Dear ex-Wife please be mine again

Daniel’s POV

The heavy thrum of the bass from the music downstairs echoed through my penthouse, but the sound didn’t touch me. I was consumed.

The woman beneath me writhed, her painted nails clawing at my back as if she could anchor me to her. She whispered my name, her voice thick with lust, but it grated on my nerves. Her face blurred as I moved faster, rougher, chasing a release that was never truly satisfied.

I closed my eyes and let the image of her fill my mind…Christiana. Every curve, every defiant stare, every laugh that I should’ve owned. This wasn’t about pleasure. It was about control, about drowning in the fantasy that she was here, in my arms, instead of these strangers.

When I was done, I didn’t even look at the woman as I rolled off her. “You can go,” I said, my voice cold.

She blinked, stunned. “What? I thought…”

“Now.”

She scrambled out of the bed, muttering under her breath as she gathered her clothes. I didn’t care. I never cared. The door slammed shut, and I was alone again.

But not for long.

The next one arrived within the hour, a brunette with legs that went on forever. Her laughter was too high, her perfume too sweet, but she was eager, and I needed the distraction. I barely said a word as I pulled her into the room, my hands roaming her body, already imagining someone else.

She gasped, giggling as I pushed her against the wall, my lips crashing onto hers with a ferocity that had nothing to do with her. Her hands clutched at my shirt, desperate to keep up with my pace, but I didn’t slow down. I didn’t care if she could keep up.

“Daniel,” she moaned as I lifted her onto the bed, her voice dripping with desire.

I ignored her. The name didn’t mean anything coming from her mouth. All I could think about was Christiana, her voice, her scent, her touch. This woman was just a vessel, a placeholder for what I truly craved.

It was the same every night. One after another. Blonde, brunette redhead… it didn’t matter. They all became Christiana in my mind, and that was what kept me going. I needed her. I needed to possess her in every way, to erase Alex from her life, make her see that I was the man she should have chosen.

The sex was rough, fast, and transactional. I was relentless, pushing each woman to her limits, taking what I wanted and giving nothing in return. They thought they’d tamed a millionaire, that they were special, but the truth was, they were placeholders.

to

After the last woman left, I sat by the window with a drink in hand, my body exhausted but my mind racing. The city’s lights stretched endlessly, a proof to my rise, but none of it mattered. I’d built an empire, toppled Alex’s company from the top, and forced him to notice me.

But it wasn’t enough

I poured another drink, the burn of the whiskey doing little to numb the ache inside me. The memories of the night played on a loop in my mind…. Christiana’s laughter, her smile, the way she used to look at me. And then the way she looked at Alex.

It was maddening.

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This obsession had consumed me, twisted what was once genuine love into something darker. I couldn’t stop myself. The women, the parties, the power…it was all a means to an end. A way to fill the void she left behind. Content bel0ngs to Nôvel(D)r/a/ma.Org.

But the void only grew deeper.

I leaned back in the chair, staring at the glass in my hand. “Christiana,” I whispered to the empty room, her name like a prayer on my lips.

The city outside continued its relentless pulse, but I was trapped in my own world, a prisoner to my desires, my ambitions, my obsession.

A sharp grin stretched across my lips as I leaned back in my office chair, my bruised jaw aching slightly from the effort. But the pain was worth it…every ounce of Alex’s frustration was fuel to my fire. This wasn’t just about beating him in business anymore. No, this was personal. It was about tearing him down piece by piece, making him feel small, insignificant, and powerless.

I glanced at the stack of items on the desk in front of me: a gilded miniature trophy engraved with “Second Place,” a garish. clown wig, and a bottle of cheap champagne with a note that read, “For celebrating minor victories.” My assistants stood nearby, their eyes darting nervously between me and the pile of mockery.

“Make sure everything is delivered to his suite at the Burj Al Arab,” I ordered sharply, my tone leaving no room for questions. “Every few hours. I want him to feel like he can’t escape me, even in his own room.”

“Yes, Mr. Brooks,” one of the assistants stammered, hastily grabbing the first package.

I turned to the courier I had hired, a smug–looking man named Raheem. “You’ll personally deliver this first one,” I said, holding up the clown wig. “Make sure the concierge knows it’s for Alex Alistair. Say it’s from his ‘biggest fan.“”

Raheem chuckled, nodding. “Consider it done.”

My lips curled further as I watched them leave the room. The thought of Alex opening these absurd gifts was almost too delicious to bear. The idea of him seething, gripping the clown wig or reading that insulting note, made my chest swell with satisfaction.

As I planned the next round of torment, my phone buzzed on the desk. A text message. I ignored it.

I smirked. So, the great Alex Williams Alistair wasn’t just losing his company’s position…he had already lost the woman who clearly mattered most to him. And now he thought he could win her back?

I slammed my hand on the desk, laughing darkly. “Pathetic,” I muttered to myself.

My secretary poked her head in cautiously. “Sir, the next courier has arrived for the second package. Should I send him in?”

“Yes,” I said, straightening in my chair. I pointed at the gilded trophy. “This one’s next. And make sure he knows to smile when he delivers it.”

As the day went on, I imagined Alex pacing his suite, tearing into the packages with growing fury. If he wasn’t already on edge, he would be soon. This wasn’t just business warfare anymore…it was a battle of wits, and I was determined to prove

that

Alex Williams Alistair wasn’t invincible.

This was only the beginning.

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