The Rejected Live-in Husband Returns

Part XI: A Confrontation

The silence in the car was a stark contrast to the opulent chaos they had just left behind at the Aurelian. 

Elara watched the city lights blur past, her mind replaying the humiliating scene with Eleanor Coote. 

The woman’s venomous words—shameless little slut—still echoed, a toxic whisper in her mind. She felt raw, exposed. The penthouse, which had felt like a sanctuary moments before, now seemed tainted by the encounter.

“Should I…” Elara began, her voice small in the luxurious quiet of the sedan. “Should I just go back home today?” The question was absurd. 

She had no home. The penthouse was a temporary illusion, and the word ‘home’ referred to a life that had been systematically dismantled.

Before Leo could answer, his phone buzzed, cutting through the heavy atmosphere. He held up a single finger, his expression shifting into one of focused intensity. 

“Olivia,” he answered. He listened for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Understood. I’ll be there.” He ended the call and, without a word of explanation, he gestured for her to get into the car.

She complied, sliding into the plush leather interior. As the car pulled smoothly into the flow of traffic, Elara looked at him, her confusion mounting. “Where are we going?” she asked.

Leo didn’t answer. He simply stared out the window, his expression a mask of unreadable calm. He was a man who carried entire worlds inside him, worlds she couldn’t begin to fathom. The silence stretched, filled only with the soft purr of the engine. She had no choice but to wait, trust, and follow.

Twenty minutes later, the car glided to a smooth stop. Through the tinted windows, Elara saw a spectacle of light and sound. A massive convention center was draped in banners that screamed success: 

‘Congratulations Apex Dynamics on their Nasdaq Listing!’ 

A red carpet, flanked by press photographers, led to grand, illuminated doors. It was the epicenter of corporate triumph, the very event that had cast the long shadow under which her own company had crumbled.

Leo turned to her, his gaze finally meeting hers. There was no apology in it, no explanation, only a quiet command. “We’re here.” He opened his door, the sounds of the celebratory crowd rushing in. “Let’s go.”

Puzzlement warred with a deep, instinctual dread. Why here? Of all places, why would he bring her to the shrine of Amelia Coote’s victory? 

This was the lion’s den. But the set of his jaw, the unwavering certainty in his eyes, forbade argument. Taking a shaky breath, she stepped out of the car and onto the plush red carpet.

The air was thick with champagne bubbles and the clinking of glasses, underscored by the murmur of a hundred self-congratulatory conversations. 

And there, at the very heart of the vortex, was Amelia. She was resplendent in a gown of liquid gold, a modern-day Midas touching everything with the glow of her success. 

She held a flute of champagne, laughing at something a portly investor was saying, her face alight with a pride so potent it was almost tangible.

The moment Elara’s feet touched the carpet, a subtle shift occurred. A pocket of silence spread out from them like a ripple. 

Heads turned. Cameras, previously focused on Amelia, swiveled curiously. And then, the whispers began, sharp and sibilant.

“Is that… Leo? What’s he doing here?”

“And who is that with him?”

“Wait,I know her. That’s Elara Parkinson. She was the CEO of Aura Tech.”

“Aura Tech?Didn’t they go under last month? The IPO that never was.”

“Bankrupt. Lost everything. What is she doing here?”

The whispers reached Amelia. Her laughter died mid-peal. Her gaze, sharp and searching, found Leo first, a flicker of surprise and annoyance crossing her features. 

Then it landed on Elara, and her perfectly composed face tightened into a mask of cold disdain.

Amelia tapped the rim of her champagne glass with a manicured nail. The clear, ringing sound cut through the chatter like a knife. 

“Ladies, gentlemen,” she announced, her voice sweetly poisonous. “If you’ll excuse us. I have some… private family matters to attend to.”

The crowd, sensing blood in the water, eagerly parted, creating a wide, theatrical stage. But they didn’t disperse; they formed a silent, eager audience.

Julian, ever the attentive consort, leaned in close to Amelia. “Darling,” he murmured, loud enough for those nearby to hear, “should I give you two a moment?”

Amelia reached out and linked her arm through his, a deliberate, public display of unity. “Don’t be silly, Julian. You’re family now. You should stay.” She turned her attention to Leo, her eyes like chips of ice.

“If you have anything to say, say it quickly. I have a bell to ring, and you,” her gaze swept over Elara with dismissive contempt, “are cluttering up my red carpet.”

Leo watched their performance with an icy detachment that was more powerful than any outburst. 

He stood with a stillness that seemed to absorb the chaos around him. “The only thing I have to say is that I have business to attend to. I'm not here for you”

Amelia let out a light, mocking laugh. “Business? What business could you possibly have in the first place?” She took a slow, deliberate sip of her champagne. 

“Well, since you’ve made the effort to come, I did sign the divorce papers. What do you plan to do with all that junk you left at the house? Those sad little mementos of a life you pretended to have?”

“Throw it all away,” Leo replied, his tone utterly flat, devoid of any emotion. “I have no need for any of it.”

The flat rejection of her charity seemed to sting Amelia. Her eyes turned venomous. “So poor you’ll be sleeping on the street, and you’re turning down brand-name goods?” she mocked, her voice dripping with false pity. 

“You should cherish those old things. Selling just one piece could keep you fed for a while. Consider it my final act of charity.”

Julian couldn’t resist adding his own jab, his tone oozing condescension. “She’s right, Leo. There’s no shame in being a pauper. Pride is a luxury you can’t afford right now.” He gave a meaningful glance around at the opulent venue. 

“You should be focusing on whether you can even afford your next meal, not on posturing.”

Amelia beamed at Julian, stroking his arm. “See? So kind, even now, thinking of your well-being.” She turned back to Leo, her expression hardening. “If you’re smart, you’ll take the stuff while I’m in a good mood. Otherwise, when my mood sours, you won’t even have a place to cry.” She and Julian shared a laugh, a united front of contempt that was meant to shatter whatever dignity he had left.

The onlookers behind them couldn't help also, but laughed at Leo. 

Elara had been holding her breath, her fists clenched so tightly her nails were digging half-moons into her palms. She watched Leo, this man of quiet strength who had saved her, offered her shelter, and faced down her ruin with a calm resolve. 

To see him being publicly flayed by this woman—a woman who had betrayed him and was now flaunting her affair—was more than she could bear. 

A fierce, protective anger, hot and clear, surged through her, burning away her own fear and insecurity.

“And so? Who uses their ex-husband’s own belongings as a divorce settlement?”

Elara’s voice, clear and sharp as crystal, cut through their laughter. Every head in the vicinity swiveled to look at her. The audience leaned in, captivated.

She took a small step forward, her gaze locked on Amelia. “If you really wanted to be generous, if you felt any genuine need to compensate him for the years he gave you, you would give him money!.” Her voice rose slightly, carrying across the hushed crowd. 

“Can’t you even spare a few hundred thousand? Stop pretending to be magnanimous when you’re just being cheap and petty!”

The smile vanished from Amelia’s face. The polished mask of the triumphant CEO shattered, revealing the spiteful, cornered woman beneath. 

The public calling-out of her hypocrisy was a blow she had not anticipated. Her face flushed a mottled red. 

She pointed a trembling, accusatory finger at Elara, her composure completely gone.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” she yelled, her voice shrill and echoing in the sudden quiet. 

“A bankrupt nobody, daring to lecture me? What gives you the right?” She sneered, her eyes raking over Elara’s simple, elegant dress—a far cry from the gowns surrounding them. 

“What are you even doing here? Mooching food and drinks off someone else’s celebration? Scavenging for scraps?”

Before Elara could respond, Amelia spun around, her eyes wild. She waved frantically at the two burly security guards standing at the edge of the carpet. 

“Security! Check this woman! I want to see her invitation right now! I highly doubt a person of her standing is on the guest list! I want to see her pass!”