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Chapter 64: The Letter That Refused to Die
Last Updated:
2025-07-24 22:27:41
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Her Billionaire Ex-Husband's Regret Chapter 65: The Fire or the Frame
Chapter 65: The Fire or the FrameUyo shimmered in hues of green and gold.Palm trees stretched heavenward beside stately government buildings, and bursts of bougainvillea tumbled over white fences like laughter desperate to be heard. The scent of fresh rain still lingered in the breeze, earthy and honest. The whole city felt like an open palm—welcoming with one hand, commanding with the other.Sophia hadn’t expected to find herself standing at a crossroads.She thought Uyo would be like Jos—still, sacred, an emotional breather.But by the second day, it was clear:This city didn’t offer rest.It demanded a choice.The event took place at the state women’s development auditorium—a wide, echoing hall brimming with power and presence. Officials, educators, rural girls, and even dignitaries from neighboring states filled the seats. This was no ordinary retreat. It was a movement amplified.Sophia stepped into the spotlight.The lights warmed her face.The room buzzed.She spoke not with
Her Billionaire Ex-Husband's Regret Chapter 64: The Letter That Refused to Die
Chapter 64: The Letter That Refused to DieJos was cold that week.But not the kind of cold that came with the breeze. This was a deeper chill—a haunting quiet that settled beneath the skin and made your bones ache with memory.The city lay between hills like it was hiding something ancient and sacred, a silence that didn’t whisper, but stared you straight in the face. Sophia felt it the moment they arrived. Something in the air told her: this wasn’t just a retreat. This was a reckoning.They had come to run a week-long writing workshop under a new initiative called Stories for Shelter—a safe space for girls from different IDP camps to pour their hearts onto paper. Some were barely teenagers, all of them survivors of violence and displacement. This wasn’t just about words—it was about finding a voice again in a world that had tried to silence them.Then came Halima.Fifteen years old.A shadow of a girl.She never smiled. Never spoke more than a word. Always sat in the back, clutching
Her Billionaire Ex-Husband's Regret Chapter 63: The Flames That Watch You Burn
Chapter 63: The Flames That Watch You BurnLagos didn’t whisper. It howled. It clawed at your skin with humidity, beat against your chest with traffic horns, and drenched you in light so unforgiving it peeled back every layer you thought you could hide behind. It didn’t welcome you. It demanded you survive it. And if you were lucky, maybe, just maybe, it might acknowledge your name.Sophia had been warned, again and again—“Lagos doesn’t just test you, it devours you.” But warnings meant nothing until you were standing in the center of it, blinking through camera flashes and feeling your pulse rattle beneath your skin. By the fifth stop on The Fire We Share tour, she was no stranger to pressure. But this… this was a different kind of heat. This was the fire that asked not if you were strong—but if you were true.The first press conference began in a hotel carved out of another world—glass, gold, marble polished like ice. Luxury screamed from the walls while reporters filed in with ques
Her Billionaire Ex-Husband's Regret Chapter 62: When the Truth Hurts Too Much
Chapter 62: When the Truth Hurts Too MuchCalabar was alive. Bright, unruly, and beautiful. The kind of city where walls wore color like defiance, where the air buzzed with roasted plantains and rhythm, and where strangers greeted you like long-lost cousins. It was everything Sophia hadn’t realized she missed—life unscripted and loud in the best way.But beneath the laughter and speeches and staged smiles, something quiet pulsed among the team. A weight they hadn’t yet named. They were walking into a story they couldn’t yet see, but they felt it pressing against their skin.Her name was Adaora.Seventeen.Bright eyes, quiet voice. The kind of girl you almost overlooked until you read what she wrote. She joined the session late—some friend had told her about it. She didn’t speak during the first round of storytelling. But her pen moved like it had been waiting years for permission.When Sophia picked up her paper, the words hit like a blade. Clean. Precise. Unforgiving.“He’s the one w
Her Billionaire Ex-Husband's Regret Chapter 61: Rest, Rain, and a Stranger’s Memory
Chapter 61: Rest, Rain, and a Stranger’s MemorySomewhere beyond the blistered highways and the constant murmur of expectations, there lay a pocket of stillness. A town with no name on most maps, where time stretched out its limbs and exhaled. It was here, on the cusp of nowhere, that Sophia Grant finally laid her armor down.The guesthouse was quiet—achingly so. Not the curated silence of hotel lobbies or conference rooms, but the kind that came with rusted screen doors and ceiling fans that creaked in rhythm with the wind. The mango tree in the center of the compound leaned like an old man, dropping fruit in lazy bursts, as if reminding everyone that abundance doesn't have to announce itself.She hadn’t meant to stop. But something—fate, fatigue, divine redirection—had nudged her there. And for the first time in months, maybe years, she stopped running.No interviews. No speeches. No expectations.Just breath.Just bare feet on warm concrete, the faint hum of insects, and the soft l
Her Billionaire Ex-Husband's Regret Chapter 60: When the Fire Comes from Within
Abeokuta greeted them not with fanfare, but with solemn grace—jagged hills, red dust curling through the air like whispered warnings, and a silence that held more than absence. It was a silence that pressed against the soul, a silence that listened. And somehow, it mirrored the ache in Sophia's chest.This was the third stop on The Fire We Share tour, and while everything on the surface followed the usual rhythm—check-ins, team meetings, outreach sessions—Sophia felt the fracture long before she could name it. The team was different. Or maybe, they had been breaking slowly, and it was only now that the cracks revealed themselves.The bus, once filled with the sound of laughter and shared dreams, had gone still. Ralia, usually the one humming to herself, her eyes alight with questions and awe, now sat near the back with her headphones on, eyes glazed and miles away. No one talked much after sessions anymore. No debates over what lines from a participant’s poem hit the hardest. No refle
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