Semua Bab My billionaire ex-husband wants me back: Bab 51 - Bab 60

Scarlet sat curled in the corner of Peter’s living room couch, a blanket draped over her legs. Her fingers trembled slightly as she nursed a mug of tea, eyes darting to Peter as he paced the room.She looked up. “Do you regret helping me?”He turned to her, his jaw tight. “No. But I regret ever working for that monster in the first place. Don Marco—he never lets anything go.”Scarlet’s expression dimmed. “Do you think he’ll find us?”A loud bang echoed through the house.Peter spun fast and Scarlet flinched.Another bang came. A door slammed open. And footsteps were heard.Peter’s blood ran cold.“No,” he breathed. “Not here.”Before he could reach Scarlet, the front door burst open with a thunderous crack. Three armed men in black flooded the room—faces half-covered, weapons drawn.“GET DOWN!” one barked.Peter lunged, throwing a chair in their path. “RUN, SCARLET!”But it was too late. One of them caught her by the arm and yanked her to the floor. Peter fought like a beast—raw, desp

The police station was quiet for once — unnervingly so.Scarlet sat beside Lucas, her hands fidgeting in her lap while her grandfather, Mr. Trump, spoke urgently to the senior officer on duty.“We are here to report a kidnapping. Two people — my granddaughter, Scarlet, and a young man named Peter — were taken earlier tonight by men working under Don Marco.”The officer raised an eyebrow. “Don Marco… as in the Don Marco?”Mr. Trump’s expression hardened. “Yes. And if the police still have any teeth left, I suggest you use them.”The officer gave a tight nod and walked off.Minutes passed. Scarlet’s leg bounced anxiously under the desk.Then, the officer returned. “We just received a report from Memorial General Hospital. A man was brought in about an hour ago with a gunshot wound — critical condition. The caller said the story didn’t sit right. The man was dumped at the emergency wing and claimed to have been injured in a robbery… but refused to give details.”Scarlet bolted upright. “

The fifth day dawned heavy with unspoken storms. Outside Memorial General Hospital, clouds loomed low, matching the dread that pulsed in Peter’s chest.He had woken early, the room quiet save for the low hum of machines and Scarlet’s even breathing from the small couch across from his bed.He shifted slowly, pain tightening across his torso, but he welcomed it. At least it reminded him he was alive.That’s when he heard it.Voices. Muffled at first, but growing louder from the hallway.A nurse’s voice tried to interrupt them, but failed.Peter froze.He knew one of those voices — Racheal.The other? Husky. Cold. Intimidating.Don Marco.---> “You had no right to keep them from me, Racheal!” Marco hissed.> “I did what I had to,” she snapped back. “You were dangerous. You are dangerous. I had just given birth and you were drowning in crime, in blood!”> “You stole my sons!”> “I ran because I had no choice. You beat a man to death with your bare hands the week I gave birth, Marco! Ho

Five days laterPeter sat on the edge of the hospital bed, dressed in black slacks and a simple shirt, the bruises fading but not gone. His ribs were still sore, but the doctor had given him the green light to leave. The discharge papers had been signed.Scarlet stood by the window, holding his jacket.“You ready?” she asked softly.Peter looked around the hospital room — a place that had held pain, confrontation, and too many truths. “I can't wait to leave this place..”As they walked through the hospital corridor side by side, the weight of recent days hung over them like a shadow. But for the first time, there was also peace — fragile, maybe, but real.Outside, Peter's car was waiting. Scarlet smiled gently at Peter before helping him in. “Home,” Scarlet whispered as she climbed in beside him. “We’re finally going home.”---The living room was warm and quiet. The air smelled like jasmine and coffee.Peter sank into the couch with a sigh, his arm around Scarlet. The news was pla

The soft patter of rain ticked gently against the windows of Peter’s apartment as he stood by the kitchen counter, nursing a lukewarm mug of coffee he’d barely touched. The silence in the room wrapped itself around him like a familiar weight—one he’d grown used to. One he sometimes preferred.Until he heard the knock.He knew who it was even before he opened the door.Scarlet.She stood there, hair slightly damp from the drizzle, eyes scanning his face as if searching for answers he hadn’t yet voiced.“I brought soup,” she said simply, lifting a small paper bag in her hand. “And... an excuse to see you.”Peter gave a tired half-smile and stepped aside. “You never need an excuse.”She stepped in, brushing droplets from her coat as he closed the door behind her.The apartment was warm, but not particularly bright. Muted lighting, gray skies outside, the flicker of a candle on the coffee table. It suited him—this quiet kind of loneliness. Scarlet placed the bag on the kitchen counter and