Chapter 643 Julian Took Her, Samuel Wanted Her Back 2
Taylor's brow furrowed. "And what does that have to do with you?"
"You're my wife," Samuel shot back before he could stop himself.
She didn't answer—just stared at him, her silence sharper than any words. Samuel's breath came hard and uneven. He didn't even know why it mattered this much.
They were divorced. New lovers were supposed to be part of the deal.New lovers were supposed to be part of the deal.
The silence stretched until Taylor finally said, "Go home. Pretend you were never here."
But Samuel didn't move. He wedged his foot in the door, and when she tried to shut it, the difference in strength let him force his way inside. He only made it worse for himself.
The air still carried the faint, unmistakable scent of sex. Julian had cleaned up, but the disarray on the couch told its own story—one any adult would recognize.
Samuel's eyes burned red. "Couldn't even wait, could you?"
Taylor walked to the floor‑to‑ceiling windows, tightening the belt of her robe. Her voice was tired. "Samuel, we've been over for a long time. When we split, you were already sleeping with Zenobia. And I didn't take a cent from you—not even the share of marital assets I was entitled to. I gave you every ounce of dignity, and you threw it away. Do you really want me to spell it out?"
"Yes, I did love you once," she said, her voice low and steady. "But not the man you are now, drowning in liquor, lust, and every vice you can get your hands on. Our marriage is over, but the years we shared do not have to be dragged through the mud. I do not know why you are here, but you need to understand this: we cannot go back."
"Even without Julian," she added, "we were finished the day you started taking care of Zenobia."
She kept her gaze on the city lights. Behind her, Samuel's face went pale.
He knew she was right. He also knew he regretted everything—how quickly he'd signed the divorce papers, how little thought he'd given it.
His throat felt raw. After a long pause, he said, "Taylor, let's forget the past. Start over. I won't bring up Julian. I'll make sure Zenobia and Thalassa are taken care of financially, and then they're out of my life."
For a man as proud as Samuel, the words cost him.
Taylor tilted her head slightly, still not turning to face him—her ex‑husband.
The night wind carried her voice back to him. "Samuel, life doesn't hand out endless forgiveness. Or second chances. Or happy endings."
He stood there, silent for a long time.
Finally, he gave a bitter laugh. "So that's it? You don't love me anymore?"
"Yes," she said, without hesitation.
This time, Samuel didn't linger. He picked up the small cake he'd brought and left.
Downstairs, he tossed it into the trash, got into his car, and sat in the dark, unmoving. His mind drifted back to the early days—when his company was in trouble and Taylor had wired him five hundred million dollars to keep it afloat. She'd refused interest when he paid it back, simply depositing it again without fuss.
The Montague Group was vast, and Henry had never denied his eldest daughter anything. Taylor's personal wealth could have kept her in luxury for centuries, but she wasn't like other society wives—no endless shopping trips, no bridge games. She worked long hours, always another surgery to perform.
In the first two years of marriage, he'd sometimes pick her up from the hospital, and they'd grab breakfast together. There had been sweetness once. She'd even mentioned wanting a child when things slowed down. But in the middle of his career climb, he hadn't wanted the distraction. He'd said nothing, and she'd let it drop.
By year three, she never brought it up again.
By year five, she didn't call if he was out late—whether at a business dinner or with Zenobia. She'd stopped caring, even on their anniversary.
They'd drifted apart until there was nothing left.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, cold band of silver—her wedding ring. He'd found it in her bedside drawer, though she'd once told him she'd thrown it into the river. She'd lied. But she didn't want it back.
His eyes stung.
He couldn't accept it. Not yet.
The weight in his chest drove him to a bar. The place was dim, the air thick with the smoky voice of a lounge singer. He ordered the strongest drink they had, but it did nothing to burn away the fire inside him.
In the corner, a couple kissed. The woman's profile was so much like Taylor's it made his throat tighten. She was wearing a black sweater dress, arms looped around the man's neck, lost in it.
Samuel was drunk enough to believe it was Taylor. Drunk enough to believe the man was Julian. Rage surged. He strode over, yanked the woman away, and swung hard at the man. "Julian, get your hands off my wife!"
The woman screamed. "Are you insane?"
She clawed at him to protect the man, but Samuel's fists kept coming. The man fought back, trading blows. "Can't keep your wife in line, so you pick fights in bars?"
Glass shattered around them as the fight tore through the room. No one could stop it. Someone called the police.
They arrived in under ten minutes, hauling all three of them to the station. By then, Samuel's head had cleared a little, but the couple kept cursing him out.
An officer checked his license. "Samuel Collins," he read aloud, eyebrows lifting. A name people knew.
The officer suggested settling it privately. "They want fifty grand," he said.
Samuel said nothing, just stared at the diamond ring in his hand.
The officer assumed he was being cheap—until Samuel pulled out a card. "There's over three hundred thousand on this. Give it all to them."
The couple's anger evaporated into surprise. The man even joked about taking a few more punches for that kind of payout.
That was when Zenobia arrived to sign him out.
The man looked her over, then glanced at his girlfriend. "You don't look anything like his wife," he muttered.
Samuel stopped at the door, turned, and studied the woman for a long moment before saying softly, "She looks more like Taylor."
Zenobia's face tightened, but she said nothing, helping him to the car.
He leaned back with his eyes closed, though she knew he wasn't asleep. She wanted to ask questions but bit them back.
From the front seat, the driver asked, "Where to, Mr. Collins?"
After a pause, Samuel said, "Home."
Zenobia's mood lifted instantly. She leaned into him, whispering, "I knew you cared about me."
If he was taking her to his house, she thought, it meant she had a place in his life. She even decided she'd cut ties with Geraldo—she was going to be Mrs. Collins.
Half an hour later, the black SUV rolled up the drive to the house he'd once shared with Taylor. The staff came out to greet him.
"Mr. Collins, you've been drinking again?" one of them fussed—until they saw Zenobia. In her strappy dress, she looked indecent to their conservative eyes. They assumed she was hired company.
"Mr. Collins is home now," the servant said curtly. "I'll have the driver take you back."
"I'm his girlfriend," Zenobia snapped.
"You're the one who ruined his marriage to Mrs. Collins?" the servant shot back.
Zenobia's jaw tightened. Samuel waved the staff away, then stood for a long time, staring up at the dark silhouette of the house. His eyes glistened before he finally said, "Come inside."
Her voice trembled. "Samuel…"
He didn't answer. In his mind, he'd already decided—Zenobia would do. She was good enough.
He'd marry her before Taylor could marry Julian, and show the world he could be just as happy without her.
He didn't need Taylor. Not anymore.