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26. I Will Never Come Back To You
Last Updated:
2025-06-09 23:26:38
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The Billionaire's Ex-wife Never Looks Back 31. The Never Ending Obsession
Five Years Later Marcus’s Point of ViewThe Chicago sunrise spilled through the massive windows of my penthouse bedroom, its golden rays glinting off the polished oak floor, mocking the storm raging inside me. I stood before the full-length mirror, adjusting my silk tie with precise, angry tugs, my reflection a mask of control that barely concealed the chaos beneath. My navy suit was immaculate, tailored to perfection, but my eyes—bloodshot from sleepless nights and five years of relentless pursuit—betrayed me. “I hope you’re here to tell me you’re giving me back my CEO position at Carter’s Wine, Dad,” I said, my voice sharp, laced with a defiance I didn’t fully feel. Joshua Carter’s presence in my room this early meant trouble, and I braced for his lecture.“Not so fast, son,” Joshua replied, settling into a leather armchair nearby, his posture as polished as ever despite the silver strands creeping into his dark hair. My father, the patriarch of the Carter family, was a titan in b
The Billionaire's Ex-wife Never Looks Back 30. Hope
Ella’s Point of ViewThe Parisian twilight cast a gentle veil over the city, the Eiffel Tower’s silhouette a quiet sentinel against the deepening sky, its lights flickering like a distant promise I couldn’t quite grasp. I stood on the narrow balcony of my hotel room, the evening breeze cool against my skin, my hand resting softly on my stomach, where my child—a secret I guarded fiercely—stirred within me. My blonde hair, cropped short to maintain my guise as Clara Rossi, danced under a loose scarf, a remnant of my desperate flight from Venice. I murmured, “We’re okay now, little one,” but the words felt fragile, a whisper against the truth that haunted me. A man like Marcus, with his vast resources and unrelenting drive, ensured I’d never truly be free.I gripped the balcony’s iron railing, my gaze lost in the tower’s glow, its elegance a stark contrast to the ache in my chest. Was this my fate—always running, always hiding, a shadow of the woman I’d been? The thought was a quiet wou
The Billionaire's Ex-wife Never Looks Back 29. The Taste of Defeat
Marcus’s Point of ViewThe Venetian night was a cruel tease, its canals shimmering under the moon like a mirror of my failure. I stood at the edge of a deserted calle in Cannaregio, my breath ragged, my navy coat damp with mist as I scanned the shadows for her—Ella, my wife, who’d slipped through my fingers just hours ago. Her shove, her desperate flight into the alleys, had been a gut punch, her defiance a fire I hadn’t anticipated. I’d been so close, her arm in my grip, her tear-streaked face inches from mine, but she’d outmaneuvered me, vanishing into Venice’s labyrinth. My men had scoured the city, their boots pounding every bridge and piazza, but she was gone, a ghost I couldn’t catch. I wouldn’t stop, though. She was mine, and I’d tear the world apart to bring her home.That night bled into days, a relentless hunt that consumed me. I barely slept, my eyes burning as I coordinated with Rico, my lead bounty hunter, and his team, their reports a litany of dead ends. We checked ev
The Billionaire's Ex-wife Never Looks Back 28. Who Can I Trust?
Ella’s Point of ViewThe tunnel’s damp chill seeped into my bones as I huddled in the small canoe, the canal’s gentle ripples a deceptive lullaby against the tension coiling inside me. Hours had passed since Emerson—my father, the man I’d spent a decade despising—had pulled me from the bridge, saving me from Marcus’s grasp. The sounds of Marcus and his men had faded, their heavy footsteps and furious shouts no longer echoing over the Venetian night, but I couldn’t shake the fear that he was still out there, his hunters scouring every alley for me. I sat at the canoe’s far end, my knees drawn to my chest, my blonde hair—cropped as Clara Rossi—tucked under a scarf, my eyes avoiding Emerson’s. The silence between us was thick, broken only by the soft creak of his oars as he rowed, guiding us through the shadowed waterways.Venice’s beauty was a cruel irony now, its canals glinting under the faint moonlight, the old palazzos looming like silent witnesses to my escape. My hand rested on
The Billionaire's Ex-wife Never Looks Back 27. Unexpected Help
Ella’s Point of ViewThe Venetian escape was a frantic blur, my boots slapping against the slick cobblestones as I wove through Cannaregio’s labyrinth of alleys, the old buildings pressing in like silent conspirators. The night air was sharp and damp, the canals glinting under scattered lamplight, their reflections fractured like my fleeting hope. Marcus’s roar—“Ella!”—echoed behind me, his heavy footsteps and those of his men pounding closer, a relentless hunt I knew I couldn’t outrun forever. My lungs burned, tears streaming down my face, my blonde hair—cropped to my neck as Clara Rossi—sticking to my sweat-soaked scarf. My pregnancy’s nausea was a dull ache beneath the adrenaline, but I pushed on, driven by one truth: Marcus would never stop. I needed a miracle to escape his grasp.I darted into a narrow calle, its walls slick with moss, the canal’s edge a perilous drop to my right. Marcus’s voice grew louder, his men fanning out, their shouts bouncing off the ancient facades. I
The Billionaire's Ex-wife Never Looks Back 26. I Will Never Come Back To You
Ella’s Point of ViewThe Venetian night draped the city in a heavy cloak, its canals glinting like liquid silver under the sparse glow of streetlamps, their reflections wavering like my fragile resolve. I stood in my cramped room at the Locanda Serenissima, my pulse racing as I zipped my backpack, its contents a lifeline—cash, a burner phone, a few clothes, and the antiemetics from yesterday’s pharmacy scare. My escape was planned: a boat to the Santa Lucia train station, then a midnight train to Paris, where I could vanish, rebuild a life for me and my unborn child, far from Marcus’s grasp. The stress of hiding in Cannaregio, the nausea of my secret pregnancy, and the terror of Marcus’s $10,000 reward had pushed me to breaking, but I was ready. Paris was my salvation, a city vast enough to erase Clara Rossi.I tucked my blonde, neck-length hair under a scarf, sunglasses stowed in my coat pocket, and scanned the room one last time. The bed was made, the shutters closed, the air tinge
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