Ex-Husband at My Delivery Stop

I ran into Peter Hawthorne during a late-night delivery shift.
He took the condoms Id brought, his robe hanging open to reveal angry red scratch marks trailing across his well-defined chest.
This is what you're doing now? he asked, his voice a lazy drawl.
I managed a smile. Gotta pay the bills. Don't forget to leave a good rating, boss.
A woman's soft voice called his name from inside the apartment. Peter glanced back over his shoulder before his eyes found mine again.
"My number hasn't changed," he said. "If you're in trouble, all you have to do is call."
I didn't have time to answer. The dispatcher was already buzzing my phone with the next order, so I just turned and hurried back down the hall.
The truth was, I'd gotten used to not depending on him a long time ago.
1
Back at the dispatch hub, a notification popped up on my phone. A bank transfer.
Peter had sent fifty thousand dollars to my old account.
I stared at it for a long moment, hesitating, before sending every cent of it back.
I was working this job to save up for my familys medical bills. Honestly, that money would have lifted a crushing weight from my shoulders, but it would have also thrown me headfirst into another abyss.
An abyss named Peter Hawthorne.
It took me three years to crawl out of that pit. I'd be a fool to jump back in.
Peter didn't say anything, but the next night, he placed another order. The system assigned it to me again.
The elevator in his luxury condo building, which had been working perfectly fine the day before, was now plastered with an "Out of Service" sign.
I had no choice. I hauled myself up thirty-six flights of stairs.
When I finally appeared at his door, panting and drenched in sweat, he just arched an eyebrow.
"Sorry about that. We ran out of what I bought yesterday."
I waved a dismissive hand. "Sounds like you two are having a good time."
As I turned to leave, his hand shot out, grabbing my arm in a viselike grip. He gritted his teeth, his voice laced with a fury I couldn't comprehend.
"Zoe, why do you always have to be so damn stubborn?" he snarled. "Would it kill you to just say something soft? To ask for help?"
Confused, I wrenched my arm free and rushed off to my next delivery.
Three years ago, I had said everything there was to say to Peter Hawthorne. I had pleaded, I had raged, I had whispered every broken, loving word I knew. All I got in return was the thunderous slam of a door and the endless dial tone on the other end of the line.
What could he possibly want to hear from me now?
Running into Peter again felt like waking from a nightmare. The specific details were already fading, but the suffocating, oppressive atmosphere lingered, clinging to me like a shroud.
At least, I thought that was the worst of it.
But then his sleek black sedan was parked right in front of the delivery hub. Maggie, my shift manager, rushed out to greet me, a strange mix of exasperation and amusement on her face. She gave my arm a light smack.
"Zoe, you sneaky thing! Why didn't you tell me your brother was the Peter Hawthorne? The one from all the business magazines?" she said. "He's inside right now. Says he's here to take you home. Now listen to me, stop fighting with your family and go back to your princess lifestyle."
My legs went weak, and I finally collapsed, curling into a ball on the side of the street.
My voice was muffled. "He's not my brother. He's my ex-husband."
The smile vanished from Maggie's face. "The one you had a nasty split with."
She was silent for a moment, then she gently pushed me into the shadows of a nearby alleyway to hide while she went back inside to deal with Peter. I don't know what she said, but it wasn't long before he stormed out, his face a mask of fury as she practically shoved him out the door.
When I finally pulled myself together and went back inside, Maggie was fussing over something. She jumped when she saw me, then gave me an awkward smile as she pulled a small cupcake from behind her back. A single candle flickered on top, its tiny flame reflected in her eyes.
"Well, this is a mess. I wanted it to be a surprise," she said softly. "Happy birthday, Zoe."
It hit me then. Today was my birthday.
Seven years ago today, I had been Peter Hawthorne's ecstatic bride.
Three years ago today, I had signed our divorce papers with a knife held to my own throat.
And now, I was just me.
I had nothing to do with Peter Hawthorne anymore.
I wiped away the tears that had started to fall and closed my eyes, making a wish with all my heart.
I wished for Maggie to have a long, happy life.
I wished for Skyes illness to be cured.
And I wished that the past few days were just a fluke, a final, fleeting coincidence, and that Peter and I would go our separate ways and never see each other again.
Maggie felt so bad about the whole thing that she insisted on taking me out for a late-night meal. We found a small diner, and after a couple of beers, I found myself telling her about Peter.
His claim to be my brother wasn't entirely a lie.
When I was six, Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne brought me into their home and adopted me. My mother had passed away when I was young, and my father raised me on his own. He was an engineer at Hawthorne Industries. One day, when the young master was visiting the corporate campus, he accidentally fell into the ornamental lake. My father used the last of his strength to push Peter to the surface. He never came back up himself.
Peter Hawthorne owed me a life.
From that day on, he was ready to give his for me at a moment's notice.
I couldn't keep up at the international prep school they sent me to. The other kids mocked me, bullied me. Peter cornered them on the rooftop and single-handedly beat them black and blue. When the school called his parents in, he stood there with his chin held high, defiant.
"They called her a stray with no family! Well, I'm not dead! And my mom and dad aren't dead either!"
Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne rushed to the school, one burying his face in his hand while the other offered a weary smile from the principals doorway. Neither seemed particularly eager to rescue their son.
When I first came to live with the Hawthornes, I couldnt sleep. Id close my eyes and see my parents, covered in white sheets, never answering when I called. I never dared to cry out loud, but every night, a yawning Peter would drag his pillow and blanket into my room and set up camp by my bed.
Hed reach out and pat my back. "Go to sleep. I'm here."
In high school, the love letters and confessions started piling up, and Peter's temper grew shorter and shorter. He started hating it when I called him 'brother,' and God help anyone who dared to call him their 'bro-in-law.'
After the hundredth time hed challenged a boy who confessed to me to a fight, one of his friends finally joked, "Dude, you're not falling for your sister, are you? You guys aren't blood-related. She hasn't even started dating and you're already this territorial. It would all make sense if you were just jealous."
Peters face turned beet red, as if a switch had been flipped in his brain. He stumbled home in a complete daze.
That weekend, his father summoned him to the study and yelled at him for what felt like hours. He came out with a shoe print on his shoulder, but he didn't seem to care. He was just grinning like an idiot.
The day we both got our acceptance letters to the same university, Peter confessed his love for me.
I had no reason to say no.
He was my superhero, the one who had stood between me and my nightmares for over a decade. After realizing his own feelings, he had been the one to confess everything to his parents, clearing away any obstacles before they could even form. Without Peter, my life would have a gaping hole that nothing could ever fill.
We dated for years in college, blissfully happy. The moment we moved back home, he proposed.
And thats when everything went wrong.
After graduation, we both started working at Hawthorne Industries. The company was a chaotic whirlwind of responsibilities, and we saw less and less of each other. He was the heir apparent; I was just another corporate drone. On the rare occasions we managed to schedule a date, it was always me who got called away for a work emergency.
Peter threw a few tantrums about it, and I couldnt help but feel guilty. After working nonstop for a week straight, I finally carved out some free time and decided to go home to surprise him.
Maybe we were on the same wavelength, because when I walked in, the floor was scattered with rose petals. My favorite love song was playing softly from the speakers, and the air was thick with the sweet scent of wine.
My heart melted. I walked toward the master bedroom, only to let out a bloodcurdling scream.
Peter was asleep, wrapped around a strange girl who was wearing my silk robe.
My world shattered.
I fled our home, blocked his number, and disappeared. It took him three days to find me. The handsome, polished heir to the Hawthorne fortune was a wreck, his face gaunt and his eyes webbed with red veins. He knelt before me, swearing up and down that hed been drunk, that hed mistaken the new intern for me.
"Zoe, I screwed up, I deserve to die, but I just missed you so much," he pleaded. "You were never home. Everyone was saying it was like my fiance didn't even exist. We've been together for more than a decade. Are you really going to leave me over one stupid mistake?"
I hesitated.
Seizing the opportunity, Peter had the intern publicly fired. The image of her clutching a cardboard box, sobbing as she walked out of the building, even stirred a flicker of pity in me.
We got married on schedule. At the wedding, Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne wept with joy, and Peter was practically manic with happiness. I let the festive atmosphere wash over me and made a silent promise to pay more attention to him.
So when he suggested I quit my job after the wedding to be his pampered Mrs. Hawthorne, I agreed.
The days flowed into years.
One afternoon, Mrs. Hawthorne baked some scones and asked me to take them to Peter at the office. As I passed the breakroom, I heard a few women gossiping. One voice, chillingly familiar, floated out.
"Oh, you guys didn't know? The CEO's wife? She used to be their adopted daughter. His little foster sister."
Another woman gasped. "Wow, talk about a social climber. Seducing your own adoptive brother to move up in the world. How shameless can you get?!"
It turned out the entire company knew. That intern had never left Hawthorne Industries. Peter spoiled her rotten, and she felt entitled to say whatever she wanted, even spreading the rumor that Peter was resentful that I had trapped him into marriage, which is why he let her badmouth me. The position I had vacated? She'd been given it the very next day.
But Peter was the future of the company, and I was just the wife who lived in his shadow. No one would ever dare cross him to tell me the truth. I was the fool, kept in the dark all along.
I stormed into his office. He was reviewing a contract and didn't even look up.
"Didn't I tell you Zoe was coming by today?" he said casually. "Be a good girl and stay out of her way. I'll make it up to you tomorrow. I'll buy you that bag you wanted."
When he received no answer, he finally looked up, a fond smile still playing on his lips.
The smile died when he saw my ashen face.
I raised hell. I demanded a divorce. Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne, after scolding Peter, turned to me, trying to smooth things over.
"Zoe, dear, you're the only one in Peter's heart," his mother cooed. "That girl is just a pet to him, a toy. It means nothing. In our circle, its quite common for men to... keep young women around. Be sensible, dear. Don't lower yourself to her level, alright?"
I was their adopted daughter. We had a history of more than a decade. Before we got married, no one had mentioned a prenup. Mrs. Hawthorne had even told me I was like a real daughter to her and that she would leave all her shares to me, not even to Peter.
I looked at her, my last hope flickering. "Auntie," I asked, my voice small, "if I were your real daughter, would you be telling me the same thing?"
She couldn't meet my eyes. She just gave a bitter, silent smile.
The sweet little boy who had built me a second home had grown up, and I, after all these years, realized I had never had a home at all.
This time, Peter wasn't panicked or haggard like the first time he'd been caught. He went to work, he came home, and he continued to dote on his intern. A gossipy friend asked him if he wasn't afraid I'd actually go through with the divorce and take half of Hawthorne Industries.
He just laughed, pulling the girl closer. "Zoe? I've been protecting her like a precious pearl my whole life. She'll throw a fit, but she'll never fly out of the palm of my hand."
Everyone assumed I would make a scene, then face reality and back down. No one believed I would actually leave.
So when I filed for divorce, asking for nothing, they were completely blindsided.
The headlines screamed about the high-society zero-dollar divorce. The Hawthorne Industries stock plummeted in response. Mr. Hawthorne, in a fit of rage, suffered a stroke. Mrs. Hawthorne was rushing him to the hospital when their car was struck by a truck.
Everyone in the car, including the driver, was killed instantly.
When I arrived at the hospital, Peter charged at me. The slap was so hard my ears rang.
"Zoe!" he roared, his body trembling with rage. "You became an orphan, so you had to make me one too?! How can your heart be so cruel? I wish... I wish I had never met you!"
I was already numb with grief, but his blow sent me stumbling backward, the world spinning around me. I fainted.
The last thought that crossed my mind before I lost consciousness was one of regret.
Peter was right.
If I had never met him, my father would still be alive. I would have had a family, someone who truly loved me, someone who would have stood between me and any danger, unconditionally.
Peter, I thought, I wish I had never met you, either.
When I woke up, he was by my bedside, holding my hand. A storm of emotions crossed his face before it settled into a blank calm.
"Zoe," he whispered, "we're having a baby."
He squeezed my hand. "You've given me a family again. For the baby's sake... can we just pretend none of this ever happened? Please?"
Exhausted and utterly hopeless, I nodded. This child would be my only family. Connected to me by blood, raised with real love and acceptance.
For the first few months of the pregnancy, it seemed like Peter and I had reached a fragile truce. But he was terrified that I would still try to divorce him after the baby was born. So he moved to cut off all my escape routes.
He had a specialist declare me mentally unstable, ensuring I would never get custody. He reported my university admission files for supposed fraud, getting my degree revoked so I would have no way to support myself independently. He was determined to turn me back into his precious pearlperfect, round, and utterly incapable of leaving the palm of his hand. Incapable of hurting him, or myself, ever again.
Only then did Peter relax.
But someone else wasn't finished with me.
Someone was always taking pictures of me near the hospital I frequented. A car would tail mine whenever I left the house. The nanny, hand-picked from a top agency, was caught adding an unknown substance to my prenatal supplements. I was a nervous wreck, living in constant fear.
One day, I called Peter, but a familiar face answered the video call.
"Well, well, if it isn't Mrs. Hawthorne," the intern, Amber, purred. She was lounging by a pool in a bikini, showing off her flawless body. "You just focus on that little bun in the oven, honey. Wouldn't want to get too many stretch marks." Her tone was sickly sweet. "Peter's in the shower. Don't you worry, I'll take good care of him for you. Besides, even if you lose this one, it's no big deal. I'm younger, prettier, and healthier than you. I can definitely give him an even cuter baby."
My mind snapped. I fell to my knees, bowing my head to the camera on the floor.
"Please," I begged, "do whatever you want to me, just leave my baby alone!"
I don't know what she said to him, but a moment later, Peter took the phone. His voice was ice.
"Are you having a paranoid episode?" he asked. "Zoe, if you're going to have a meltdown, do it at home. Don't go out and start biting at people."
He hung up before I could explain.
He kept saying things could go back to the way they were, but I knew, with chilling certainty, that the Peter who would have fought the world for me was gone forever.
On my way to another prenatal check-up, a car tailgated me so aggressively that my driver panicked, swerving and crashing into a roadside barrier.
When Peter rushed to the hospital, there wasn't a trace of concern on his face. He tossed a stack of photos onto my bed.
"It's over, Zoe," he said flatly. "Go get rid of the baby. I can't let my parents' legacy go to some bastard."
They were photos of me in bed with a strange man. I picked them up. In the corner of one photo, I could even see a faint, tell-tale watermark from an AI generator that hadn't been properly cropped.
I didn't bother pointing it out. I just looked at him, my voice quiet.
"If I get rid of the baby, will you grant me a divorce?"
Peter frowned. "No. The last thing my father said to me before he left that day was to apologize and take care of you for the rest of your life. I won't let you leave me."
I didn't cry or plead this time. I picked up the fruit knife from the bedside table, pressed it against my neck, and asked again.
"If I get rid of the baby, will you grant me a divorce?"
Peter actually laughed. "Zoe, who are you trying to scare? Do you really think, after everything, that I still care enough to be hurt by you?"
So I pushed the tip of the blade into my skin, just enough to draw a thin line of red.
And I asked him one last time.
"Peter, if I get rid of the baby, will you grant me a divorce?"

First, search for and download the MotoNovel app from Google. Then, open the app and use the code "325595" to read the entire book.