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Chapter Thirty Six
Huling Na-update:
2025-06-27 00:00:40Camilla’s POV
The ballroom glittered like something out of a dream... gold light cascading from the chandeliers, polished marble floors echoing the soft click of shoes, laughter, glasses clinking. And in the center of it all, I stood… a stranger in a city that once knew me.Camilla Jones.The name rolled so easily now that I almost believed it. Almost.But nothing could prepare me for when he stepped out of the crowd.Richard.Time stopped the moment our eyes met... his widening with a flicker of disbelief, mine steady, unreadable. I didn’t flinch. I couldn’t afford to. His confusion was delicious. A man trying to piece together a ghost that shouldn’t exist. Good.That’s when he walked over, slowly, like someone approaching a dream they’re afraid might vanish if they breathe too hard.He asked me to dance.I should’ve said no.But I didn’t.Because my revenge had a rhythm tonight. And
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Dear Ex-wife, You're More Than A Substitute Chapter Sixty Four
I stood frozen for a second, hand still resting on the doorknob, heart thudding harder than I wanted to admit. I should’ve just walked away. I should’ve let him sit there in his pool of regrets and self-pity and whiskey. But something about the way he looked so… hollow— like a man sitting in the wreckage of a world he couldn’t fix… made something shift inside me. Maybe it was pity. Maybe it was just weakness. Or maybe it was the remnants of a past I swore I’d buried deep. Either way, I turned around. The bottle was already halfway to his lips again when I stepped forward. “No,” I said firmly, grabbing it before he could drink. He looked at me, blinking slowly as if trying to process what I’d just done. “Camilla—” “Enough, Richard,” I cut in, my voice more tired than angry. He didn’t argue. That was the part that surprised me the most. No witty remark. No sharp retort. Just silence, and the kind of resignation you only see in someone who’s been holding up too many cru
Dear Ex-wife, You're More Than A Substitute Chapter Sixty Three
The day had been long. Longer than most. Even after everything that happened, the stolen project, the chaos, the silent tension between everyone on the executive floor… my face remained composed. But inside… everything felt like it was shifting.I had spent hours in my office, keeping my head down, working through files while the storm brewed quietly in Richard’s. I could sense his presence without needing to look up. The energy around him was… heavy. Like something had broken and was trying, desperately, not to bleed out.It wasn’t my business. At least, not outwardly.I had my own part to play.I gathered my things slowly when the clock finally blinked 7:42 p.m. Christine had texted earlier that Zane had eaten and was already curled up in bed with his favorite bedtime story. That was my signal to breathe. I was free to go.I reached for my handbag, pushing a pen behind my ear as I took one last glance at the work I’d pushed aside most of the day. I stacked the files, slipped my lapt
Dear Ex-wife, You're More Than A Substitute Chapter Sixty Two
Camilla’s POV The corridors of Anderson Global always had this sterile quiet around noon. Most of the staff were either at lunch or hidden behind frosted glass panels. I preferred it that way… it meant less chit-chat, less curious eyes. I clutched the thin manila folder in my hand… a revised schematic update for project’s upper level eco-balcony integration. It wasn’t urgent, but Richard had asked me to bring it up once it was ready, and I had just finalized it. I figured I’d get it over with before grabbing a late lunch. I adjusted my blazer and nudged his office door open with a soft knock. “Mr. Anderson—” I stopped. Richard was standing behind his desk, one hand gripping the edge, the other fisted in his hair like he was seconds away from ripping it out. His back was half-turned toward me, but I could see his knuckles pale and
Dear Ex-wife, You're More Than A Substitute Chapter Sixty One
Richard’s POV It was already past noon when I finally pulled myself together and drove to the office. Rain pelted the windshield as I sat at a red light, one hand gripping the steering wheel while the other tapped restlessly on my thigh. I hadn’t slept well. My mind had been a whirlwind of Camilla’s voice, the flash of fire in her eyes, the way she’d looked at me before storming out the night before. I hadn’t been able to breathe right since. She didn’t just walk out of my house, she walked out of whatever fragile thing was building between us. It hurt more than I was willing to admit. And now, heading into work, I wasn’t sure how to face her. Would she even look at me? Would she pretend like none of it happened? I couldn’t blame her if she did. By the time I stepped into the building, I barely acknowledged the greetings I received. I was soaked, unshaven, and just barely holding it together. On the surface, I was the CEO. The boss. But inside… everything felt like it was fray
Dear Ex-wife, You're More Than A Substitute Chapter Sixty
The rain had slowed to a drizzle by the time I pulled into the office parking lot. It was past 10 a.m. unlike me. I rarely ever came in this late, but the events of last night had left my mind spinning. I had barely slept, haunted by the stinging echo of Stacy’s voice. Don’t like the taste? Or are you allergic to it, Tessa? She’d said my name like it was a loaded gun, aiming straight for the part of me I’d spent years burying beneath a new name, a new city, and a carefully curated life. Even now, the thought of her watching me as I drank that juice, the faint twitch of satisfaction in her smile… it made my chest tighten. I stepped into the building, shook off the umbrella, and walked briskly toward my office. Most of the staff I passed gave me polite nods or warm good mornings. But something felt… off. Like air thick with static before a storm. When I turned down the hall leading to my office, I slowed. The door was slightly ajar. Odd. I frowned. I never left it like that
Dear Ex-wife, You're More Than A Substitute Chapter Fifty Nine
After dinner at Richard’s house…I drove in silence, letting the city blur around me as if the night could wash away the burning in my throat. The moment I closed the car door behind me outside Richard’s home, I told myself not to fall apart. Not yet. I could still taste the mango juice. That acidic sweetness clung to my tongue like a warning. It scratched down my throat, curled in my chest like smoke. My body didn’t erupt into a full blown allergic reaction, not because it didn’t try but because I’d prepared. I always prepare. Stacy may think she’s smart, but she’s also obvious. From the moment Caleb told me about her visit to my stepmother’s house, I knew she was digging. That wasn’t curiosity, that was war. And tonight? That was her first strike. A glass of mango juice. So elegant. So simple. So quietly vicious. And yet… it didn’t catch me off guard. Not fully. I’d ta
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