Chapter 4 The Attack
Mia’s teeth clenched as anger surged through her. ‘He’s really turning into a madman,’ she thought.
She sucked in a deep breath, slapped his hand away, and stood up. Without another word, she walked back to the couch on her own and sat down stiffly, her posture guarded and tense.
James followed immediately, dropping into the seat beside her.
His gaze swept over the empty glasses on the table, then returned to her face, dark and probing. “You drank so much,” he said. “Why?”
“Because I wanted to,” Mia replied flatly, refusing to meet his eyes.
James shifted closer and draped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her toward him.
“Stop,” she muttered, pushing at his arm.
He ignored it, tightening his hold and drawing her even closer to his side.
Mia stiffened, fury simmering beneath her skin.
Then James slid his phone out of his pocket.
He unlocked it, swiped a few times, and turned the screen toward her. “Look,” he said quietly.
He tilted the phone so she couldn’t avoid seeing it.
A photo of a white wedding dress filled the screen.
“Do you like this one?”
Before Mia could react, he swiped again—another gown. Then another.
“Or this?” he continued. “This one? How about this?”
The images kept changing, one after another, until he finally stopped on a photograph of an elegant wedding venue, lights glowing softly beneath sweeping arches.
“This is the venue I thought you’d like when we remarry,” James said.
His voice was calmer now, almost composed—but the intensity behind it hadn’t faded.
“I’ve shortlisted a few,” he continued evenly. “Choose the one you want, and we’ll book it.”
Mia sat silently on the couch, one hand pressed to her chest as she stared blankly ahead. She didn’t look at the photos anymore—didn’t even register them. Her thoughts were spinning too fast, colliding into one another.
‘What the hell is happening? Why is he suddenly acting like this?’
James pulled her closer, his arm locking tightly around her waist, drawing her flush against his chest as if afraid she might disappear if he loosened his hold.
With his other hand, he pushed the phone closer to her face.
His voice softened—gentle, coaxing—completely at odds with the fevered look in his eyes.
“Don’t you like roses?” he murmured, his breath warm against her cheek. “Look—this venue has roses everywhere.” He swiped slowly. “Which color do you want?” A pause. “I even ordered your favorite champagne for the party.”
Mia’s chest constricted so suddenly it stole the air from her lungs.
The images on the screen blurred as a cold, ironic ache rushed through her.
Because when they had gotten married—
He had never asked her opinion.
Not once.
Not about the ceremony.
Not about her dress.
Not about the food, the guests, the venue—nothing.
He had even declared that her friends could attend only if there was “space left” after his business guests. That wedding hadn’t belonged to her at all. Every detail had been chosen by him. Approved by him. Designed to suit him.
Seeing wedding photos now didn’t feel romantic.
It felt like a punch to the stomach.
A reminder of everything she had endured.
A reminder of a marriage where she had existed as nothing more than a quiet shadow at his side.
She turned her face away from the screen, irritation, exhaustion, and numbness washing over her all at once.
“I don’t want to marry you,” Mia said quietly, her voice flat.
James froze.
His fingers tightened around the phone as his head snapped toward her. “Why?” he demanded, disbelief flashing across his face.
Mia shoved at the arm wrapped around her waist, struggling out of the hold that pinned her to him. She slid sideways on the couch, deliberately creating distance between them.
James stared at the space she’d put between them. Confusion flickered across his face—then hurt, then something dangerously close to offense. He looked up at her again.
“You do care about me,” he said softly. His voice trembled. “You love me. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have stayed with me for five years.”
Mia met his gaze, her eyes troubled but steady.
“It has nothing to do with love,” she said firmly. “We’re divorced, James. Whatever happened in the past—it’s over. Right now, it’s the present.” Her voice hardened. “And I’m not marrying you again.”
James looked shaken.
He slowly lowered the phone to the table, then turned back toward her, his movements uncharacteristically careful.
“I know the last five years weren’t good,” he said quietly. “But it’s not too late. We still have our whole lives ahead of us.”
Mia let out a sharp, exhausted breath and rose to her feet. She turned fully toward him, anger breaking free at last.
“It is too late!” she snapped, her voice cracking. “I’m not going back with you. I told you—we’re divorced. I’m not spending my entire life in a marriage where I was never treated like a wife.”
Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she struggled to breathe.
She glared at him, her voice shaking with hurt. “I was treated worse than a janitor, James! You would allow a janitor into your room and your company without permission—but I, your wife, wasn’t allowed to step even one foot inside your building!”
James flinched.
The impact of her words showed immediately—his expression cracking, his eyes softening with unmistakable regret. He inhaled deeply, as if steadying himself.
“It was my fault. Come back home. I made a mistake.” His voice broke.
“I didn’t know how to handle a relationship like that—the responsibility.
After we got married, my priority was my business, and I didn’t…
shift my priorities in time.” He swallowed hard.
“I didn’t understand that you were my family too.
It was my first time being someone’s husband. ”
Mia looked straight at him, her voice quieter now—but heavy with pain.
“It was my first time being someone’s wife too, James.”
The words hit him like a blow.
Guilt washed over his face so hard it seemed to steal the breath from his lungs. His chest rose and fell too quickly, fingers trembling where they rested on his knee as he tried—and failed—to calm himself.
And then—
His phone started ringing.
Again.
And again.
Loud. Relentless. Irritating.
The sharp vibration buzzed against the wooden table, slicing straight through the tension in the air.
James clenched his jaw, muscles flexing as irritation surged. He grabbed the phone roughly and snapped into the call, “What?”
Whoever was on the other end spoke rapidly, urgently.
James’s eyes narrowed. His breathing stilled. His shoulders locked with tension.
The voice continued for several seconds.
James finally exhaled slowly, his mind racing, tension rippling through every line of his body as whatever he was hearing tightened its grip around him.
Without another word, he rose abruptly and strode toward the bar entrance.
The bass of the music pounded against his chest as he shoved the door open and stepped outside into the cooler air.
He halted for half a second and glanced back at the two members of his security team stationed near the entrance.
He lifted his hand and pointed sharply toward Mia.
“Don’t let her come out,” he ordered.
“Yes, Mr. Sinclair,” the guards replied at once.
Unaware of the command that had just been given, Mia watched James disappear through the bar door. The instant he was gone, a sharp sense of unease settled in her chest. She sprang to her feet and hurried toward the exit.
She didn’t make it two steps.
The guards immediately stepped into her path, broad bodies blocking the doorway as they raised their hands.
“Sorry, ma’am,” one of them said firmly. “You can’t leave.”
Mia stared at them in disbelief. “What are you talking about? Move.”
They didn’t budge.
She tried to push past them, but they were solid—large. When she struggled harder, hands closed around her arms, stopping her completely.
“Let go of me!” she shouted, panic flaring as she fought against their grip. “You have no right to keep me here!”
Their hold tightened, boxing her in—
—until another voice cut cleanly through the noise.
“What’s going on, boys?”
Gavin’s easy, lazy drawl drifted from behind them.
The guards stiffened instantly. One of them stepped back and straightened.
“Mr. Stanley,” they greeted.
Gavin flashed them a relaxed, charming smile and casually reached out, his hand settling around Mia’s arm.
“What’s happening?” he asked lightly.
Recognizing him, both guards eased their stance.
“Mr. Sinclair instructed us to keep her here,” one of them explained, gesturing toward Mia.
Gavin waved a lazy hand. “Yeah. I came to take her to him.”
Mia blinked, confusion flashing across her face—until Gavin’s grip slid from her arm to her wrist and gave a subtle tug.
She reacted instantly, stepping away from the guards and letting him pull her to his side.
“I’m taking her to James now,” Gavin said smoothly. “Good job following orders, boys. Excellent work.”
The guards straightened, clearly pleased.
“Of course, Mr. Stanley. We were just following instructions,” one of them said quickly. “Please let Mr. Sinclair know we carried everything out exactly as instructed.”
“Will do,” Gavin replied with an easy nod. “You boys have a great night.”
He didn’t wait for another word.
He steered Mia out of the bar with quick, confident strides. Once they were a safe distance away and stopped beside a black Aston Martin, Mia turned on him immediately.
“I’m not going to James,” she said sharply.
Gavin unlocked the car and glanced at her with mild amusement. “Relax. I’m not taking you to him.”
He opened the passenger door. “Get in—before he comes back and drags you off himself. I’ll drop you wherever you want.”
Mia hesitated for only a second—then slipped inside. Gavin shut the door, rounded the car, slid into the driver’s seat, and started the engine. The car pulled away smoothly and disappeared down the road.