Rejected Queen: The Ex-Wife's Unforgiving Comeback

Foley Estate, Akloit.

A woman stood before the mirror, her simple white cotton nightgown falling to her knees.

Her pale arms and slender legs were bare, and her chestnut hair framed a face drained of color, etched with fatigue.

The vibrant light that had once shone in her eyes had vanished, leaving them dull. This was the 1162nd day since her marriage to Kelvin Foley.

For more than three years, Cheyenne Lawrence had officially carried the name "Mrs. Foley." In reality, she was a prisoner in this cold mansion, waiting for the rare appearances of a man who never truly saw her.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips at the thought.

What a fool she'd been to believe she could ever soften Kelvin-that cold, obstinate man.

A servant approached, holding a long, black evening gown. His gaze was distant, bordering on contemptuous.

"Ms. Lawrence, Mr. Foley will be back soon." His tone was clipped. "You are to wear this to receive him."

No one here ever called her Mrs. Foley. Not Kelvin, not the staff.

Cheyenne was merely a presence to be tolerated, an unwelcome fixture in the house.

She took the black gown and slipped it on. When she sat on the sofa, her back straight and her hands folded in her lap, she looked like a perfectly polished doll, calmly awaiting the arrival of the man who was about to... take her to get a divorce.

Yes.

Today, their marriage would end.

Because the woman was back.

Cheyenne studied her reflection, then a brilliant smile bloomed on her face. After all, this was her last day as Mrs. Foley.

She pulled a lipstick from her bag and, using her phone screen as a mirror, carefully painted her lips a defiant red.

She looked magnificent. Almost unreal.

Heavy footsteps echoed in the hall. Each one landed like a blow against her heart.

Even after three years of his infrequent visits, Cheyenne knew that sound instantly.

It was him.

The glass door burst open. A gust of autumn wind swept in, scattering dead leaves across the floor around his immaculately polished shoes.

He walked right over them without a glance.

Cheyenne looked up. His black trousers accentuated long, lean legs. His face possessed a cold, cutting beauty, with sharp features and dark, deep eyes that were as empty as an abyss.

Tonight, those eyes were burning with anger.

She knew that look all too well. So she simply smiled.

"Cheyenne, what's taking so long?" he snapped, striding toward her. "We were supposed to sign the papers today."

He grabbed her chin, his grip brutal. The force of it nearly made her stagger.

Tears pricked her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She would smile, even if it was through gritted teeth.

"My dearest husband," she purred, her voice deceptively light. "So eager to be rid of me? I simply needed a moment to prepare."

He released her instantly, snatching his hand back as if he'd touched something repulsive.

He walked away without a word, pulling a white handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his fingers with slow, exaggerated care.

The sight made Cheyenne's chest ache with a familiar cold.

"Don't ever call me that again," he spat, glaring at her. "You don't have the right."

She moistened her red lips, her smile now tinged with an elegant bitterness.

"You're right. I don't deserve it."

Her hands clenched in her lap, nails digging into her palms. But the sting was nothing compared to the pain he'd already inflicted on her.

She took a deep breath, gathered the skirt of her dress, and rose to her feet.

"Until the divorce is finalized, I am still your wife."

Her words only fueled his rage. His gaze was so intense it felt like it could pierce right through her.

"Are you that desperate for men?" he sneered. "Go through with this divorce, and I might even find you ten."

He was willing to offer her other men, just to be rid of her.

Cheyenne's heart constricted. He could only say such a thing because he had never, not for a single moment, loved her.

She turned away, forcing a bright, cheerful smile.

"With pleasure. Thank you. I've always appreciated an attentive man."

Kelvin's disgust was a physical thing, twisting his features.

"Have you no self-respect?"

Cheyenne's smile widened, but as she turned her back to him, a profound sadness flickered in her eyes, gone before anyone could see.

The black Lamborghini was parked at the entrance.

Chris Richards, the assistant, stood ramrod straight beside the vehicle, his expression grave.

When he saw them approach, he hurried to open the rear door.

"The law firm first," Kelvin ordered, his tone like ice.

The woman beside him offered a faint smile that brought out small dimples, as if this were any day but the day of her divorce.

Cheyenne deliberately sat to Kelvin's left, a final, futile attempt to be close to his heart-the heart he had never given her.

As the car pulled onto the road, a heavy tension filled the cabin. The silence was thick and suffocating, like stagnant water.

Kelvin stared out the window, his jaw tight, as if he could will the courthouse to appear sooner.

Suddenly, the violent screech of tires tore through the air, followed by the slam of brakes. Cheyenne's body lurched toward him.

He shoved her away, sending her slamming into the door handle.

The impact echoed through the car.

Her head struck the metal, and a sharp pain exploded across her forehead. A dark, bluish mark was already forming on her pale skin.

At the sight of the bruise, a strange, fleeting sensation pricked at Kelvin. It vanished as quickly as it came. A contemptible woman like Cheyenne deserved no compassion.

"I... I'm sorry, Mr. Foley," Chris stammered from the driver's seat, his voice trembling. "Someone ran into the road..."

He didn't relax until he heard his boss's cold, dismissive reply.

Cheyenne straightened up, one hand pressed to her throbbing head. Her bright eyes fixed on Kelvin's closed-off profile, and a dull bitterness washed over her.

"You really are heartless." Her voice was low. "I was your wife for three years. Doesn't all that time we spent together mean anything to you? And you just let me slam into the door."

He hated her. He had never wanted this marriage; his grandfather had forced it on him.

Every month, he'd been ordered to her room to perform his marital duties. The memory alone was enough to make his stomach churn with a mixture of anger and disgust.

His face darkened. "Shut up," he snarled. "Without my grandfather's command, a person like you wouldn't even exist in my world. You disgust me."

"Dis... disgust..."

Cheyenne burst out laughing, a hollow sound that didn't reach her sad eyes.

That smile made Kelvin uneasy. It was a strange cocktail of self-mockery, contempt, and a pain so deep it was silent.

Her delicate face, now marred by the blooming bruises on her chin and forehead, looked almost pitiable.

He cursed inwardly. Another useless thought.

It was all because Cheyenne was a master actress.

If she weren't, his grandfather would never have grown so fond of her, and he never would have been forced to marry her in the first place.