Reunited with My Ex: Be My Secret Husband

Ophelia's POV

The rain beat against the window like a thousand tiny fists, relentless and cold, mirroring the storm twisting inside me.

I lay beneath Finnegan, my body pressed into the mattress of his bed, the kind of luxury I would never get used to. His broad shoulders loomed over me, his breath hot against my neck as he moved, slow at first, deliberate, like he was savoring every second.

I wanted to savor it too—this last time—because I knew it was the end.

His mother's voice still echoed in my head, sharp and venomous: "You're not good enough for him, Ophelia. Take the money and go." The envelope of cash sat in my bag across the room, a silent witness to my betrayal.

Finnegan's hands gripped my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh as he thrust deeper, his cock filling me with a steady rhythm that makes my breath hitch. His hips snapped forward, and I felt every inch of him, the friction igniting something raw and desperate inside me. My legs were spread wide, thighs quivering as I arched my back, trying to meet his thrusts, trying to lose myself in this one final moment.

"God, you feel so good," he murmured, his voice low and rough, the kind of tone that used to make me melt. His hair fell into his eyes, damp with sweat, and I reached up to brush it away, my fingers lingering on his cheek. He was beautiful—too beautiful for someone like me, a plain med student with no pedigree, no fortune to match his. His mother was right.

My breasts bounced with each thrust, my nipples hard and aching as they rubbed against his chest. He noticed, dipping his head to catch one in his mouth, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak.

I gasped, my hands fisting the sheets as a jolt of pleasure shoots straight to my core. His thrust grew faster, more forceful, the wet slap of skin against skin filling the room.

My clit throbbed with every movement, the pressure building low in my belly. His cock stretched me, the condom doing nothing to dull the sensation of him hitting that spot deep inside me, over and over, until I was whimpering beneath him.

"Finnegan," I moaned, my voice breaking as my nails rake down his back. He grunted, his pace faltering for a moment before he adjusted, propping himself up on his forearms to drive into me even deeper. The bed creaked under us, the headboard tapping the wall in time with the rain outside. My hips bucked up to meet him, my body chasing release even as my heart fractures. I could feel the orgasm coiling tight, ready to snap, and I clung to him, my legs wrapping around his waist.

"Come for me," he said, his breath ragged.

My pussy pulsed around him, the pleasure crashing over me in waves as I cried out, my vision blurring. Only then did he slow, his forehead resting against mine as he caught his breath.

"You're incredible, you know that?" he kissed me.

I pushed him off gently, sitting up as the rain drums harder against the window. My chest ached, my body still humming from his touch, but I forced the words out anyway. "Finnegan, we need to talk."

He frowned, propping himself up on one elbow. "What's wrong?"

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. "This… us… it's over. I can't do this anymore."

His face hardened, confusion flashing in his eyes. "What the hell are you talking about, Ophelia? We were just—"

"I know," I cut him off, my voice trembling. "But it doesn't change anything. We're done."

"Why?" he demanded, his voice rising. "Give me one fucking reason."

I paused, my back to him as I pulled on my shirt. I could tell him about his mother, about the money, about how she made it clear I would never be enough. But that would only make it worse. So I lied. "Because I don't love you anymore."

The silence was deafening, heavier than the rain outside. When I turned, his face was pale, his jaw tight. "You're lying," he said, but there was a crack in his voice, a hint of doubt.

"I'm not." I grabbed my bag, the weight of the envelope inside it like a stone sinking in my gut. "Goodbye, Finnegan."

"Ophelia, wait—" he started, scrambling out of bed, but I was already at the door, yanking it open. The hallway was dark, the sound of the storm louder now, and I didn't look back as I stepped into it. The rain hit me the moment I was outside, soaking through my clothes, chilling me to the bone. I walked away from his mansion, from his world, tears mixing with the water on my face.

Finnegan's POV

The door clicked shut behind Ophelia, and the silence crashed in like a wave, heavy and suffocating. I stood there, naked, my skin still slick with sweat, the air thick with the musky scent of her—sex, sweat, that faint floral perfume that clung to her like a second skin.

My chest heaved, my heart pounding against my ribs, and my cock hung half-hard against my thigh, still wet from her, mocking me with every twitch. She was gone. Just like that. After everything—after I'd fucked her senseless not ten minutes ago, her legs wrapped around me, her cunt gripping me so tight I'd lost myself in her. Now, nothing.

My body still buzzed—her taste on my lips, the memory of her cunt pulsing around me—and now this void. Rage simmered, questions clawing at me. I grabbed my phone, dialing one of my men. He answered fast. "Boss?"

I said, pacing, my voice low. "Dig into Ophelia. Last two weeks—everyone she's seen, everything she's done.."

"Got it," he said, already moving. "Anything specific?"

"Anything off," I growled, raking a hand through my hair. "Do it fast."

I tossed the phone down and sank onto the bed, elbows on my knees, head in my hands. My cock had softened, but my skin burned with her—her moans, her nails, the way she'd whimpered when I'd sucked her clit earlier. Now she was gone, and I was left reeling, hollowed out.

My man called back in under an hour. "Your mother," he said, voice tight. "Ophelia's met her three times this week—coffee shops, once at her place. No one else stands out. Just your mom."

Ice flooded my veins. My mother—who'd hated Ophelia from day one, called her a distraction, a threat. I'd told her to back off, but she hadn't. "What else?" I asked, my tone deadly.

"Nothing solid yet," Marcus said. "No recordings, no witnesses. But it's her."

"Enough," I said, standing. "I'll deal with it."

I hung up, staring out the window at the city's glow. My mother had gotten to her, twisted her somehow. I didn't know what she'd said, but I'd find out.

Ophelia thought she could cut me loose, but she was wrong.

I yanked on my jeans, the denim rough against my skin, then tugged my shirt over my head. She could run, but I wouldn't let her go—not after what we'd had, not after her body had been mine.

Her past I couldn't touch, but her future? That was mine to claim. I'd be there, every step, until she couldn't deny me.