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CHAPTER 81
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2025-07-20 00:09:19
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WANTING MY BILLIONAIRE EX-WIFE CHAPTER 81
The soft hum of the jet engines faded into silence as the private plane taxied into its hangar outside Charles de Gaulle Airport. The sky over Paris was silver with early morning fog, the kind that made every surface glint like it had been polished by memory.Ximena stepped off the plane wearing a dark trench coat, a sleek black scarf wrapped around her neck, and oversized sunglasses despite the grey light. Her blonde hair was knotted in a low, precise twist.No security escort.No PR team.Only Rafael stood by the waiting car, holding a tablet, his expression unreadable.“Four hours until final rehearsal,” he said as he opened the door for her. “The room’s already humming.”She nodded and slid into the back seat without a word.They didn’t speak much during the drive. The city unfolded around them—quiet, elegant, unaware of the storm she was about to walk into.Not a scandal.Not revenge.Just fashion.And the truth sewn into every inch of silk and thread.⸻**Grand Auditorium, Paris
WANTING MY BILLIONAIRE EX-WIFE CHAPTER 80
Paris was unusually quiet that morning.The rain had passed in the night, leaving the streets glossy with light. The marble steps of Hôtel de Verger were swept, the doors polished, the staff in place as cars rolled up one by one.It was the semi-annual **European Fashion Syndicate Luncheon**, a tradition reserved for top designers, board members, legacy houses, and a few rising power players. A place where trends weren’t just discussed — they were decided.Santiago Cortez stepped out of his black sedan and adjusted the lapels of his tailored jacket. He wore charcoal with muted gold pinstripes — subtle wealth, effortless command.Or so he thought.As he entered the gilded foyer, a few heads turned.But not in admiration.Not anymore.A quiet pause fell over the crowd before polite conversation resumed. He noticed it immediately. No greetings. No champagne tray offered. Not even a hostess at the coat check desk addressed him directly.He was used to rooms shifting when he walked in.Thi
WANTING MY BILLIONAIRE EX-WIFE CHAPTER 79
The morning Paris skyline shimmered through soft rain.Inside a 19th-century legal building near the 2nd arrondissement, Santiago Cortez adjusted his cufflinks and paced the polished marble lobby of his legal advisor’s firm. He hadn’t slept, and his jaw ached from clenching all night.His lawyer, Étienne Fabreau, sat across from him at a long walnut table, reviewing the freshly printed petition that would decide the next 48 hours.“Are you certain about this, Mr. Cortez?” Étienne asked carefully. “Filing a claim this late—less than 48 hours before the run—raises flags. Even from you.”“I’m not asking for advice, Étienne. I’m asking for submission.”Santiago’s voice was flat. His hands, however, betrayed him—tapping lightly against the table’s edge, knuckles white.Étienne sighed and sealed the file folder.“Very well.”Inside was an urgent legal request: an **emergency injunction** to **block Antonio Fashion’s scheduled capsule presentation**, claiming the title *EXPOSURE – RECLAIMED*
WANTING MY BILLIONAIRE EX-WIFE CHAPTER 78
The sound of the fax machine in Santiago Cortez’s Rome office was the only thing making noise that morning.No espresso cups clinking. No stylists gossiping by the elevator. Not even Lucien was pacing in and out with updates. Just paper sliding through the feeder like the quiet beginning of a storm.Santiago stared at his reflection in the darkened glass wall, still in his shirt sleeves, his blazer thrown over the couch.He hadn’t slept much.Lucien entered quietly, holding a silver folder.“I’ve compiled the investor responses,” he said.Santiago didn’t turn.“Read them.”Lucien hesitated. “Germany—on hold. Austria—paused. Denmark—cancelled.”Santiago finally turned, expression unreadable. “All citing IP review?”Lucien nodded once. “They’re waiting for clarification from DRC Europe. Apparently, the metadata files you denied under oath… have now been mirrored across three open-source archives.”Santiago walked over to the desk and opened his laptop.The front page of *ModenTrend Conf
WANTING MY BILLIONAIRE EX-WIFE CHAPTER 77
The silence in Santiago Cortez’s Rome penthouse was unusual.No glass clinking. No rapid-fire Italian echoing down hallways. No new mood boards were scattered across the conference table.Just stillness. And one man walking the length of the living room, barefoot, thinking.He was pacing.Which meant he was cornered.Lucien stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, arms crossed, watching the city fall into dusk.“She hasn’t said anything publicly,” he offered.Santiago paused mid-step. “That’s what worries me.”He picked up his phone again—his third time in fifteen minutes—and stared at the unsent message sitting in his drafts folder.**“Ximena. The industry is watching. We should speak. Not as rivals—but as visionaries. The world would pay anything to see us collaborate. Let’s talk.”**It sounded diplomatic. Reasonable. Humble.It made his skin crawl.Lucien said nothing.“Do you think she’d agree?” Santiago asked, not quite looking at him.Lucien adjusted his collar. “If she wants expos
WANTING MY BILLIONAIRE EX-WIFE CHAPTER 76
It was almost noon when Rosa Navarro made her final mistake.She didn’t know it yet. That’s how most downfalls start—not with a scream, but with the quiet arrogance of someone who thinks they’ve gotten away with it.The hallway outside the administrative wing was unusually quiet. Most of the senior staff were at a sustainability panel, and the floor felt slower than usual—doors cracked open, office lights dim, printers humming in the distance.Rosa carried a slim silver USB in her pocket.It wasn’t the original bait Ximena had handed her days ago.This one was a **second clone**—a private backup she’d created from the USB Marco had rigged. She thought she was being clever, thought that if she modified a few of the sketches, removed the embedded ghost stitch, and cleaned the metadata, she could eliminate any forensic link between the exposure capsule and the Antonio archives.She was wrong.She entered her shared workroom with calm precision, turned on her terminal, and inserted the US
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