He hasn't moved on

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• Chasing The Stubborn Ex-Wife   Never going back

  The click of the door latch echoed in the silence of the wisteria room, a small, definitive sound that ripped through Hunter. He stood there for a long moment, staring at the closed wooden panel, the stark finality of her words ringing in his ears. The air felt heavy, suffocating, laden with unspoken pain and insurmountable barriers. Slowly, his shoulders slumped. He backed away from the door, each step heavy, dragging. The carefully constructed facade of calm he had maintained for days, the relentless pursuit of truth, the desperate hope that had fueled him, all crumbled into dust. He didn’t go to his own room, or to the comfort of his grandmother's presence. Instead, he simply sank to the floor, right where he had spent so many nights, just outside her door. He didn't curl up. He didn't pace. He didn't make a sound. He simply sat, his long frame folded, his elbows resting on his knees, his head falling heavily into his hands. His fingers tangled in his hair, gripping it, as if tr

• Chasing The Stubborn Ex-Wife   I'll never come back to you

  The silence that followed Hunter's raw confession hung heavy in the air, a palpable weight between them. Evelyn remained at the window, her back to him, the soft lamplight doing little to dispel the shadows clinging to her. Hunter’s words—"I can never cheat on you, Evelyn, because you are my only truth, my only desire"—were a potent balm to a wound she had believed festering, but they couldn't mend the deeper gashes left by neglect and absence. Finally, she moved, slowly, deliberately. She walked over to the edge of the bed and sat down, her shoulders still hunched, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her face remained unreadable, a carefully constructed mask of composure that gave away nothing of the turmoil raging within her. Hunter, still standing frozen by the desk, watched her, his heart a raw, exposed nerve. Every fiber of his being yearned to cross the space between them, to kneel, to beg, to simply touch her, but he held back, respecting the invisible, yet impenetrable, ba

• Chasing The Stubborn Ex-Wife   Painful past

  The silence in the wisteria room was thick and suffocating, punctuated only by Evelyn’s ragged breathing and the soft, insistent drip of her tears onto the laptop keys. The weight of Sophia’s betrayal, coupled with the crushing realization of her own misguided anger, pressed down on her. Hunter’s quiet declaration—"I never did. Not once. I could never cheat. Not on you. Not on us"—echoed in the air, a devastating truth that brought no immediate comfort, only a fresh wave of agony. With trembling hands, Evelyn reached out and, with a swift, decisive movement, slammed the laptop shut. The sharp click resonated in the quiet room, a final, emphatic punctuation mark to the horrifying revelation. She pushed the laptop away, as if its presence burned her, then she turned away from Hunter, walking a few shaky steps towards the large window that overlooked the moonlit gardens. Her back was to him, her shoulders hunched, her hands clasped tightly together. Hunter remained rooted to the spot,

• Chasing The Stubborn Ex-Wife   The truth is out

  The grand estate was cloaked in the deep, velvet silence of late night. Hours had passed since Hunter had received the irrefutable proof from his lawyer, the digital files a damning testament to Sophia’s malice. He’d spent the time pacing, the weight of the truth heavy in his hands, contemplating the best way to present it to Evelyn. He wanted to be patient. But the urgency to clear his name, to alleviate Evelyn’s torment, was a burning ache in his chest. He couldn't wait until morning. The thought of Evelyn spending one more night believing the lies, suffering under the weight of a betrayal that wasn't real, was unbearable. He moved silently through the hushed corridors, the soft carpet muffling his footsteps, until he stood before the heavy wooden door of the wisteria room. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs, a mixture of trepidation and desperate hope. He raised his hand and knocked softly, just twice, a hesitant, almost imperceptible sound in the stillness. A

• Chasing The Stubborn Ex-Wife   Proof

  The quiet rhythm of the estate continued, punctuated by the soft sounds of daily life, yet for Evelyn, the underlying current of Hunter’s presence was a constant, unsettling hum. She’d wake each morning, a faint dread coiling in her stomach, knowing what she would find. And each morning, he was there. She stepped out of the wisteria room, the gentle morning light spilling into the hallway, and there he was – slumped in the same antique chair, a thick blanket pulled up to his chin, his head lolled to one side. He looked utterly exhausted, faint shadows etched beneath his eyes, his hair a rumpled mess. The sight, a stark testament to his stubborn vigilance, ignited a complex cocktail of emotions within her: annoyance, a flicker of guilt, and, despite herself, a grudging, almost imperceptible warmth. He stirred, a soft groan escaping him, and slowly, his eyes fluttered open. They focused on her, and a tired, genuine smile, disarmingly soft, touched his lips. "Morning, Evie," he murmure

• Chasing The Stubborn Ex-Wife   Ice around her heart

  The days at his grandmother’s estate settled into a quiet, almost domestic rhythm, a stark contrast to the chaotic storm that had brought Evelyn there. Hunter maintained his silent vigil, a constant, unobtrusive presence in her periphery. He didn't hover, didn't demand attention, didn't even try to engage her in conversation unless absolutely necessary. His care was a quiet, steady current, flowing beneath the surface of her resistance. Each morning, before the sun had fully climbed above the ancient trees, Hunter would bring a tray of freshly brewed herbal tea and a light breakfast to the small table outside the wisteria room. He’d tap softly, just once, and then retreat, giving her space. He knew her routine, the faint rustle of silk sheets, the soft pad of her bare feet on the polished floor. Sometimes, she would open the door just enough to slide the tray inside, her face a blank mask. Other times, she would leave it for a few minutes, a silent acknowledgment that she knew he was