling her neck. “The ring looked perfect on you. Though I notice you’re not wearing it now.”

Amelia stiffened slightly. She extricated herself and walked to the window, wrapping a robe around herself. The city lights twinkled below, a kingdom she felt she had just won. “It… it didn’t feel appropriate yet,” she said, her back to him.

Julian propped himself up on an elbow. “Why not? The whole world saw you say yes.”

“The whole world at the banquet saw,” she corrected, her voice tight. “But it’s not official. Not until… not until things are finalized with Leo.”

“And when will that be?” Julian’s voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it. “You’ve been stringing this along for months. I’m back now. I helped you get everything you ever wanted. When do we get to start our life?”

Amelia turned, her face a mixture of guilt and resolve. She walked to her clutch purse, pulled out a folded document, and handed it to him. “It’s ready. The divorce agreement. My lawyers drew it up weeks ago.”

Julian’s eyes scanned the first page, a slow smile spreading across his face. It was a generous settlement, but it was a pittance compared to what she was worth now. And it was nothing compared to what he would have once he fully secured his place by her side.

“So, what are you waiting for? The right moment?” he asked, tossing the papers onto the bedside table.

“Yes,” Amelia said, her gaze drifting back to the city lights. “He’s been… harmless. He doesn’t deserve a public humiliation. I’ll find the right time to tell him. Soon.”

She believed, with every fiber of her being, that it was Julian’s connections and financial genius that had navigated the treacherous waters of an IPO. She felt a debt of gratitude to him, a stark contrast to the quiet disappointment she felt with Leo. She was trading a placid, stagnant pond for a thrilling, powerful ocean.

What she didn’t know was that the ocean was full of sharks, and the man in her bed had merely been riding the current created by the husband she was so eager to discard.

Julian had seen the company’s inexplicably smooth sail through the regulatory process and had simply taken credit, weaving a convincing tale of calling in favors from his powerful

international contacts. He saw her misunderstanding not as a mistake to correct, but as an opportunity to seize.