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Chapter Fifteen
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2025-06-04 23:50:54TESSA’S POV
The silence between me and Richard still clung to me.Heavy.Cold.It was the kind of silence that said everything words wouldn’t.I sat at the edge of the bed, staring at nothing... my fingers loosely curled around the hem of my robe, the soft fabric wrinkled from my grip. The door to the bathroom creaked open, and I stiffened, my breath catching just slightly.Richard stepped out, a towel draped over his shoulder, drops of water trailing down his chest. His hair was damp, messy in a way that used to feel familiar.He paused for a second when he saw me. Then he stepped closer.Slower this time. No defenses.No coldness.“Tessa,” he said softly.I looked up, startled by the gentleness in his voice. My eyes met his, and for a second, I saw something flicker in them... hesitation, maybe. Guilt.His gaze searched
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Dear Ex-wife, You're More Than A Substitute Chapter Ninety Three
Everyone else had already left for the day. A soft glow from the recessed ceiling lights lit the corridor leading to the executive lounge. I’d returned to grab the documents for tomorrow’s press conference… the last batch of press kits had just arrived, and I needed to review them personally. But when I turned the corner, I saw her. Stacy. Leaning casually against the wall outside my office, like she’d been waiting. Arms folded. Lipstick freshly reapplied. That calculating smile barely masked the storm in her eyes. “Late night?” she asked. “Working,” I replied. “Some of us do.” She smirked and pushed off the wall. “Still the perfect one, aren’t you?” I unlocked my office and stepped inside without another word, flipping on the lights. Stacy followed. Uninvited. I didn’t ask her to leave. Let her play her little game. Let her think she could rattle me. She closed the door behind her slowly. Deliberately. “Cut the crap, Camilla,” she said, voice tight. “I know you
Dear Ex-wife, You're More Than A Substitute Chapter Ninety Two
The hallway was silent when I stepped out of the elevator. Almost too silent. Everyone else had already left for the day. A soft glow from the recessed ceiling lights lit the corridor leading to the executive lounge. I’d returned to grab the documents for tomorrow’s press conference… the last batch of press kits had just arrived, and I needed to review them personally. But when I turned the corner, I saw her. Stacy. Leaning casually against the wall outside my office, like she’d been waiting. Arms folded. Lipstick freshly reapplied. That calculating smile barely masked the storm in her eyes. “Late night?” she asked. “Working,” I replied. “Some of us do.” She smirked and pushed off the wall. “Still the perfect one, aren’t you?” I unlocked my office and stepped inside without another word, flipping on the lights. Stacy followed. Uninvited. I didn’t ask her to leave. Let her play her little game. Let her think she could rattle me. She closed the door behind her slow
Dear Ex-wife, You're More Than A Substitute Chapter Ninety One
Richard’s POV I didn’t need to shout. I didn’t even need to raise my voice. The silence in my office was already loud enough… the kind that settles just before a storm levels a city. The air was stiff, the weight of betrayal still sitting on my chest like a boulder that refused to move. I had already reviewed the surveillance footage five more times since the celebration. Watched every second of Stacy slipping into Camilla’s office. Caught the moment she removed a flash drive. Saw her tamper with the project folder and leave with that smug, unhurried confidence I had been too blind to see. Stupid. God, how stupid could I have been? The knock on the door was soft. Hesitant. A new assistant peeked in a second later. “She’s here, sir.” Of course she was. “
Dear Ex-wife, You're More Than A Substitute Chapter Ninety
Richard's POV I was flipping through the structural renderings on my desk, scanning through elevations and floor loads that somehow felt less important now than they used to. My mind had been trailing behind all morning stuck somewhere between the sharp edges of Camilla’s smile and the distant coolness in her eyes lately. Then I heard them. The unmistakable sharp click of heels against marble tiles. Before the door even opened, I already knew who it was. It swung open uninvited, unannounced. Stacy. Her hair was pinned back perfectly, red lips curved into a smug smile like she belonged in that office. She walked in like it was her birthright. “I thought I’d stop by,” she said sweetly, her gaze skating briefly over the papers on my desk before locking onto mine. “Hope I’m not interrupting.” I didn’t bother hiding my irritation. “You always do.”
Dear Ex-wife, You're More Than A Substitute Chapter Eighty Nine
Richard’s POV I didn’t need to shout. I didn’t even need to raise my voice. The silence in my office was already loud enough… the kind that settles just before a storm levels a city. The air was stiff, the weight of betrayal still sitting on my chest like a boulder that refused to move. I had already reviewed the surveillance footage five more times since the celebration. Watched every second of Stacy slipping into Camilla’s office. Caught the moment she removed a flash drive. Saw her tamper with the project folder and leave with that smug, unhurried confidence I had been too blind to see. Stupid. God, how stupid could I have been? The knock on the door was soft. Hesitant. A new assistant peeked in a second later. “She’s here, sir.” Of course she was. “Send her in.” Stacy walked in like she had rehearsed it. Cream blouse. Black skirt. Her hair brushed into smooth waves like she still wanted to play the “polished girlfriend” role. But her eyes gave her away. She l
Dear Ex-wife, You're More Than A Substitute Chapter Eighty Eight
The hallway was silent when I stepped out of the elevator. Almost too silent. Everyone else had already left for the day. A soft glow from the recessed ceiling lights lit the corridor leading to the executive lounge. I’d returned to grab the documents for tomorrow’s press conference… the last batch of press kits had just arrived, and I needed to review them personally. But when I turned the corner, I saw her. Stacy. Leaning casually against the wall outside my office, like she’d been waiting. Arms folded. Lipstick freshly reapplied. That calculating smile barely masked the storm in her eyes. “Late night?” she asked. “Working,” I replied. “Some of us do.” She smirked and pushed off the wall. “Still the perfect one, aren’t you?” I unlocked my office and stepped inside without another word, flipping
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