Once Loved, Now Forgotten: No Love Left for You, Hubby! 3

Chapter 3
Eleanor blinked, the sting of realization cutting through the fog of her thoughts. So that was why Logan had brushed past her with such haste, sidestepping her plea for divorce as though it were a trivial nuisance. He’d been racing to Riley’s side, eager to bask in her light. A familiar ache bloomed in her chest, a creeping numbness that spread like frost across her heart, chilling her to the marrow.
She’d scrolled through countless posts before—Riley flaunting Logan’s devotion on social media, each image a dagger twisting in her soul. Yet some masochistic thread had always tugged her back, compelling her to witness the love she’d never claim. Now, at last, she vowed to sever that cord of torment. Her fingers danced across her phone with quiet resolve, deleting Logan and Riley from her WhatsApp contacts, their names vanishing like ashes scattered to the wind.
Fresh from her shower, steam still clinging to her skin, Eleanor slipped into clean clothes just as her phone erupted with a shrill ring. Logan’s name blazed across the screen, a beacon of contradiction. Wasn’t he meant to be with Riley now, lost in her orbit? Why this sudden intrusion? Hesitation gripped her, but curiosity won out. She answered, her voice tentative. “Logan?”
“Did you delete Riley on WhatsApp?” His question came sharp and accusing, a blade unsheathed.
“Yes. What’s wrong with that?” Eleanor replied, steadying herself against the storm she sensed brewing.
“You have the nerve to ask?” Venom laced his words, dripping with contempt. “Riley wanted to congratulate you on your release, but she saw you’d erased her. She thinks you still resent her. She broke down, reliving the moment you shoved her down those stairs. Eleanor, when will you stop stirring chaos?”
His words pierced her like thorns, but she held her ground, her composure a fragile shield. “Logan, deleting her was my freedom,” she said, her voice a quiet rebellion against his judgment.
“Freedom?” His tone turned glacial, each syllable a shard of ice. “Riley’s a patient, Eleanor! She’s trapped in that wheelchair because of you, and now she’s emotionally frail. The least you could do is muster some shred of compassion!”
A bitter smile curved Eleanor’s lips as she shut her eyes, wrestling back the tears that threatened to spill. “If she’s as fragile as you claim, then keeping my distance is mercy—lest I’m blamed again for her pain.” Her words hung in the air, heavy with irony and defiance.
“Eleanor, don’t—” Logan began, but she silenced him with a sharp click, ending the call. Without pause, she blocked his number, sealing him out like a door bolted against a tempest. She moved to the kitchen, crafting a simple plate of spaghetti, the rhythmic twirl of pasta a fleeting balm for her weighted thoughts. Then, umbrella in hand, she stepped into the drizzle, the rain a soft shroud as she made her way to the cemetery.
The earth drank the quiet downpour, each droplet a whisper against Clara’s tombstone. Eleanor stood there, time unspooling into an endless thread, the weight of her grief pressing against her ribs until breathing felt like a labor. When she returned to Serenity Villa, dusk had painted the sky in muted grays. She crossed the threshold, only to freeze—Logan lounged on the living room sofa, an unexpected specter in the dim light. Normally, his evenings with Riley stretched into the small hours, returning only after she’d drifted to sleep. His presence now was an enigma she had no desire to unravel.
Ignoring him, she moved toward the stairs, her steps deliberate. “Stop right there,” Logan’s voice sliced through the stillness, sharp as a blade through silk. She paused, her back to him, unwilling to grant him her gaze.
He rose, his footsteps a measured cadence as he closed the distance, standing before her with eyes that pinned her in place. “You’ve grown bold, haven’t you? Hanging up on me, blocking my number?” His tone carried a dangerous edge, a storm gathering behind his composure.
Eleanor remained silent, her body taut as she tried to slip past, but his hand shot out, seizing her wrist with unyielding strength. “I’m speaking to you. What’s wrong—did prison deafen you?” His words lashed at her, a cruel echo of her confinement.
The sting burrowed deep, but she met his stare, her voice quivering with restrained fury. “Yes, Logan, I’ve been to prison. My life’s a ruin because of it. Isn’t that punishment enough for you?” Her eyes burned with unshed tears, daring him to see her pain.
His brows knitted, his gaze tracing the swollen redness framing her eyes. “Have you been crying? Did you visit your grandmother’s grave?” His voice softened, but it was a hollow gesture, too late to mend what he’d broken.
She fought the sob clawing at her throat. “I couldn’t be there when they buried her. Do I need your blessing to mourn her now?” Her words trembled, a fragile bridge between rage and sorrow.
Logan’s expression darkened, shadows pooling in his eyes. “Eleanor, I pushed you back to prison that day to spare you from drowning in grief. It was for your own good.” His justification rang hollow, a flimsy shield against her truth.
“For my own good?” A laugh escaped her, brittle and jagged, spilling over with bitterness. “Do you hear yourself, Logan? Even your lies lack conviction now.” With a fierce tug, she freed her wrist, her voice steadying into cold finality. “I’m done with you. Let’s end this—let’s get a divorce.”
She stormed to the master bedroom, dragging an old suitcase from the walk-in closet. Her hands moved with purpose, packing only what was hers, leaving behind the opulent trappings the Barrett family had bestowed upon her after the wedding. The suitcase filled sparsely—a testament to how little she’d claimed as her own.
“Eleanor, enough of this nonsense!” Logan’s exasperation cracked through the silence, his silhouette looming in the doorway. “It was just a year in prison. I ensured you weren’t mistreated. What more do you want?”
Her hands stilled, fingers curling into the fabric as she turned to face him. “Oh, you made sure I was treated differently. Every meal was stuffed with spinach and liver, priming my blood for Riley’s next transfusion.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm, a bitter edge honed by memory.
Logan’s brow furrowed, irritation flickering in his gaze. “So it’s about Riley again. Those transfusions saved her life. You’re in medicine—you should have some compassion. And I’ve rewarded you handsomely.”
“Compassion?” Another hollow laugh broke free, sharp as shattered glass. “Name one doctor who’s bled themselves dry for a patient.” She gestured to the wall of luxury handbags, their gleaming leather a gallery of excess worth millions, coveted by the world. “Is this your reward? One bag per transfusion—Riley’s castoffs, handed to me like scraps.”
Each bag bore Riley’s imprint—her taste, her whims—purchased by Logan’s wealth. She kept the chic, the practical, leaving Eleanor the gaudy relics, extravagant but useless. Eleanor had never asked for them, yet Logan and Riley deemed blood-for-bags a fair trade, a perverse alchemy she’d never bartered for.
“I won’t take a single one,” she said, a faint smile ghosting her lips. “Keep your compensation. I never consented to bleed for her.” Her words were a quiet declaration, a line drawn in the sand.
Logan rubbed his temples, weariness etching his features. In their years together, Eleanor had been pliant—sulking at times, but never defiant, never wielding words like weapons. Now, her rebellion unsettled him. He stepped closer, gripping her shoulders, his voice softening into a coaxing murmur. “I know prison’s left you raw. Let’s not fight, alright? I asked Chloe to cook your favorites. Come, let’s eat together.”
Eleanor shrugged off his touch, seizing her suitcase and striding toward the door. In a blur of motion, Logan swept her into his arms, her protests swallowed as he carried her to the bed. The mattress yielded beneath her, soft as a trap, and he pinned her wrists above her head, his scent—a heady mix of cedar and musk—enveloping her as he whispered against her ear. “Eleanor, stop this anger. Tonight, I’ll love you until you’re sated.”
Her heart thundered, a wild drumbeat echoing in her ribs. Once, his bedroom wiles had melted her fury, her forgiveness a pliant offering under his touch. He’d relished the game—drawing her to bed whenever she bristled, his dominance a force that bent her until she wept, pleading for reprieve and yielding to his will. Now, his breath deepened as he claimed her lips, fingers deftly unfastening her blouse, igniting a fire she’d once craved.
But clarity snapped her back, a lifeline amid the haze. “No… I don’t want this…” She writhed beneath him, defiance surging against his hold.
“You don’t want this?” Logan lifted his head, desire smoldering in his eyes as he studied her, pinned and flushed beneath him. “You say no now, but soon you’ll cling to me, begging for more…” His lips curved, a predator’s smirk, as he trailed kisses down her neck, each one a spark against her skin. “This year without you was agony… I buried myself in work to smother my need…”
Beyond the towering windows, the night lay cloaked in silence, the rain’s steady patter a mournful counterpoint to the heat thickening the room. Three years had honed Logan’s mastery of her body—every touch a calculated stroke to unravel her defenses. Eleanor shuddered, her frame taut as she grasped at the fraying threads of her resolve. Though she fought, he pressed on, relentless, intent on drowning her in the tide of his desire.
“Eleanor, I want you…” Logan’s murmur was a velvet growl, a plea and a command entwined, reverberating in the charged air between them.