Chapter 4 Screw you, Wesley
Molly’s POV
“You can stay in one of the spare rooms at my place. My house is spacious,” Giovanni said, as if inviting me into his home was the most natural thing in the world.
His tone was calm, confident, unshakable, but my heart rebelled. The idea of staying under the same roof as my ex-boyfriend and his wife was absurd. I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t strong enough.
Too many sparks still lingered between us, too many ghosts. Every time his gaze brushed mine, something deep inside me trembled, an echo of what we once were.
He looked different now. Older, sharper, more masculine. His aura edged with something dangerous. And yet, beneath that power, I feared I might still find the man I had once loved. The one who could destroy me all over again.
“I can rent an apartment myself, I won’t trouble you and your wife” I said firmly, forcing confidence into my voice.
“That would be unnecessary,” he countered smoothly. “And after what happened last night, it would be dangerous for you to live alone. Besides, I only live with my son, bodyguards, and maids.”
There was no room for debate in his tone. Gianni always had a way of making his decisions sound like destiny.
“Can I see the divorce papers?” he asked.
Without hesitation, I unlocked my phone, opened my email, and held it out to him. But instead of taking it, he scribbled an email address on a notepad and said, “Forward them to me.”
Before I could reply, my phone rang.
The name flashing on the screen sent a shiver down my spine. Wesley.
My stomach churned. Still, I answered, unable to suppress the bitterness in my voice. “What do you want?”
His tone was maddeningly calm, as if nothing he’d done had ruined me.
“I’m just curious,” he said. “Where did you spend the night?”
I nearly laughed. The audacity.
Memories of last night, the video call, the humiliation, the men he’d sent, flooded back. My head pounded. I rubbed my temples, catching Giovanni’s disapproving glance. He didn’t need to say a word.
But I didn’t care. Giovanni had abandoned me once. Wesley had destroyed me entirely. I didn’t owe either of them an ounce of politeness.
“Oh, you mean the video?” I asked coldly. “Did it meet your expectations?”
“Molly, please,” Wesley sighed. “I’m trying to be civil here.”
“Civil?” I scoffed. “If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be in this mess.”
He stayed silent, probably smirking on the other end. The sound of his voice alone made my blood boil.
“You want me to sign the divorce papers?” I snapped. “Fine. My lawyer will contact you.”
Wesley hesitated, then said softly, “I can bring them to you.”
I laughed bitterly. “What makes you think I’d want to see your repulsive face again? You disgust me, Wesley Thompson.”
A low chuckle came through the line, mocking, familiar, vile.
“I don’t care what you think,” he said. “But in case you haven’t heard, those two men sent us pictures of the three of you together. Now they’ve vanished. I can’t reach them. Do you know where they are?”
My pulse quickened. I looked at Giovanni, suspicion rising. What had he done to those men?
“Wesley,” I said through clenched teeth, “you have the nerve to ask me about the men you sent to assault me?”
Silence. He hadn’t expected that.
Then, his voice turned cold. “Well, I’ve already filed a report with your photo. If they don’t show up by noon, the police will be looking for you.”
I felt sick to my stomach. Giovanni watched me closely, his expression unreadable, but he gave a small nod, urging me to keep talking. His calm steadied me somehow.
“Excellent,” I said with venomous calm. “I look forward to meeting the police. I can’t wait to tell them about your part in their attempted assault.”
Another pause. Wesley was losing ground.
“Molly,” he said quietly, “this is more complicated than you think. Let’s meet. Anywhere you choose.”
“Wesley,” I said, my voice shaking with fury, “you disgust me. Screw you.”
I hung up and powered off my phone, my hands trembling. I couldn’t block him yet. Not until the divorce was finalized, but I could shut him out for now.
Still, my mind raced. What had happened to those men? What was Giovanni hiding?
“Gio,” I said carefully, “what happened to them? Did you have them arrested?”
His expression didn’t change, but his tone hardened. “You should focus on your divorce.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
He picked up my phone from the table, glanced at the email, then tossed it back down. “You haven’t read this, have you?”
“No,” I admitted. “I couldn’t. I’m still too angry.”
“Well, you should,” he said, his tone maddeningly calm. “Wesley no longer owns any properties.”
I blinked. “What? That’s impossible. I signed everything over to him.”
Giovanni exhaled, reaching for a cigarette before deciding against it. His jaw tightened. I’m surprised he still remembered my asthma, though I hadn’t had the attack for years. “And he transferred it all into his mother’s name.”
The room spun. “No… no, that can’t be true.”
“Check your email if you don’t believe me,” he said, his gaze steady, almost challenging.
My stomach twisted. “Does Kiara know?” I whispered, though I knew it didn’t matter. Giovanni had no connection to either of them. He had simply appeared mysteriously, almost fatefully, when I had lost everything.
“I don’t know,” he replied simply. Then, leaning forward, he added, “But what if I trained you to take everything back?”
I stared at him, bewildered. “Train me? How?”
A faint, enigmatic smile curved his lips. “It’s all in your mind,” he said, tapping his temple. “Tell me, why didn’t you sign the divorce papers?”
“Because I was afraid of losing everything,” I answered honestly.
“But you already lost everything, Molly. Signing them won’t change that. What’s really holding you back?”
His words pierced deep, exposing wounds I’d tried to hide. I bit my lip, unable to answer.
“We’ll continue this later,” he said, standing tall. “But think carefully. I don’t help married women.”
Before I could reply, his phone rang. He answered curtly, then turned to me. “I’ll send someone to take you shopping. We’ll head home afterward.”
Home. The word lingered.
As he disappeared into the closet, I wondered how a man like Giovanni had become so powerful, so effortlessly composed.
When he reemerged, dressed in an immaculate white three-piece suit, my breath caught. He looked like temptation personified, elegant, magnetic, unreachable.
White always reminded me of weddings, but on him, it looked like command. Like danger wrapped in silk.
I wanted to compliment him, but stopped myself.
Moments later, he was gone. And in his absence, another familiar face appeared in the doorway.
A rush of warmth and dread collided in my chest. Maybe, she might hold the truth I wasn’t sure I was ready to face.