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CHAPTER ONE-HUNDRED AND EIGHTEEN

Author: Authoresstreasure
last update Last Updated: 2025-10-29 01:12:32

BRUCE.

I had lost count of the days or weeks maybe, that I had spent here. The damp air clung to my lungs, heavy with rust, sweat, and the faint metallic tang of blood — my blood. My wrists were torn raw beneath the cuffs that chained me to the iron chair, each movement scraping flesh against steel. Every breath I took sounded too loud, bouncing off the concrete walls of the small, windowless room. There was no clock, and there was no single source of light. The only thing I heard that tethered me to reality was the slow drip of water echoing somewhere behind me, marking time in astonishing irregularity.

I had stopped shouting after the first few hours. Yelling only wasted my strength and I never wasted what I could use later. Still, the silence pressed down like a weight, suffocating in its patience. It wasn’t fear that kept me quiet now. It was calculation.

Someone wanted me alive, I knew that for sure. The bruises on my ribs, the precision of my restraints, and the untouched food
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  • Divorced: Ex-wife Heiress Strikes Back   CHAPTER TWO-HUNDRED AND THIRTY-THREE

    DEVAN.The day we buried Marcus, the sky stayed stubbornly gray, as if the world itself understood there were no words grand enough for the moment. It came with no dramatic storms, no cleansing rain, just a heavy, muted stillness that pressed against my chest.The funeral was quiet and intimate, exactly as Marcus would have wanted it. Clarissa stood beside me, her hand tucked into mine, our fingers interlaced so tightly it felt like we were holding each other upright. She was dressed in a black flowing gown, simple and understated, her face pale but composed. Only I could feel the slight tremor in her hand, the way her thumb rubbed absent circles against my knuckle whenever the grief surged too close to the surface.The twins slept in their pram nearby, unaware of the enormity of the moment, their tiny chests rising and falling in perfect rhythm. I watched them often during the service, grounding myself in the sight of their peaceful faces.Marcus had died so they could live without f

  • Divorced: Ex-wife Heiress Strikes Back   CHAPTER TWO-HUNDRED AND THIRTY-TWO

    CLARISSA.Outside the hospital room, machines hummed, phones rang, and the nurses and doctors spoke in urgent voices. But inside my room, time had split cleanly in two, becoming fractured and I was suspended in the fragile, breathless space in between.My two tiny miracles lay in my arms, impossibly small and yet impossibly perfect; a boy and a girl. My son slept with his tiny fist tucked beneath his chin, his breathing soft and rhythmic, like he already understood the comfort of rest. My daughter was more curious, her eyes fluttering open and closed as if she were memorizing the world one blink at a time. Their warmth seeped into me, stitching me back together in places I hadn’t known were torn.“Oh,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “You’re real.”Devan sat beside me, one hand resting on my knee, the other hovering as though he were afraid to touch them too firmly, afraid they might vanish if he did. His eyes were red, his face drawn, but when he looked at the babies, something insi

  • Divorced: Ex-wife Heiress Strikes Back   CHAPTER TWO-HUNDRED AND THIRTY-ONE

    DEVAN.The hospital corridors blurred into one endless stretch of white; the walls, floors, and ceilings all bleeding into each other under the harsh fluorescent lights. The air smelled of antiseptic and quiet panic, that strange hospital mix of sterility and restrained fear. I had changed my mind as I climbed into my car and watched the ambulance carrying Marcus leave, and instead of returning home to Clarissa, I decided to accompany the ambulance to the hospital, half praying and half hoping he was still alive. Fortunately, Isabella had driven Clarissa down to the same hospital alongside Freda, all of them oblivious to what had happened. I walked through it like a man already half-buried, my body moving on instinct while my mind fractured under the weight of what I already knew.Marcus Montclair was gone.The doctor had said it gently, like softness could soften death.“I’m sorry,” he had said, hands folded, eyes steady. “There was nothing more we could do.”Nothing more. Those word

  • Divorced: Ex-wife Heiress Strikes Back   CHAPTER TWO-HUNDRED AND THIRTY

    DEVAN.The alarm kept screaming, slicing through the mansion, but even that was drowned out by Clarissa’s cries from the labor room; raw sounds of pain and life colliding. My chest felt like it was being pulled apart in two directions at once.“Devan!” Isabella shouted from down the hall. “Security just flagged another breach!”“I know!” I snapped, my voice hoarse. I stood frozen in the doorway of the labor room, my hands shaking. Clarissa lay on the bed, sweat-soaked, gripping the rails as another contraction ripped through her.“Don’t leave,” she gasped, her fingers reaching for me. “Please—”“I’ll be right back,” I said, lying through my teeth as I kissed her forehead. “I promise. You’re not alone.”Her scream followed me as I backed out, the sound carving something permanent into my bones, then I heard it: a dull, distant crack. It was not the sharp snap of a door nor the sound of a dropped object. That was the clear sound of a gunshot.Every instinct in my body went cold.“What w

  • Divorced: Ex-wife Heiress Strikes Back   CHAPTER TWO-HUNDRED AND TWENTY-NINE

    CLARISSA.The pain I felt tore through me without warning, white-hot, vicious, starting low in my back and ripping forward like something alive. My breath left me in a sharp cry before I could stop it. My hands flew to my stomach, fingers digging into the taut curve of my belly as my body arched instinctively.“Clarissa?” Devan’s voice snapped tight with alarm.I couldn’t answer right away. The contraction wrapped around me, crushing, relentless, stealing the air from my lungs. My vision blurred at the edges. When it finally eased, I gasped, dragging oxygen back into my chest like I had nearly drowned.I looked up at him. His face had gone pale.“It’s time,” I whispered.He didn’t argue, didn’t bother to ask any questions. He was already moving.“Okay,” he said softly, gripping my hand with both of his. “Okay, I’ve got you. I’m right here.”Another contraction slammed into me before the echo of the first had faded.I cried out, my fingers tightening painfully around his. “Devan—”“I k

  • Divorced: Ex-wife Heiress Strikes Back   CHAPTER TWO-HUNDRED AND TWENTY-EIGHT

    MARCUS.The cold air in the warehouse seeped through cracked concrete and rusted seams, carrying the sour smell of damp metal and old oil. Every step I took echoed too loudly, as if the space itself wanted to announce me. I stood beneath a single bare bulb, its weak light swinging slightly, carving the shadows into long, warped shapes that stretched and recoiled with every sway.I had chosen this place carefully. It was forgotten, off-grid, and familiar enough to tempt him. I checked my watch once, then again, not because I needed the time but because waiting sharpened the fear in me into something different, a blade instead of a fog.I had already sent the message.“FINAL ASSET. FINAL TRUTH. COME ALONE.”It was a lie, of course. Or rather, a truth bent just enough to be irresistible.Bruce never could resist the promise of absolute leverage. Footsteps reached me before voices did; heavy, unhurried, and confident. I exhaled slowly. The door groaned open, and light from the outside spi

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