Once Loved, Now Forgotten: No Love Left for You, Hubby! 7

Chapter 7
Agony tore through Eleanor like a jagged blade, slicing deep into her marrow, a pain so fierce it rooted her to the spot. Her feet, heavy with the lead of despair, refused to flee the tableau unfolding before her eyes. Hot tears of shame prickled at the edges of her vision, threatening to spill as a venomous thought coiled in her mind—had Logan engineered this cruel spectacle, summoning her here to rub salt into the wound of her unraveling world? The air in the club’s private suite thickened with betrayal, the dim light casting long shadows that mirrored the ache in her soul.
Riley disentangled herself from Logan’s arms with a dancer’s grace, a faint blush blooming across her cheeks like dawn on porcelain. She turned, her eyes catching Eleanor framed in the doorway, and a radiant smile curved her lips. “Eleanor, you’re here,” she said, guiding her wheelchair forward with practiced ease, her voice a lilting melody of feigned innocence. “Logan had too much to drink and lost himself. That kiss—it was a slip, nothing more. Please, don’t let it weigh on you.”
Eleanor’s tears hovered, unshed, as Riley’s tone shifted, her frame trembling with theatrical flair. “Eleanor, forgive me!” she cried, her voice quaking. “I shouldn’t have come, shouldn’t have let it happen. I was wrong—please, have mercy!” Her eyes glistened, a perfect portrait of contrition.
A cold, mirthless laugh broke from Eleanor’s lips, sharp as shattered glass. “Had your fill of the stage? Stop putting on this act.” Her words cut through the pretense, a weary defiance lacing her tone.
Riley bit her lip, tears welling like dewdrops in her eyes. “Eleanor, you’ve misunderstood me so terribly. This isn’t an act…” Her plea hung fragile, a threadbare script from some overwrought drama—the scorned wife facing the saintly rival, a trope so absurd it bordered on farce.
“You’re a gifted actress,” Eleanor said, her voice steady despite the storm within. “But I’m tired of playing your audience. Logan and I will divorce soon, and you can claim the title of Mrs. Barrett with my blessing.” She turned, her steps heavy with the weight of finality, the corridor stretching before her like a path to freedom.
“Eleanor!” Riley’s wheelchair whirred forward, her hand darting out to seize Eleanor’s wrist. “You’re divorcing him because you’re done donating blood to me, aren’t you? You still want me dead! Or is it because you missed your grandmother’s last moments and pin that on me?” Her words were a venom-tipped arrow, striking at Eleanor’s rawest wound.
Clara’s name shattered the dam within her, grief surging forth like a flood. Eleanor wrenched her arm free, her voice ice-cold. “Don’t touch me!” The force of her recoil was sharp, instinctive.
“Ah!” Riley’s wheelchair tilted and toppled, spilling her onto the floor in a heap of calculated chaos. Eleanor’s brow furrowed, confusion flickering—her pull had been swift, not forceful enough to upend a chair. Before she could unravel the trick, Logan’s voice sliced through, accusatory and raw. “Eleanor, what have you done?”
She looked up to see him emerging from the shadows of the room, and the pieces clicked into place—a meticulously staged trap. Logan knelt beside Riley, his hands gentle as he lifted her, concern etching his features. “Riley, are you alright? Are you hurt?”
Tears streamed down Riley’s flawless face, her performance flawless. “Logan, don’t blame Eleanor,” she murmured, her voice a fragile whisper. “I wasn’t seated right—it’s my fault.” Her eyes shimmered, a martyr’s grace cloaking her deceit.
Logan’s gaze swung to Eleanor, dark and frigid, a tempest brewing in its depths. “Riley’s already frail, and you push her? A year in prison taught you nothing but how to torment the weak.” His words lashed at her, each one a whip crack of judgment.
Eleanor met his stare, her chin lifting as she battled the tears clawing at her throat. “Don’t pin deeds on me I didn’t do. But if I had pushed her, wouldn’t I be your prize student? You’ve mastered preying on the vulnerable—didn’t you squeeze my uncle just to bend me to your will?” Her voice trembled with defiance, a spark against his storm.
“Defiant even now—is this how my wife should act?” Logan’s tone was a blade, cold and unyielding.
“No,” she shot back. “That’s why I’m shedding that role. You and Riley belong together. May your future gleam with happiness—and may no one else suffer your games.” She turned, her footsteps a resolute drumbeat down the corridor, echoing her escape.
“Eleanor, stop!” Logan’s command roared after her, fury threading every syllable, but she pressed on, her silence a wall against his rage.
“Logan, don’t be mad,” Riley’s voice followed, syrupy and soothing. “I’ve heard prison hardens people, makes them cruel. I didn’t believe it until now… But, Logan, she spoke of divorce. Does that mean she won’t save me anymore?” Her words dripped with calculated woe.
Logan’s agitation flared at the word “divorce,” his jaw tightening. “Are you hurt?” he asked Riley, his focus narrowing.
“Just sore from the fall,” she replied, her tone soft with accusation. “Eleanor seems to relish my pain—the worse I fare, the happier she is.”
“As long as you’re not injured,” Logan said, his voice steadying. “Go home now.” He turned, his strides swift as he pursued Eleanor.
“Logan!” Riley’s cry rang out, disbelief painting her features. Never had he abandoned her for Eleanor like this. The shift unnerved her, a crack in her carefully laid plans.
Eleanor had barely breached the club’s threshold when Logan swept her up, his arms a sudden cage. She gasped, her hands clutching his neck for balance as she shouted, “What are you doing?” He ignored her, carrying her to the waiting car, his command to the driver curt as the engine purred to life.
“Let me go!” she cried, twisting against his hold, frustration surging. “Logan, release me!”
He pinned her flailing hands, his grip iron as he drew her close, his breath warm against her cheek. “Keep fighting if you want this ride to be unforgettable.” His warning was a low growl, a dare she couldn’t meet.
Fear for her unborn child froze her, dread pooling in her gut at the thought of his force harming the fragile life within. She stilled, and he released her, his voice sharp. “How dare you push Riley again? Do you crave prison that much?”
She turned away, her gaze fixed on the window, her voice hollow as a cavern. “Would you believe me if I said I didn’t?”
His silence was a deafening answer, a confirmation of his allegiance. A dry, bitter laugh slipped from her. “I was a fool to ask. Of course, Riley’s tale trumps mine.”
“Eleanor…” Logan began, but she cut him off, her words steeped in weary scorn.
“You staged this to flaunt her in my face, didn’t you? The kiss was overkill—I’ve always known your bond with her is unshakable.” Her bitterness was a tide, rising unchecked.
Logan’s brow creased, confusion flickering. “Riley and I kissed?”
“What, need a reminder?” Sarcasm dripped from her, a shield against the ache.
He gripped her shoulders, pulling her gaze to his. “So you’re jealous. That’s why you’re like this?” His voice softened, probing.
She looked away, veiling the raw pain in her eyes. “Jealous? No. It’s just that we’re still married, and I’d rather not have an unfaithful husband.” Her words were a quiet barb, striking true.
Logan drew her into his arms, his usual edge melting into a rare tenderness. “I don’t want a divorce. I’ll leave your uncle be, alright? Come home—let’s stop this war.” His heartbeat thudded against her ear, steady and strong.
Once, this closeness would’ve crumbled her walls, his warmth a balm to her wounds. Now, it stirred only a growing resistance, a fortress rising within. When had his fleeting softness lost its sway? Perhaps when he’d torn her from Clara’s bedside, leaving her grandmother to fade alone. Or when he’d dismissed their child’s existence for Riley’s transfusions. Exhaustion seeped into her bones—she’d once craved his side, but now she yearned only for release. Her eyes drifted shut, fatigue claiming her as sleep swallowed her whole.
The Rolls-Royce purred to a halt at Serenity Villa. The driver opened the door, and Logan lifted Eleanor’s sleeping form with care, her weight a quiet burden in his arms. He paused mid-stride, his voice dropping low. “Did you arrange for both Eleanor and Riley to be at the club tonight?”
“No, Mr. Barrett,” the driver replied swiftly. “I stayed with the car, waiting for you. But I saw the club manager greet Miss Dawson personally when she arrived.”
Logan absorbed this in silence, his jaw tightening as he carried Eleanor inside. Upstairs, he laid her gently on the master bed, her body curling instinctively around a pillow, her breaths soft and even in slumber. He drew the blanket over her, lingering as shadows played across her face, his expression a cipher—unreadable, conflicted—before he turned and left.