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CHAPTER 82
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2025-07-21 19:58:56
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WANTING MY BILLIONAIRE EX-WIFE CHAPTER 83
The restaurant was quiet, bathed in a golden glow from chandelier lights and floor-length candles. Sleek waiters moved gracefully between white-clothed tables, and soft jazz floated in the air like perfume. It was the kind of place where every movement was deliberate—every glance, calculated.Miguel Ricardo walked in with shoulders squared, his face unreadable beneath the sharp lines of his tailored charcoal suit. His assistant had scheduled this dinner a week ago and insisted—repeatedly—that it was important.He didn’t care for such meetings. Especially not the kind that came with shareholder strings attached.Vanessa Lugo sat near the window, already sipping from a tall glass of something pale and sparkling. Her black gown shimmered faintly under the light, but nothing was dramatic about her demeanour. She looked up when she saw him and smiled—easy, casual.“No security?” she teased as he approached. “I expected bodyguards.”Miguel gave her a brief smirk as he pulled out his chair.
WANTING MY BILLIONAIRE EX-WIFE CHAPTER 82
The morning sun filtered through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of Ricardo Enterprises, bathing the boardroom hallway in a golden hue. Inside his office, Miguel adjusted the cufflinks on his charcoal-grey suit jacket, his expression already etched with irritation.Carlos, his assistant, stepped in, holding a sleek black folder and Miguel’s phone.“Morning, sir,” Carlos said crisply. “Today’s schedule.”Miguel barely looked up. “Hit me.”Carlos flipped the folder open. “You have a shareholders’ strategy meeting at nine. Then the press follow-up regarding the Paris delegation findings at eleven. And at noon…” he hesitated, “…a dinner engagement with Miss Vanessa Lugo—daughter of one of our key shareholders, Mr. Iker Lugo.”Miguel looked up, his brow tightening. “What dinner?”Carlos cleared his throat. “It was arranged last week. Her father insisted on it being added to your calendar. He claims it’s a… relationship-building opportunity.”Miguel rolled his eyes, walking over to the e
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
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