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CHAPTER 227

Penulis: CagalieYula
last update Terakhir Diperbarui: 2025-07-23 15:03:24

Behind her, Lina stirs in her glass cage, her neon hair flickering like a dying light. The others—the names from Jeff’s map—float in their coffins, their chests rising and falling in perfect sync.

A network.

A system.

A protocol.

I look down at my hands. They’re shaking.

"Then what am I?"

The original exhales, almost pitying. "A backup."

Jeff’s between us before I can process the word, his knife drawn, his body taut with fury. "Enough. Whatever this is, you’re not walking out of here."

The original laughs. "Neither are you."

She snaps her fingers.

The garden screams.

The roses whip into a frenzy, their thorns elongating into razor wire. The coffins shudder, the black-gold vines surging like serpents toward us.

Eva yanks Jeff back as a vine lashes at his throat. "They’re tied to her!" she shouts. "The original—she’s the anchor!"

I don’t think.

I move.

The knife sinks into the original’s stomach before she can react.

Or maybe she lets me.

Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t bleed. She j
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  • RUTHLESS BILLIONAIRE EX-HUSBAND CHASED ME BACK   CHAPTER 345

    The logic-drone pie was a high watermark in our strange, beautiful collaboration. Jeff’s culinary interpretations were becoming less like engineering schematics and more like… art. Edible, often bizarre, but deeply felt art. The garden thrived. The Grand Curator (“Vanilla,” as Lina now called him to his face) visited more often, bringing not just ingredients, but a quiet, fascinated joy in watching the process.We’d settled into a golden age of pure, purposeless creation. Our only audience was each other, and a man who spoke in pastry from beyond the story.Which is why the new signal was so jarring.It wasn't a broadcast, or a visitor, or a psychic scream. It was a dropped call.A single, fragmented image, flickering at the edge of my perception like a dying ember: a familiar face, etched in lines of deep exhaustion, streaked with what looked like grease and… was that glitter? It was Lyra. But not the serene, luminous guide. This Lyra looked harried, frantic, and she was mouthing a s

  • RUTHLESS BILLIONAIRE EX-HUSBAND CHASED ME BACK   CHAPTER 344

    The "Good Ingredient" pie marked a turning point. We weren't just baking anymore; we were curating a cross-dimensional, trans-temporal culinary exchange. The Grand Curator, whom Lina had nicknamed "Vanilla Bean" (to his flustered but secretly pleased chagrin), became a semi-regular visitor. He’d arrive with a new treasure—a pinch of radiant saffron from a photonic civilization’s last harvest, a jar of salt harvested from the tears of a reconciled tragedy planet. Each ingredient came with a quiet, data-rich story, which Kael would archive and Jeff would somehow…seasoninto his next creation.Our garden clearing now boasted a proper outdoor kitchen, courtesy of Kael’s engineering. A stone counter, a rain-collection cistern that doubled as a coolant for failed experiments, and an oven whose heat

  • RUTHLESS BILLIONAIRE EX-HUSBAND CHASED ME BACK   CHAPTER 343

    The Great Garden Bake-Off became our secret, sacred project. The universe spun its epics, the Audience consumed its react streams (now hosted by a surprisingly charismatic collective of sentient moss we’d left in charge), and the Silence remained eternally baffled by its tax forms. But our true work was measured in crust flakiness and berry sweetness.We’d established a routine. Mornings were for foraging and theory.“The problem,”Lina declared, staring at a diagram of gluten chains she’d etched in the dirt,“is structural integrity versus tenderness. Dad’s treating the crust like a load-bearing wall. It needs to be a… a flavorful curtain.”“A curtain that holds boiling fruit,”Kael pointed out, us

  • RUTHLESS BILLIONAIRE EX-HUSBAND CHASED ME BACK   CHAPTER 342

    The peace of the garden was a deep, living thing. It wasn't the static quiet of victory or the hushed tension before a storm. It was the rustle of leaves, the gurgle of the stream, the softsnickof Kael’s shears as he meticulously shaped a topiary that was, for reasons known only to him, beginning to look suspiciously like a schematic for a non-invasive irrigation pump. We had fallen into a rhythm of pure, un-curated being. We gardened, we talked, we napped in the dappled light. The immense, sprawling narrative of the universe felt like a distant rumor.It was during one of these naps, curled on a sun-warmed stone with the scent of damp earth in my nose, that the dream came.Not a vision from Lina. Not a psychic broadcast. A simple, human dream.I was in a kitchen. Not the galley of theAstrophe

  • RUTHLESS BILLIONAIRE EX-HUSBAND CHASED ME BACK   CHAPTER 341

    The profound, bureaucratic silence that followed our victory was its own kind of noise. The Silence—now capitalized, a proper noun trapped in an endless audit of the Narrative 10-K Form—was contained. The First Library’s shields could lower. The avant-garde Subtlists, having served their purpose, drifted into obscurity, leaving behind a few very confused art critics and a lot of beige canvas.We returned to our react studio. The Couch (the null sphere) pulsed a warm, welcoming frequency, happy to have its commentators back. Ratings had dipped in our absence, but a marathon of our “Greatest Missed Metaphors” compilation had held the Audience over.It should have felt like a return to normal. But normal had been recalibrated. We’d just fought a war with paperwork. The universe felt… thicker. More layered with absurdity.

  • RUTHLESS BILLIONAIRE EX-HUSBAND CHASED ME BACK   CHAPTER 340

    The silence in the First Library’s council spire was heavier than any void. Elara’s words hung in the air:It appreciates. It learns. It completes.The Silence wasn't a villain; it was the universe’s ultimate, most attentive fan. And its admiration was a quiet apocalypse.Lina was pacing, a streak of agitated light.“An algorithm that appreciates art to death. Perfect. So we can’t fight it with bad art, or confusing art, or even boring art. It’ll just file them under ‘interesting failures’ and move on.”“It seeks narrative closure,”I said, thinking aloud. Jeff’s story-hoop hummed in my mind, a reminder of something open-ended, perpetually under construction.“Perfect understanding is just another form of ending. To be fully known is to have nothing left to sa

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