My Ex Husband’s Reckoning

Ten years ago, I lost everything. I was convicted of academic fraud, served two years in a federal prison, and was summarily expelled from The National Tech Guildthe organization I had co-founded.

After my release, I changed my name and retreated to my quiet hometown, Willow Creek, opening a used bookstore called 'The Quiet Corner.'

I was a ghost. Until I saw my ex-husband, Owen Miller, again.

Behind his expensive, wire-rimmed glasses, his eyes were still piercing, but his profile was infinitely sharper. He was now Amesports youngest tenured professor, controlling the most cutting-edge techa man with a limitless future.

His assistanta polished twenty-somethingleaned in with a sympathetic smile. "Ms. Reed," she murmured, "Professor Miller has been single for ten years. He never forgot you."

I laugheda dry, strangled sound that felt like sandpaper in my throat.

Forgot me?

Ten years ago, Owen Miller had expertly fabricated evidence, sacrificed me to cover for his girlfriend, and personally guaranteed my spot in a federal cell. He didnt forget me; he orchestrated me.

1

Owen Millers arrival at The Quiet Corner was less a visit and more a full-blown spectacle.

"Evie! Look, it's Professor Miller!" Mrs. Albright, one of my regulars, gripped my arm excitedly. "Quick, get a picture with him! Itll be great for local publicityyou'll be swimming in business!"

I put down the book I was cataloging and raised my eyes.

Flashing cameras illuminated his facethat cold, handsome mask. Ten years hadn't fundamentally changed him, only sharpened the lines of ambition around his eyes.

Before I could slip into the back room, the assistant spotted me. "Ms. Reed, you've been hiding out here," she said, her voice carrying a performative concern. "You know, Professor Miller has been looking for you for years."

I stared at her, saying nothing, my internal warning system flashing red. Looking for me? The man who personally shredded my life was looking for the debris?

I swallowed, grabbed the keys from the counter, and forced a ruthless dismissal. "I'm sorry, you have the wrong person. The shop is closed for the day. Everyone, please exit." I fought to control the frantic drumbeat of my pulse, trying to project a calm efficiency that my trembling hands immediately betrayed.

Smack. A book slipped from my grip. As I bent to retrieve it, a manicured hand reached past me. Owen picked it up, his voice a low, familiar rumble that instantly paralyzed my spine: "Evelyn Reed."

The regulars who had been encouraging me to take a photo froze, looking at me with shock and disbelief.

His eyes lingered on my faded, pilled sweaterthe uniform of a woman who didn't care about appearances anymore. He opened his mouth, then closed it, the complex mess of whatever he was about to say condensing into three empty, patronizing words: "Well. Look at you."

I took the book from him, avoiding his gaze. "Thanks for the assist." I turned my back on him, slotting the book onto the shelf, a clear and decisive end to the interaction.

His next attempt at speech was cut short by a bright, saccharine voice. "Owen, darling! There you are!"

Seraphina Rossall high-end white designer dress and perfectly coiffed blonde hairslipped her arm possessively through his. "We were supposed to be looking at vacation villas in Iceland, not this... middle-of-nowhere town."

She paused when she saw me, her perfect smile freezing for a beat before snapping back into place. "Oh, Professor Reed! Long time, no see." The title was a deliberate barb. "Owen always says how terrible he felt about what happened. Honestly, I should be thanking you."

This was Seraphina "Sephy" Ross, the daughter of a major figure in the Atherton Institute. She was the one. Owen had sacrificed my career and my freedom to bury Seraphinas blatant academic plagiarism.

Owen didnt push Seraphinas hand away, but his brow furrowed. "Don't be dramatic, Sephy."

She turned her gaze to me, her eyes glittering with possessiveness and jealousy. "Dramatic? Then why are you here, Owen? Why did you tell me youd never forget her?" She raised her voice, and the lingering patrons put down their books, their disbelief morphing into open curiosity.

Owen let out a heavy, rehearsed sigh. He pulled out a sleek, expensive fountain pen, scribbled a number on a stray receipt from the counter, and slid it toward me. "Call me, Evie. Please. I owe you so much."

The deep, sincere tone was identical to the one hed used a decade ago, just before the judges gavel struck, when hed whispered: "Two years, Evie. That's all I ask. Sephy's too young to have a stain on her record."

I shoved the scrap of paper carelessly into my jeans pocket and managed a brittle, fake smile. "Professor Miller, I appreciate the thought. But my little shop here is doing just fine. I have nothing to ask of you."

I didn't wait for a reply, ruthlessly ushering everyone out and slamming the lock home.

After that day, Owen didn't reappear for a long time. Willow Creek was far from the whirlwind of Amesport, and his fleeting visit was soon forgotten. Life settled back into its monotonous calm.

I truly thought that was the last I would see of him.

Then, a month later, the phone rang. It was the factory. A cargo collapse. My father, George, was seriously injured and in surgery.

I raced to the hospital, only to learn that the injury had triggered a cerebral infarction. The factory's compensation wouldn't cover the full treatment; we needed twenty thousand dollars more for the specialized care.

In ten years, my bookshop had only just kept me afloat. All my savings combined totaled less than nine thousand.

Just as I was sinking into a desperate plan to sell the bookstore, the hospital delivered stunning news: the country's top neurological team was consulting on my father's case. Furthermore, someone had paid the entire outstanding balance.

My stomach clenched. After a moment of agonizing hesitation, I pulled out the scrap of paper and called Owen Miller.

Before I could even speak, he answered. "The medical bills are taken care of. Consider it my compensation."

I had a hundred questions boiling in my throat. How did he know about my father? Was he having me watched? Why do this?

But my father's health was paramount. The money was a lifeline I couldn't reject.

All the accusations and pain condensed into a single word I didn't mean, but had to say. "Thank you." Then, I hung up in a panic.

My father was receiving the best care, and thanks to Owen, the hospital staff treated me with newfound deference. But inside, I felt a crushing weight, a suffocating dread.

I knew Owen too well. His heart was a meticulously calibrated instrument; every gift was precisely calculated for its cost.

He had saved my father's life. The price, I knew, was my continued entanglement in his.

The familiar sound of Seraphina Rosss voice cut through my thoughts as her number flashed on my screen.

"Professor Reed." Seraphina let out a light, brittle laugh, failing to mask the raw, possessive spite in her tone. "Oh, sorry. You're not a Professor anymore, are you? Just a woman with a criminal record. That must be so hard."

"Owen hasn't slept in days worrying about your father," she went on, her voice rising in a calculated whine. "He even postponed our trip to the Maldives. Do us both a favor and don't make him feel like he needs to do more. It interferes with our relationship."

Her words were meant to be a triumphant boast, yet I knew she wasnt as secure as she pretended. If she and Owen were truly "fine," she wouldn't be making this call.

I stayed silent, preparing to disconnect, but she rushed on.

"Also, you should stay put in that pathetic little bookstore. Be grateful. Owen is looking into overturning your conviction to 'clear your name' as a way to compensate you."

My heart skipped a beat. Clear my name?

He had engineered my descent into hell, and now he assumed he could engineer my return? By finding some other innocent person to ruin, washing away my ten years of suffering with a simple reversal, and expecting my gratitude?

While I was still reeling, Seraphina abruptly hung up. Immediately, an email landed in my inbox.

It was a photo of Owen in bed, asleep, with Seraphina nestled against him. The sheen of sweat and the flush on their cheeks left no doubt as to what had just transpired.

[Ms. Reed, Owen is helping you, but you need to remember your place. If you harbor any foolish ideas, I have ways of ensuring your return trip to hell.]

The wave of nausea was overwhelming. I rushed to the restroom and dry-heaved.

How dare they?

They had destroyed my life, and now they were using their arrogant 'compensation' to buy their own peace of mind.

The day my father's surgery was declared a success, Owen showed up at the hospital.

He looked haggard, his exhaustion visible in the dark circles under his eyesproof, perhaps, that he had genuinely exerted himself.

He naturally took up the role of a devoted son-in-law, monitoring my father's IV bag, talking to the nurses, and anxiously checking with the medical team.

Once my father was asleep, he spoke.

"What happened back then, Evie... I was wrong." He lowered his gaze, carefully peeling an orange segment and offering it to me. "At the time, I only thought about how young Seraphina was. She couldn't have a permanent stain on her record."

He paused.

"Besides," he added, the word heavy and flat, "her father could give me everything I wanted."

I accepted the orange segment. It was bitter and rotten, just like him.

The truth was laid bare: he needed to climb higher, and I, my family, had merely been sacrificial pawns, the necessary offerings in his ascension ritual.

I spat the ruined orange into the trash without looking at him. "Professor Miller, it's over. Thank you for what you did for my father."

"Now, please don't come back."

He frowned. "Evie, don't be so stubborn. I told you, I will compensate you."

Just then, Seraphina pushed the door open, carrying a fancy takeout container. Trailing behind her were several reporters.

"Professor Reed, we meet again." She chirped. "I heard George is out of danger, so I brought some specialized restorative food."

She turned, flashing a perfect smile at the cameras. "Thank you for being so gracious and forgiving Owen and me. I truly hope no one else ever has to suffer such an injustice."

The flashbulbs erupted, practically blinding me.

That night, the news was saturated. Owen Miller: The deeply remorseful, devoted man. Me: The gracious victim, standing in the light of his redemption.

No one seemed to remember that he had been the one who presented the evidence and indignantly condemned me a decade ago.

The next morning, Owen called.

"Evie, this is the first step," he said. "I will help you return to your former position."

He didn't give me a chance to argue, shifting immediately to his usual manipulative tone. "I know you're proud, but this isn't the time for 'saving face.' Your father is getting older; he can't stay at that factory. And your bookstore money won't cover a serious illness."

His voice was gentle, yet utterly chilling. "I know you resent Seraphina. I will try to keep her away from you."

I understood. He was issuing a threat, reminding me that the well-being of my family was in his hands. He was putting on a show, and he intended to keep me tethered and controlled.

Seraphina's taunts finally moved from the shadows to the light.

She ensured that every meeting was perfectly timed and always accompanied by reporters. In the glare of the flashes, shed clasp my hand and play the benevolent figure.

When the cameras were down, shed lean in and whisper: "Professor Reed, don't blame Owen for your fathers business failing."

"Blame your father for being in the way. He was going to stumble upon the truth eventually, and that would have ruined Owens prospects."

My father had run a small, successful company. Though it wasn't publicly traded, we lived comfortably. My scandal had caused the stock to plummet, and the company was swiftly surrounded by corporate raiders. Within a month, it had collapsed. Under pressure from creditors, my mother, Eleanor, had taken her own life, and my father had spiraled into depression, eventually having to take the factory job.

I had always believed they were collateral damage.

Seraphinas words were a clear confession: Owen was directly responsible for it all.

I took the first bus to Amesport, connected with a flight, and was in the city the next morning. Ten years had passed, but I had no time for nostalgia. I headed straight for Owens high-rise office.

It was the first time I had ever sought him out.

He looked up, a flicker of surprise andwas that genuine pleasure?in his eyes. "Evie! You finally came to me!"

I tightly gripped the flash drive in my handevidence my former university colleagues had helped me compile. I stared straight at him. "What exactly happened to my father's company?"

"Did you know," I asked, my voice dangerously low, "that my mother died because of that storm?"

His composure fractured for a second, but he quickly masked it. "I don't know, Evie. It must have been an unfortunate accident."

I threw the evidence across his pristine glass desk.

Seeing the files, his pretense evaporated. He lunged, grabbing my sleeve. "Evie, let me explain!"

I was shaking with a rage that eclipsed a decade of pain. "Explain? You killed my mother, you ruined my family, and you want to explain?"

"Owen Miller, what else have you done? What other secrets are buried?" I was near hysterics.

He looked at my distressed face, and a flash of what might have been genuine regret crossed his eyes. He looked almost like the boy who used to shield me from bullies back in college.

It was nauseating that they were the same person.

Just then, his assistant burst in, frantic. "Professor Miller! I'm sorry, but Ms. Ross fell. She's at the clinic getting bandaged up."

Owen didn't spare me a second glance. He bolted for the door.

I watched him go, the fight draining out of me. The devastation of my family and my tortured accusations meant nothing compared to Seraphinas scraped knee.

Dazed, I returned to my father's small-town hospital. As I reached his door, I heard a terrible groan.

I rushed in. Seraphina was standing over my father, holding her phone up for him to see.

"George," she was saying, her voice sickeningly sweet, "it was Owen who sabotaged your company, and yes, he arranged the debt collectors. And yes, he personally sent your daughter to prison."

"But don't blame him. He only did it because he loves me."

She was replaying the decade-old video, over and over, for him. On the screen, Owen's tender, cold voice mixed with my father's pained gasps:

"Sephy, as soon as I get rid of this dead weight of a family, Ill marry you. Just wait for me."

My father saw me in the doorway, his eyes wide. He tried to speak, but the heart monitor flatlined.

He never got the chance.

My mind went blank. Everything was a distant, loud buzz.

Seraphina straightened up, walking toward me. She laughed softly. "These bottom-feeders are so fragile. A little video is all it takes."

"I had so many more surprises for him." She looked at me, her smile wide and unhinged. "Oh, and by the way, I never even asked him to sacrifice you. Owen did it all on his own, just to prove his loyalty."

I snapped. I lunged, grabbing her throat and slamming her back against the bedside cabinet.

Before I could connect, the door burst open. Owen and two security guards rushed in.

The men brutally pulled me away, throwing me against the wall. The impact knocked the bedside ashtray to the floor; shards of glass sprayed up, slicing into my hands and shins.

Seraphina huddled in Owen's arms, sobbing uncontrollably. "Owen, Professor Reed has lost it! She tried to kill me!"

The look Owen gave me was pure, murderous contempt. "Evelyn Reed, you are insane!"

I looked at him, at Seraphina in his embrace, and then at my fathers cold, lifeless body on the bed. Tears streamed down my face, but I started to laugha high, ragged sound.

"Yes, I'm insane!"

"You dogs drove me mad!"

Owen glanced at my father on the bed, his expression faltering for a second. He didn't say anything else, instead rushing out with Seraphina, fleeing the scene.

My phone vibrated. A message from an unknown number.

[Ms. Reed, I have been looking for you for ten years.]

[I believe we share a common enemy. I now have the evidence to help you. Shall we cooperate?]

The second victim in the academic scandal was the man Seraphina had plagiarized: Elias Croft. He had gone abroad shortly after the incident, too preoccupied to appear in court. Everyone had assumed he was gone for good.

My fingertips felt icy. I slowly typed a response:

[Cooperation. I want them to pay the ultimate price.]

Owen Miller, your reckoning has just begun.

First, search for and download the MotoNovel app from Google. Then, open the app and use the code "303090" to read the entire book.