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CHAPTER ONE-HUNDRED AND EIGHT

Author: Authoresstreasure
last update Last Updated: 2025-10-23 22:45:11

CLARISSA.

The night before Devan’s trial felt like it stretched forever. The air in my office was stale, thick with the scent of coffee gone cold and paper ink that bled from too many late nights. The desk before me was a battlefield scattered with open files, handwritten notes, and photographs pinned together by desperation. My hair was tied back in a loose knot, my eyes hollowed by exhaustion. Every corner of the room seemed to whisper the same thing: you’re running out of time.

Stacks of documents lay open — testimonies, receipts, surveillance reports, each page proof of how far I had gone for Devan. I had spent weeks gathering evidence, twisting every connection I still had to pull strings that no longer wanted to move. I had found a lawyer, expensive and ruthless, the kind who could turn a confession into a question and I had rehearsed my statements continuously until my voice broke. Everything was in place. Everything should have been enough. But still, it didn’t feel enough.

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

    CLARISSAThe city blurred past my eyes all through the suffocating ride back home, but I saw none of it. My father’s grip on my arm was firm, a silent command for obedience disguised as protection. The cameras and some press members had followed us all the way from the courthouse steps with their flashes, shouts, the chaos of the verdict and scandal but once the doors of the black sedan closed, silence fell like a blade.He spared no glance at me for once, not even when I trembled nor when my breath came out in ragged bursts. It was when I tried to speak—to ask him why—did he cut me off with a sharp, “Not here.”I went mute and waited. The drive stretched endlessly and by the time the gates of the Montclair estate loomed ahead, my pulse had become a furious drumbeat against my skin.When the car finally crawled to a stop, my father stepped out first. He didn’t open my door; he expected me to follow. And I did — only because I wanted to face him.The moment the heavy front doors closed

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

    BRUCE.When consciousness returned, it came not only with clarity but with pain — dull, throbbing, and deep in the back of my skull. My breath came out slow and measured, my instincts kicking in before awareness fully did. I blinked once then continuously, until the blur around me started to take shape. I was in a concrete cell with no windows and no exits visible, with the walls slick with condensation. A single bulb swung above me, casting erratic shadows that moved like ghosts against the damp stone.I tried to move my arms, and I winced as the metal bit into my wrists. I was bound with industrial-grade handcuffs. My jacket and tie were gone, my shirt sleeves rolled to my elbows with dirt smeared along one cuff. Someone had stripped me of both power and presentation, something I could term a form of deliberate humiliation. My shoes, though, were still on. That detail didn’t comfort me; it unsettled me more. Whoever had done this wasn’t improvising. They were sending me a message: Y

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

    FREDA.I arranged the meeting with the precision of a strategist who trusted no one. Everything—the setting, the timing, and the seating was a deliberate choice, a message disguised as hospitality. The lounge I chose was one of those places known only to people who mattered: quiet, exclusive, and expensive enough that privacy was guaranteed. It was the kind of place where even whispers cost money, and silence was part of the service.I arrived early, like I always did. Control began with good timing, and I would never give that advantage away.The room was dimly lit, the air perfumed with soft sandalwood and the faint hiss of a jazz record spinning in the background. I took my usual seat by the window, my reflection flickering against the glass. Every detail of my appearance had been curated: the pale silk blouse that caught the light just enough to suggest elegance, the dark tailored trousers that spoke of authority, the understated diamond studs that said I didn’t need to prove anyt

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

    CLARISSA.The courthouse was suffocating.Even before the session began, it pulsed with tension… whispers slithering between marble columns, journalists clutching cameras like weapons, politicians hunched together in sharp suits, trading theories in low tones. I could hear Devan’s name on every lip, threaded through every conversation like a curse and a fascination all at once.I sat in the front row, my back straight and my hands clasped so tightly in my lap that my knuckles ached. I could feel the eyes—hundreds of them—pressing into my skin. To them, I wasn’t just a woman fighting for the man I loved and cared about; I was a Montclair, the daughter of a legacy built on power, secrecy, and quiet intimidation.My lawyer sat beside me, calm and meticulous, flipping through the final notes of our argument. His confidence was unshaken. “We’ve got them,” he whispered. “Everything checks out — the timeline, the witness, the new evidence. If they play fair, this is over.”If they play fair.

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

    DEVAN.The morning began in a silence that didn’t feel right. It wasn’t the usual hum of the prison, the clang of metal gates, the curses echoing down the halls, the dull murmur of men who had stopped believing in tomorrow. This was something else — stillness that pressed against the walls, heavy and expectant, as though the building itself was holding its breath.I woke before the guards made their rounds, sitting on the edge of my bed, my elbows on my knees, staring at the narrow band of light that seeped in through the barred window. The air smelled of bleach and rust. It was another day and another countdown to my trial.My cellmate, a thin man with a scar carved down his left cheek, spoke without looking at him. “You know it’s all decided, right?” His voice was low, almost a whisper.I turned, frowning. “What are you talking about?”“The trial,” the man said, eyes fixed on the wall. “It’s a show, always is. Verdict’s been chosen before you even walk in.”I wanted to argue, but th

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

    FREDA.I hadn’t slept a wink. I hardly even slept anymore but the sight of my assistant standing hesitantly at the door of my study told me that this update, whatever it was going to be, was not routine.I dismissed the woman with a nod and unfolded the document herself. It was neatly typed, just as I liked it, but the content made me pause.“Clarissa’s legal campaign has gained momentum,” the report read. “The lawyer she hired is effective and the new evidence looks solid. The court may rule in Devan’s favor.”For a long moment, I said nothing.The faint hum of the penthouse’s ventilation was the only sound, mingling with the soft clink of her spoon as I stirred untouched coffee. Morning light slanted through the glass walls, slicing my reflection into fragments across the marble table. I leaned back slowly, crossing one leg over the other, eyes narrowing in thought. If Devan walked free, Bruce’s position would fracture. The case had been his leverage, the invisible chain keeping bot

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