This Divorce Stands Novel by WriterLola _ Novel





This Divorce Stands Chapter 01

When Beatrice Guerrero learned that her husband of four years, Desmond Hernandez, had a three-year-old daughter with another woman, she abandoned her usual tantrums and impulsive threats of divorce.
Desmond had gone on a business trip abroad, and Beatrice had meticulously arranged everything for him: flights, accommodations, and even reminded him kindly not to bother with bringing back any souvenirs. Even when she caught him at an event with another woman, Beatrice had calmly explained it away as work-related, showing understanding and grace.
People around her began to whisper that Beatrice was simply afraid of losing Desmond's affection, so she had become so considerate. But only Beatrice herself knew the painful truth. She no longer loved him.
***
Two weeks ago, on her birthday, Beatrice had called Desmond many times, but he never picked up. Left with no choice, she went alone to a bakery and bought herself a cake.
There, outside the bakery, she saw Desmond in a sharp suit, holding a three-year-old girl in his arms, gently coaxing her. Beside him stood a woman who radiated warmth and grace. The scene before her looked like a picture-perfect family of three.
In that instant, Beatrice felt as though her heart had been torn to shreds. Her legs wobbled, and the cake she had just bought slipped from her hands and splattered onto the ground.
The noise caught the attention of the trio, and the little girl's high-pitched "Daddy" echoed in Beatrice's ears, while Desmond's face flashed a moment of panic. His protective instinct kicked in as he shielded the child in his arms. It was more devastating to Beatrice than any words could have been.
She rushed forward, her high heels splattering through the sticky cream, her voice trembling as she demanded, "Desmond, who is she? What does she call you?"
The little girl, startled by Beatrice's sudden outburst, let out a loud cry, burrowing into Desmond's neck for comfort. The gentle woman beside them immediately stepped forward to calm the child, her eyes shooting Beatrice a look of complexity.
"Bea, you scared the child," Desmond said sharply, his brows furrowed, his tone harsher than Beatrice had ever heard. He patted the child's back in a familiar, practiced manner that made Beatrice's heart ache.
"Answer me!" Beatrice practically screamed, drawing curious glances from onlookers. Desmond took a deep breath, signaling the woman, Isabelle Patel, to take the child a little further away before turning to face Beatrice. The familiar indulgence and tenderness in his gaze were gone, replaced by something colder, more distant.
"Her name is Lindsay Hernandez. She's my daughter," Desmond said, pausing briefly with a low voice.
He told her the truth in a hushed tone. During a contract negotiation, he had fallen into a rival's trap and ended up sleeping with a woman. He'd paid her off afterward, thinking that would be the end of it. But the next year, he learned that she had given birth to a child.
Desmond had no choice but to rush over to deal with it. Afraid Beatrice might misunderstand, he only told her he was going on a business trip. When he returned, Beatrice had thrown a tantrum, threatening divorce. Overwhelmed and stretched thin, he never found the right moment to tell her what had really happened.
Seeing the tears welling in Beatrice's eyes, Desmond tried to comfort her. "Even with this child, I will always love our child the most, Bea. Don't be afraid."
Beatrice instinctively took a step back. Her mind flashed back to when she was pregnant early in their marriage, only to lose the baby because of his rival's scheme. Desmond had cried, holding her in his arms, whispering, "Bea, we will have children one day."
Yet over the years, he had used the excuse of being unable to protect their child, always taking precautions during their intimate moments. Now, Desmond had a child, but it was not with her.
Beatrice felt as if her soul had died. She no longer knew what emotions to feel for the man she had loved for so long. In the end, all she could say was, "Desmond, let's divorce."
In the past four years, every time Beatrice threw a tantrum, she had said the same thing. They had signed at least three divorce agreements, and Desmond had become accustomed to buying her gifts to smooth things over.
Feeling somewhat reassured, he was about to say something else when Beatrice, without a word, turned and walked away.
Back in the mansion, Beatrice called her lawyer. Arthur Murphy's familiar voice, tinged with a hint of resignation, said, "Ms. Guerrero, how long are you planning to stay away this time? I still have the template from the last agreement."
The teasing tone hit Beatrice, piercing through her already numb heart. She closed her eyes for a moment, then replied, her voice weary but firm, "Forever. This time, it's forever."
Two weeks later, Beatrice received the divorce agreement. She collapsed onto the sofa, feeling as though every ounce of energy had drained from her body.
The soft click of the door lock stirred her from her daze. Thinking it was the housekeeper, she looked up, only to see Desmond walking in, holding little Lindsay in his arms. The girl seemed to have cried herself to exhaustion, her face red and puffy from the tears.
"What are you doing bringing her back here?" Beatrice shot to her feet, her voice full of anger, yet weary.
"You didn't know about her before. Now you do." Desmond's tone was calm, unquestionable. "She's a Hernandez, I won't let her get left outside. From now on, she will live with us."
Beatrice's rage twisted into a bitter laugh. Though the sight of Lindsay disgusted her, the thought of the divorce agreement forced her to suppress the fury boiling inside her.
She would have no more ties to this place and no more ties to the child who had suddenly appeared. With an icy smile, she said, "Do as you please."
Desmond, however, placed Lindsay down and gently nudged Beatrice's back. "Linny, say 'Mommy.'"
The little girl looked at Beatrice hesitantly, her voice catching in her throat.
Beatrice frowned instinctively. "She has her own mother. She has nothing to do with me!"
"My wife will always be you," Desmond said, his gaze dark and unyielding. His next words sent a chill down Beatrice's spine. "You are my wife, and she should call you 'Mommy.'"
"Daddy, I'm scared," Lindsay whimpered, clearly frightened by the tense atmosphere and Beatrice's icy demeanor. She began crying again.
Desmond immediately scooped her into his arms, glaring at Beatrice with obvious displeasure. "Bea, she's just a child. Why are you making such a big deal out of this?"
Beatrice smiled bitterly, turning and walking up the stairs without a word.
Later that night, Beatrice was startled awake by the sound of frantic footsteps echoing through the mansion. She could hear Lindsay's cries, Desmond's anxious murmurs, and the hurried rush of the family doctor arriving.
She didn't know how much time passed before the door to her room was abruptly thrown open. Desmond stood in the doorway, his expression icy, but with a flicker of barely concealed irritation.
"Linny has a fever," he said. "The doctor says it's from the shock and the emotional upheaval. She's only just arrived, and now she's sick. Bea, this isn't fair to her."
A foreboding feeling stirred within Beatrice. "What are you trying to say?"
Desmond didn't answer. Instead, he stepped aside, and two towering servants walked in, their faces unreadable as they closed in on Beatrice.
"What are you doing? Let go of me!" Beatrice struggled, but their strength overpowered her. They dragged her into the cold, biting courtyard.
The next moment, a bucket of ice-cold water was thrown over her head, soaking through her thin nightgown and freezing her to the bone. Beatrice screamed, trembling uncontrollably, unable to form words through the shock.
A second bucket, followed by a third, blurring her vision with the icy cold, numbing her thoughts. She curled on the ground, her teeth chattering as her consciousness began to slip away. Through the freezing mist, she vaguely heard Desmond's voice, distorted and distant.
"Bea, just bear with it for now. Linny just arrived and she's already sick. What will people think of us? What will they think of you, the lady of the house? If you fall ill too, no one will say anything. Otherwise, they'll say you couldn't tolerate the child—that you deliberately mistreated her."
The violent cold and the overwhelming sense of injustice shattered Beatrice's last bit of strength. She wanted to scream, to curse him out, but no sound escaped her lips.
As darkness claimed her, and the last thing she saw was the blurred figure of Desmond standing under the dim light, holding Lindsay in his arms, both of them looking in her direction.
Before she lost consciousness, Beatrice was still thinking about why she had to take the blame.

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