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Chapter 68:The Letter Beneath the Ashes
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2025-07-28 22:39:17
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Her Billionaire Ex-Husband's Regret Chapter 69: The Spark That Looked Like Her
Chapter 69: The Spark That Looked Like HerThe invitation arrived in an envelope as elegant as it was haunting,embossed ivory, sealed with a crest she hadn't seen in over ten years.St. Cecilia’s Girls’ Secondary School.Sophia stared at it, the gold emblem shimmering like a memory trying to resurface. She turned it over slowly, half expecting her 14-year-old self to slip out and whisper, "Do you remember who we were?"Clara peeked at the envelope. “Looks posh. Old school?”Sophia gave a wistful nod. “Very old. Boarding school days. Starched uniforms, 5 a.m. bells, soggy socks on bunk rails…”“And unresolved trauma?”A tight smile tugged at Sophia’s lips. “Plenty of that too.”The letter invited her to deliver the keynote address for their Founders’ Day. The theme? “Becoming Your Voice.”Her first instinct was to decline.But something,perhaps curiosity, perhaps healing, or the pull of unfinished echoes made her say yes.The moment her foot touched the school grounds, memories crashed
Her Billionaire Ex-Husband's Regret Chapter 68:The Letter Beneath the Ashes
The knock came at exactly 10:07 a.m.Sophia was still in sweatpants, her laptop open beside her, half-engaged with feedback from their Benue partners when Clara’s voice floated in from the living room.“Sophia... you have a visitor.”She barely glanced up. “No interviews today, please.”“It’s not the press,” Clara replied, tone unusual.Curious, annoyed, and a little tired, Sophia got up and padded barefoot down the hallway.And stopped in her tracks.There, seated calmly on the couch, was a woman she hadn't laid eyes on in nearly a decade.Aunt Ngozi.The last time she’d seen her was at her mother’s funeral. And even then, their conversation had been stiff, cloaked in unspoken resentment and grief too heavy to carry.Sophia folded her arms instinctively. Her voice came sharp. “Aunty.”Ngozi rose slowly. The years had softened her,silver streaks lined her hair, neatly swept into a bun. Her wrapper was pressed, her poise elegant and restrained.“I didn’t come to argue,” she said, her v
Her Billionaire Ex-Husband's Regret Chapter 67; The Puppet and the Strings
The email arrived at exactly 2:13 a.m.Subject: "I Owe You the Truth."Sophia’s fingers hovered over the mouse, a tightness blooming in her chest as her eyes locked on the sender’s name,Kosi Udemba.The girl who had nearly torn everything apart.The girl who turned a righteous fire into something suspect.The girl who had lied.With breath shallow and heart heavy, Sophia clicked the message open.It was barely a few lines. I was paid.I have proof.I need to meet you. Please.Her stomach coiled.She didn’t want apologies.She didn’t want another manufactured explanation.But when you start a fire, you don’t get to choose what it illuminates or what it burns. Truth demands exposure, even when it drags you through darkness first.They met in a modest restaurant tucked away in Surulere. It was mid-afternoon. The place was quiet, low-risk. Clara and Eniola sat a few tables away, present but distant,watchful eyes and silent support.Kosi looked like a shadow of the girl from the viral vid
Her Billionaire Ex-Husband's Regret Chapter 66; The Lie that Looked like the Truth
It all began with a simple clip,barely two minutes long.A young woman, probably no more than twenty-one, seated casually in a bustling café. Soft music danced in the background as she spoke directly to the camera with the kind of honesty that cuts deeper than a blade.“They gave me a script. Told me what to say. Promised me money.I never lived in a shelter. I never survived anything.I just wanted to be part of something that mattered.But I can’t keep pretending.The Fire We Share is built on stories like mine,fabricated ones.”It was like a spark tossed into a dry forest during harmattan. One flicker of doubt, and the blaze roared to life.Twitter exploded.Instagram reels dissected every frame.Bloggers ran wild with think pieces and hot takes.WhatsApp groups buzzed with forwards, each new one more damning than the last.Then came the real storm:#FireFraud began trending and it didn’t stop.---Back in Lagos, Sophia sat frozen in the organization’s headquarters as the video lo
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
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