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CHAPTER ONE-HUNDRED AND FIVE

Autor: Authoresstreasure
last update Última atualização: 2025-10-21 19:20:20

ISABELLA.

The night carried a strange quiet, the kind that hummed before a storm. The air was heavy with dust and the faint tang of rust as I stepped into the abandoned warehouse, my footsteps echoing softly, bouncing off the hollow walls that had once known the rhythm of machinery, now reduced to silence. A single bulb flickered somewhere overhead, its light waning against the shadows that seemed alive—watching and waiting.

I moved carefully, every sense alert, every nerve taut. The message had been brief, unsigned, and unmistakable: “Come alone. Midnight. The same place.”

The cloaked figure had summoned me again.

Bruce’s words haunted me still — someone we all know. The words reeled in my thoughts, feeding on every unanswered question, every suspicion I tried to bury. The uncertainty was poison, and yet here I was, walking straight into its source.

A faint sound broke the silence — the scrape of metal, the soft whisper of a coat shifting against the darkness. I didn’t have to look t
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  • Divorced: Ex-wife Heiress Strikes Back   CHAPTER ONE-HUNDRED AND SEVENTEEN

    CLARISSA.The prison always smelled the same — of bleach and rust, a sterile mix that clung to my clothes long after I left. I moved through the metal detectors with practiced calm, though my pulse betrayed my composure. The guard at the end of the corridor nodded, unlocking the door to the visitation room.Inside, the light was pale, flickering, and buzzing overhead like an anxious thought that wouldn’t fade.And then I saw him.He sat behind the glass, his shoulders slightly slumped, his hands folded on the table. His eyes lifted slowly, and for a moment, neither of us moved. The world outside—the reporters, the verdict, the whispers of Bruce’s disappearance, all of it dissolved into the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears.When I finally crossed the room and sat down, the chair scraped loudly against the floor, breaking the silence.“Clarissa,” Devan said first, his voice rough from days of incarc

  • 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

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