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CHAPTER ONE-HUNDRED AND EIGHTY-SIX
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2025-12-16 00:03:00BRUCE.
Every step through the alleyways and service corridors behind the city tightened something in my chest, a coil wound so hard it hummed beneath my skin. Anger wasn’t loud anymore; it had gone cold, the kind that sharpened vision and stripped everything else away. I catalogued exits without thinking. Reflections in glass. The way shadows bent around corners. Survival wasn’t a choice. It was muscle memory.
Freda stayed with me. She didn’t ask where we were going, didn’t question why I kept changing routes or doubling back, didn’t comment on the way my jaw locked every time a siren wailed somewhere too close. She just matched my pace, her boots striking pavement in quiet sync with mine, her presence a constant weight at my flank. It wasn’t comforting. It was grounding, like an anchor that kept me from tipping fully into something reckless.
The safehouse was an ugly concrete block tucked between two abandoned warehouses near
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Divorced: Ex-wife Heiress Strikes Back CHAPTER ONE-HUNDRED AND EIGHTY-SEVEN
ISABELLA.My mind didn’t feel like my own anymore. It felt borrowed and rearranged, like someone had taken every thought I trusted and placed it back slightly out of alignment. The room around me pulsed with low light and muted sound, screens lining the walls in a curved semicircle that escaped feeling theoretical at best. Antonio never needed chains. He preferred architecture, space itself bent to his will.The images changed constantly: Clarissa stumbling through dust, coughing, eyes wild but focused; Devan moving with blood on his knuckles, his rage and instinct fused into something dangerous; Bruce dragging Freda through shadows, his jaw locked so tight it looked painful and my father half-conscious, guilt bleeding out of him slower than the wound in his shoulder.
Divorced: Ex-wife Heiress Strikes Back CHAPTER ONE-HUNDRED AND EIGHTY-SIX
BRUCE.Every step through the alleyways and service corridors behind the city tightened something in my chest, a coil wound so hard it hummed beneath my skin. Anger wasn’t loud anymore; it had gone cold, the kind that sharpened vision and stripped everything else away. I catalogued exits without thinking. Reflections in glass. The way shadows bent around corners. Survival wasn’t a choice. It was muscle memory.Freda stayed with me. She didn’t ask where we were going, didn’t question why I kept changing routes or doubling back, didn’t comment on the way my jaw locked every time a siren wailed somewhere too close. She just matched my pace, her boots striking pavement in quiet sync with mine, her presence a constant weight at my flank. It wasn’t comforting. It was grounding, like an anchor that kept me from tipping fully into something reckless.The safehouse was an ugly concrete block tucked between two abandoned warehouses near
Divorced: Ex-wife Heiress Strikes Back CHAPTER ONE-HUNDRED AND EIGHTY-FIVE
CLARISSA.I sat on the edge of the bed, my elbows on my knees, staring at the folded note resting on my palms. It was small, crisp, clean, and out of place here, as if it had slipped in from a world where things still made sense. But nothing made sense anymore. Not the trembling ruin we had climbed out of. Not Isabella’s disappearance. Not Antonio’s vanishing act and certainly not the quiet, calculated message someone had managed to slide under my door.I stared at the paper in my hands. It was a set of coordinates and a time with no name and no symbol, not even a smudge of a fingerprint. I traced the numbers like they were a lifeline or a threat, I still wasn’t sure which. My first thought, the one that clawed its way to the surface before I could swallow it down, was Isabella. If anyone could communicate from the other side of a trap, it was her. If anyone would risk sending something this precise, this controlled, it had to be her. But hope was dan
Divorced: Ex-wife Heiress Strikes Back CHAPTER ONE-HUNDRED AND EIGHTY-FOUR
BRUCE.The second my boots hit solid pavement and the roar of the collapsing building dimmed behind us, something in me cracked, like a fault line shifting under pressure. I didn’t wait for the others. I couldn’t. If I stayed another second in that cloud of dust and screams, I knew I would break, so I walked fast, head down, my hands stiff at my sides. Every step sent another small puff of grime falling off my clothes, as if the nightmare was refusing to let go of me.I heard the sound of footsteps following me, light but steady. It was Freda. She didn’t say anything, and she didn’t have to. She never pushed, never needled, never demanded words from me I didn’t have. She just stayed close enough to catch me if I fell, far enough not to make me feel cornered. Her silence fit mine: ugly and aching, but matching all the same.The night air hit my face cold, but inside me, everything felt scorched. My lungs still held the taste of smoke
Divorced: Ex-wife Heiress Strikes Back CHAPTER ONE-HUNDRED AND EIGHTY THREE
CLARISSA.We stumbled out of the collapsing building like a procession of half-formed ghosts, moving on instinct rather than strength. It felt as if we had been spit out rather than rescued, thrown from the darkness into a world too bright, too open. Smoke clung to my clothes like a second skin, filling my lungs even as I gasped for fresh air. Dust coated my tongue, turning every swallow into a scrape as my ears rang with the echo of crumbling steel and snapping concrete.My legs wobbled beneath me, rubbery and trembling, but I forced myself to turn back toward the grotesque pile that used to be a building; a structure that had swallowed hours of our lives little by little and then, in its final act, tried to swallow us whole. My eyes darted from slab to slab, searching, refusing to accept the truth forming at the edges of her mind.Antonio wasn’t there. There was no single silhouette of him, not even a shadow pinned beneath the ruin. All I could see was j
Divorced: Ex-wife Heiress Strikes Back CHAPTER ONE-HUNDRED AND EIGHTY-TWO
CLARISSA.The first breath of open air hit me like a slap, too sharp and too cold after the burning metal stench of the collapsing tunnels. It tasted wrong on my tongue, and it made my lungs ache. I doubled forward, coughing until spots of light burst behind my eyelids. Dust still clung everywhere: in my throat, along my eyelashes, in the cracks of my chapped lips. It felt as though the underground was still inside me, refusing to let go.We stumbled into an open field, or what used to be one. The moonlight showed long patches of dead grass, and the ground cracked from years of neglect. Behind us, the earth trembled again, releasing a groan so deep it vibrated through my ribs. The entire lair was sinking, folding into itself, disappearing like a dying beast trying to swallow its own bones.I blinked through the blur and counted the silhouettes around me. Devan. Freda. Bruce. Marcus, slumped heavily between them. Four. Just four. My chest tightened.I turn
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