The Ex-Wife's Awakening

The Sinclair family funded my life like a charity project. At twentytwo, two pink lines trapped me into marrying Tristan.Tristan obsessed over germs.

He demanded separate spoons at dinner. In bed, he turned his face away, refusing to touch my lips.

He treated my used water glasses like toxic waste.But tonight at a party, I watched him snatch a shot glass and slam it down. All to save the woman he actually loved from drinking.

A glass her lips just marked.That massive red flag hit me instantly. I needed to end this marriage. Chapter 1 He took way too many shots for Stella.

By the time we left the club, he was barely coherent.

Before we drove off, Stella looked at me with a face full of manufactured guilt. "I'm so sorry, Ruby," she said. "It's my fault Tristan drank so much.

But I got wasted once and almost kissed another guy. Ever since then, he doesn't let me drink too much." Her manicured hand stroked Tristan's chest, smoothing his shirt.

She even had the nerve to remind me to give him something for his hangover when we got home. Any other woman would have slapped her across the face.

But I just grabbed Tristan's arm and pulled him away in silence. It wasn't that I was a pushover. I just knew my place. I didn't have the right to be angry.

Back at the mansion, I poured him a glass of water.

Even in his drunken haze, his fingers curled around the glass as he mumbled his usual interrogation. "Whose glass?" "Yours," I replied flatly.

Only then did he relax and swallow it down. I knew about his extreme boundaries from day one. Shortly after we got married, a sudden severe stomachache had him doubled over in pain.

In a panic, I grabbed my own mug, filled it with water, and handed it to him with his pills. When he realized it was mine, he hurled the ceramic against the wall.

It shattered into a dozen pieces. "Didn't I tell you I don't use other people's things?" he snapped. It was the first time I saw him truly furious. My breath hitched.

I stood frozen in the corner, terrified into silence. Seeing me tremble, his tone softened. "It's not you. I'm just not used to sharing things.

Just pay attention next time." Yet, in the VIP booth tonight, he drank from Stella's glass without a second thought. It wasn't that he hated sharing.

He just hated sharing with anyone but Stella. A sudden sting brought tears to my eyes. It wasn't like Stella was a secret. But she had been living abroad for years.

Tristan never brought her up. He treated everyone with the same cold, polite distance, so I convinced myself I could survive this life.

But now, I had seen what he looked like when he actually loved someone. Every single compromise I told myself didn't matter suddenly dragged me under.

The exhaustion sank straight into my bones. Maybe I didn't have to endure this anymore. Maybe walking away was the only way out for both of us. We slept in separate bedrooms.

He only crossed the hall twice a month on a strict schedule. He called it fulfilling his marital duties.

But whenever he got drunk, he would act like a child, making a fuss about sleeping with me and hugging me tightly without letting go. Just like at that very moment.

I hadn't even heard him open my door. The mattress dipped. Before I could process the shift in weight, large hands gripped my waist and dragged me against his chest.

His hot breath fanned my neck. A satisfied smirk touched his lips as he passed out. In the past, I would have ignored the suffocating stench of liquor.

I would have forced myself to close my eyes and let him hold me. The Sinclair family gave me a life when I had nothing, and that kind of gratitude is a heavy chain to break.

But tonight, I had enough. I pushed against his chest, peeling his heavy limbs off my body. If he wanted this bed so badly, he could have it. The mansion had plenty of guest rooms.

The second I stepped out of the room, I froze. Asher stood in the hallway. The little boy was on his tiptoes, peering anxiously toward the halfopen door, checking on Tristan.

I forced a gentle smile, crouching down to brush the hair from his forehead. "Asher, why are you still awake? You have kindergarten tomorrow.

Let's get you to bed." Asher swatted my hand away. He glared at me.

His eyes—an exact, chilling replica of Tristan’s—were filled with pure disgust. "Ruby, you don't have the right to tell me what to do." Chapter 2 He called me Ruby. Not Mom.

The resentment festered the day kids at school called him a bastard. The day he figured out my pregnancy was the only reason I secured a ring from his father.

He forgot how I stayed awake all night taking care of him when he was sick. He forgot how he used to bury his face in my neck, whispering that he loved me more than anything.

Now, his cold eyes pierced right through me. A sharp ache clawed at my throat. His greatest wish was for me to disappear from his life. The little boy turned and ran back.

His bedroom door slammed shut. I let out a shaky breath, picked myself up, and walked across the hall to the guest room.

The second the door clicked shut behind me, I grabbed my phone and dialed my former boss, Kendra. "Kendra, I've made up my mind," I said, my grip tightening on the cold metal of the phone. "I'm going to Paris with you." "Are you serious?

Ruby, that's amazing!" Kendra’s voice crackled through the speaker. "Get your visa sorted this month.

I'll wrap up the paperwork on my end, and we fly out." I majored in fashion design. Kendra was my mentor for years.

Even after the wedding ring slipped onto my finger, I kept submitting freelance sketches to her firm. Now, she was relocating her entire core team to a European label.

She wanted me on board. At first, I hesitated. Growing up in the foster system made me crave a real home. A family. I couldn't stomach the thought of abandoning my own son.

But reality was a bitter pill. Asher didn't want me. A home isn't defined by a bloodline or a marriage certificate. Sometimes, a home is just you.

I ended the call and opened my laptop. My fingers flew across the trackpad, digging into my archived files.

I pulled up the PDF document Tristan’s mother, Margaret, had emailed me four years ago. The divorce agreement. The next morning, Tristan sat on the edge of my mattress.

He rubbed his temples, his bloodshot eyes darting around the room, silently demanding to know why he was in my space. "You came into my room last night," I said without thinking. "You pinned me down and refused to let go.

I had to sleep in the guest room." A rare flash of embarrassment crossed his sharp features. He cleared his throat. "My apologies. It won't happen again." I gave a brief nod.

I didn't even look at him as I turned my back and headed downstairs to help Maria with breakfast. Tristan froze.

In the past, whenever I mentioned his drunken clinginess, a desperate blush would creep up my neck. Today, I just looked calm, even a bit impatient.

He stood in the doorway, staring at my retreating back for a long time. At the dining table, I kept my eyes on my plate. I announced I had errands to run.

I wouldn't be driving Asher to kindergarten, and I wouldn't be dropping off Tristan's homemade lunch at the office.

They were on their own. "Where are you going?" both father and son demanded in perfect unison. Two pairs of eyes stared straight at me.

I was a bit surprised that they would suddenly care about my whereabouts. "It's been a while since I visited the main estate," I replied evenly. "I'm going to see Margaret." The tension drained from Tristan’s jaw.

A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched his lips. "Wait until I get off work. I'll drive you." I shook my head. "No need.

I can drive myself." Tristan’s eyes narrowed into slits. He studied my face for a harsh second, then grabbed his keys.

But just as his hand hit the doorknob, he paused. "When you talk to my mother, I expect you to keep your complaints to yourself." I paused for a moment, then gave a knowing smile.

He didn't want to drive me because he cared. He wanted to babysit me so I wouldn't expose his toxic drama to Margaret. Tristan was giving himself too much credit.

His affair with Stella was already splashed across every gossip blog in the city. I didn't need to say a word.

Asher stood at the top of the staircase, his small fists clenched at his sides. He stared at me with an unblinking intensity.

For a split second, I thought I saw a flash of raw, childish hurt buried in his glare. But the moment passed.

He let out a sharp scoff, spun around, and followed Franklin out the door. I shook my head, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. The lack of sleep was seriously messing with my head.

Chapter 3 Asher despised me. He wouldn't throw a tantrum over me skipping his morning dropoff. My tires crunched against the gravel of the main estate.

I found Margaret in the sunroom. I didn't bother with pleasantries. "I want a divorce." Years ago, a tragic accident wiped out half of Tristan's family.

A spiritual advisor convinced his grieving mother that adopting a destitute orphan would ward off the curse and save Tristan, the sole heir. Margaret chose me.

She covered my living expenses and paid my college tuition. I had spent years drowning in gratitude toward them. Then came the charity gala.

An obsessed admirer, Blair, slipped something into Tristan’s drink. I just happened to walk past his hotel room at the wrong time.

One blurred, chaotic night later, the damage was done. The entire social circle branded me a manipulative, golddigging leech. They accused me of spiking his drink to trap him.

Tristan knew the truth. He knew exactly what happened. Yet, he never uttered a single word to defend me. Two pink lines on a plastic stick changed everything.

Margaret begged me to keep the baby. Back then, Tristan and Stella had been broken up for a year. He completely iced out the dating scene.

The whispers in our circle claimed he was still hung up on his ex. Desperate for an heir, Margaret pinned all her hopes on me.

She promised I could walk away with a clean divorce the second I delivered the child.

Remembering the Sinclair family's kindness to me over the years, and seeing Margaret's pleading face, I agreed. But after I had Asher, I just couldn't bear to part with him.

I convinced myself a cold mansion was better than the freezing streets I grew up on. I completely overestimated my ability to survive a loveless marriage. Margaret kept her promise.

She didn't fight me. She didn't throw insults or guilttrip me into staying. She simply nodded and summoned her lawyer, Morgan.

We sat at the mahogany table, going through the divorce settlement line by line. She seemed more like a mother than a motherinlaw.

I never expected that getting a divorce would suddenly make me a rich woman.

As I grabbed my purse to leave, Margaret reached out and squeezed my hand. "Thank you, Ruby," she whispered, her voice cracking. My eyes welled up with tears.

Margaret always treated me with grace. She paid for my life, respected my boundaries, and never suffocated us after the wedding.

She gave us the space most wealthy mothersinlaw rarely offer. My phone buzzed in my cupped palm. A text illuminated the screen from Trevor, Tristan’s secretary.

Text from Trevor: Mr. Sinclair refused to eat the catered lunch. He skipped his meal entirely. I'm worried his stomach ulcer will flare up.

If you have time, could you possibly bring something simple to the office? My thumb hovered over the screen, ready to type a harsh rejection.

But Margaret’s tearful face flashed in my mind. My shoulders slumped. I typed a quick confirmation. An hour later, I stepped off the private elevator.

As I approached Tristan’s frosted glass door, a familiar voice bled through the crack.

He was talking to his close friend, Reid. "Word on the street is you and Stella are getting awfully cozy again," Reid teased.

The sharp scratch of Tristan’s custom fountain pen stopped abruptly. "Stay off the gossip blogs.

Keep talking trash, and I'll gladly call Charlton to drag you back to your family's estate." Reid scoffed, completely unfazed. "Save the threats.

You're hiding things from your best friend? If the rumors were fake, your PR team would have nuked those trending articles by now.

Look, if you still can't shake your obsession with Stella, just cut the cord. Sign the divorce papers. Marry the woman you actually want.

A perfect happy ending." "No." Tristan shot the idea down instantly.

The office went completely dead. "Stella has her own ambitions," Tristan’s deep voice finally murmured. "I refuse to drag her down or cage her in a marriage." He paused. "As for Ruby… she manages the house.

She takes perfect care of me and Asher." A harsh, mocking laugh erupted from Reid. "So you're just keeping Ruby around as a glorified nanny?" Tristan didn't say a single word.

The silence was his confession. Chapter 4 A familiar ache pierced my heart. He wasn't staying married to me out of loyalty. He kept me because I was convenient. A glorified maid.

He let Stella walk away to chase her dreams because he actually loved her. And me? What was I? Nothing. Just a body meant to serve.

If you settled for scraps, people assumed you belonged in the dirt. I didn't push the frosted glass open.

I turned on my heel, took the elevator straight down to the lobby, and shoved the homemade lunch box into the hands of Edna, the cleaning lady.

The mansion felt suffocatingly quiet that night. We barely exchanged a single word. But when I reached for my bedroom doorknob, Tristan’s tall frame blocked my path.

He loomed in the dim hallway. "What's wrong?" I asked.

His jaw ticked. "It's our scheduled night." Tristan seemed completely ascetic on the outside, but in bed he was always fierce and relentless.

He strictly enforced his "no kissing" rule from day one. Yet, in the heat of the moment, he would always press the back of my head and kiss me wildly.

He would also keep making me say his name, refusing to stop until I did. But the illusion was dead.

With the divorce locked in my mind, the mere thought of his skin touching mine made my stomach turn. "Not tonight." I stared blankly at his chest. "My period started." I reached for the doorknob.

Suddenly, he grabbed my wrist. "Your cycle isn't due yet," he countered, his eyes narrowing.

I ripped my arm out of his iron grip. "Stress makes it early." I didn't wait for his reaction. I stepped inside and slammed the heavy oak door right in his face.

I heard his dress shoes shift on the hardwood. He stood out there for a long time. Deep in the night, the mattress violently dipped.

A muscular arm slung over my waist, dragging me flush against his hard, unyielding chest.

His familiar voice sounded in my ear. "Just because you're on your period doesn't mean I can't hold you." I shoved at his forearm. I tried to twist out of his grip.

He only tightened his hold, caging me in. Exhaustion weighed down my bones. I surrendered to the dark and let him hold me. When the morning light hit the pillows, the bed was empty.

Franklin already drove Asher to kindergarten. I grabbed my coat and spent the morning at the French consulate, fasttracking my visa.

Gripping the steering wheel on the drive back, reality set in. I needed to rip the bandaid off. I needed to tell Tristan and Asher about the divorce.

It wasn't just my life changing. I pushed the front door open. Laughter echoed through the grand foyer. Tristan, Asher, and Stella sat on the plush living room rug.

A perfect, glowing family. Asher spotted me.

He instantly threw his arms around Stella’s neck and buried his face in her designer sweater. "Dad and Stella picked me up from school today!" Asher yelled, making sure his voice carried across the room. "It was the best!

I wish Stella could pick me up every single day." He shot me a triumphant, mocking smirk. "If you want, I can pick you up whenever I have free time," Stella cooed, brushing his hair.

Tristan lounged on the sofa. He barely glanced at me, offering a completely indifferent explanation. "Stella wanted to see Asher. So I brought her over." I gave a curt nod.

I didn't even look at Asher as I marched straight up to Tristan. "Do you have a minute?

I need to speak with you in private." Tristan’s brows snapped together. "Ruby, are you seriously throwing a tantrum right now?

I know you don't like Stella, but she's a guest in this house. She deserves your basic respect. Whatever it is, we can talk tonight.

Stella is craving your signature braised short ribs.

Go to the kitchen and help Maria prep dinner." Stella immediately gasped, her hand flying to her chest. "Tristan, what are you saying? Ruby isn't our maid.

You can't make her cook for me! I mean, I don't lift a finger at my own house." "It's fine.

She's not like you," Tristan dismissed her concern without a second thought. "She's used to doing the grunt work." Stella smiled, her eyes gleaming with malice. "Really?

Then I guess I'll trouble you for dinner, Ruby." Chapter 5 I took a deep breath. The realization clicked into place.

The lunches I slaved over in the kitchen—he had been feeding them to her. The urge to fight completely drained out of me.

I swallowed my pride and played the devoted wife for absolutely nothing.

He didn't care. "I don't feel well," I announced to the room. "Figure out your own dinner." I spun on my heel and headed for the staircase.

The heavy front door suddenly clicked open. Trevor stepped into the foyer. He clutched a stack of legal folders against his chest.

He shifted his weight, shooting nervous glances my way. "There's… one more file," Trevor stammered. He swallowed hard. "It just came over from Margaret's office.

It's the divorce agreement." Tristan and Asher whipped their heads toward me. Even Stella’s jaw dropped