The Unwanted Wife's Return (Ex-Husband Wants Me Back) novel Chapter 370

The Perfect Fit 

MARY’S POV: 

The boutique was so silent which came from thick carpets and soundproofed walls and sales assistants who knew when to disappear. I sat in the leather chair near the fitting rooms, my legs crossed, my phone in my hand and my mind somewhere else entirely. 

The chair was comfortable. Everything in this place was comfortable. The lighting was soft, the air smelled of expensive perfume, and the sales assistants moved with the silent efficiency of people who had been trained to anticipate every need. It was the kind of establishment that catered to people like me, people who had more money than time, more ambition than patience. 

Vesper emerged from behind the curtain, twirling slowly, her arms outstretched. She was wearing a dress, something red and expensive. The fabric caught the light, shimmering with every movement, clinging to her body in all the right places. 

“So?” she asked with a smile. “Which one do you like better?” 

I blinked. 

I hadn’t paid attention to either outfit. My mind had been elsewhere, drifting through the events of the past few days, replaying conversations and half-remembered glances. I had been thinking about the way Mary had looked at me in the bedroom, the defiance in her eyes, the coldness in her voice. I had been thinking about the suitcase on the bed, half-filled, waiting. 

But I answered without hesitation. 

“They both look beautiful. Everything looks good on you. If you like them, buy them all.” 

Delighted, Vesper leaned over and kissed my cheek. Her lips were soft, warm, and familiar. The gesture was easy, practiced of affection that came without thought. She turned to the sales assistant and asked them to pack everything she had tried on. 

A moment later, she settled onto my lap with a smile, her arm looping around my neck. Her weight was light, comfortable, the weight of someone who had done this before. 

“I picked something out for you, too,” she said. “I hope you’ll like it.” 

I smiled and praised her thoughtfulness. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

I tugged the collar loose, my fingers working at the fabric. 

My thoughts drifted back to Mary. 

To the suit she had given me years ago. The unbranded one, the one she had bought from a small tailor shop she had found in the city. It hadn’t had a label, hadn’t cost much by my standards, hadn’t been designer or flashy or anything that would impress the people in my world. 

But it had fit perfectly. 

The fabric had been soft against my skin, the cut precise, the craftsmanship impeccable. I remembered the way she had watched me try it on, her eyes bright with hope, her hands smoothing the fabric across my shoulders. Every time I wore it, I felt comfortable. At ease. Like I was wearing something that had been made for me, not for a label. 

I had never worn that suit in public. It simply wasn’t appropriate. I was a billionaire, after all. In my world, only designer labels seemed capable of proving a person’s effort and sincerity. How would it look if I showed up to a board meeting wearing something that cost less than my cufflinks?