Once His Now My Own Novel by SHAN

Stella’s POV

The room buzzed with laughter and clinking glasses at the company‘ s Thanksgiving dinner. Amid the festivities, my husband, Ethan Lewis, and his precious childhood sweetheart, Lily Evans, were the center of attention. They were playing a ridiculous game–passing a piece of paper between their lips without letting it fall.

When it was their turn, I plastered on a smile and cheered them on, my voice cutting through the crowd. Laughter then erupted around me. It was the kind of laughter that stung, meant to mock, not amuse.

Lily, ever the damsel, blinked back tears, hiding behind Ethan like a fragile flower. His arm wrapped protectively around her, and when his eyes locked on me, they burned with cold fury.

“Stella, can’t you be more considerate for once?” His voice was sharp, meant for the crowd as much as it was for me. “Not everything is about you.”

A year ago, I might have fought back, but tonight, I felt nothing. Eight years of marriage had drained me, leaving behind a hollow ache. Without a word, I turned on my heel and left.

It was 1 AM when Ethan finally came home. The front door creaked open, and his familiar footsteps echoed through the silent house. I was waiting, curled on the couch, my mind a million miles away. The moment he saw me, his expression shifted–his smile vanished, replaced by icy contempt.

“Stella, are you in such a rush that you couldn’t wait for half an hour?” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “Do you know how much you embarrassed me tonight?”All content © N/.ôvel/Dr/ama.Org.

Embarrassed him? It had been my tireless effort that ensured tonight‘ s event ran smoothly–both Thanksgiving and the important dinner to entertain business partners. I had spent sleepless nights preparing, only to have it all ruined because Lily wanted to ride a hot air balloon under the stars. And Ethan, of course, couldn’t refuse

her. He paused the signing ceremony, the one we had worked so hard for, to indulge her whims. And now I was the one who caused embarrassment?

I ignored him and just sat in silence. But it only caused Ethan’s irritation to grow, his patience fraying like a worn thread.

“What, now you‘ re pretending to be mute too?” he snapped.

There had been a time when his words would‘ ve cut deep, a time when I would‘ ve cried, pleaded,‘ and done anything to keep him happy. But tonight, something inside me shifted. His insults felt like a distant echo, too far to touch me.

“You know I don‘ t like noisy places,” I replied, my voice steady, unbothered.

Ethan blinked a few times, seemingly recalling that fact about me just now. The next second, he threw a takeout bag onto the coffee table. “You didn’t eat much tonight, so I brought you something.”

I glanced at the greasy box–it was half–eaten leftovers. Probably from the meal he shared with Lily. The sour smell of congealed grease wafted through the room, making my stomach churn.

He shifted uncomfortably, sensing the weight of my silence. “It must’ve been a mix–up… grabbed the wrong box.”

Ridiculous. As if anyone would take leftovers from such a high–profile event. I didn’t bother responding. Instead, I stood, my body heavy with exhaustion, and headed toward the bathroom.

But Ethan wasn‘ t done. “We have a meeting on Monday about the new project. I’ll go with you.”

If he had said this weeks ago, I would‘ ve been overjoyed, desperate for his attention, his support. Now? His offer felt like an afterthought, something he said out of habit rather than care.

“No need,” I replied flatly, disappearing into the bathroom before he could say more.

The shower’s warm water did little to wash away the numbness clinging to my skin. I was lost in thought when suddenly, the glass partition shattered without warning, sending me sprawling onto the cold, wet floor.

The crash echoed through the house. Ethan’s voice was laced with annoyance as he called from the living room. “How can you be so clumsy even in the shower?”

The bathroom door swung open, and he stood there, his eyes scanning the scene, not with concern but frustration. “I’ll take you to the hospital,” he muttered as if it were the most inconvenient task.

I struggled to push myself up, my ankle throbbing from a deep gash. But before he could help, his phone rang, playing the special ringtone for Lily’s calls.

As soon as he answered, I heard her pitiful voice saying, “Ethan, I’ve drunk a lot and feel nauseous now. Could you accompany me to the hospital?”

“Send me your location and I’ll be there in a flash,” he replied and hung up.

Hesitation flickered in his eyes for only a split second before he turned to me. “There’s something urgent at the company,” he lied, already stepping back. “I‘ ll bring you some medicine later.”

And with that, he left, the front door clicking shut behind him.

I stared at the shattered glass and the blood pooling around my ankle. Trembling, I picked up my phone and dialed 911.