All Chapters of Divorced My CEO Husband, He Came Begging: Chapter 211 - Chapter 220

AlexThe car still smelled faintly of Maya's perfume from this morning. That was the stupid thing I kept fixating on while driving—this lingering jasmine scent that reminded me of her naked against the shower wall, my fingers inside her, the way she'd come with her forehead pressed against the tile. All while pretending now that we were just business associates or whatever the fuck we were. The ghost of her moans hanging between us while actual conversation remained impossible.I flexed my fingers on the steering wheel, too tight then too loose, a nervous habit I thought I'd beaten years ago. Maya sat beside me, tapping at her phone, the blue light making her skin look alien. Checking for messages from Troy, most likely. Still nothing, judging by the way she kept swiping, reopening the same apps like something might magically appear."Still nothing from Troy?" I asked, already knowing the answer. Sometimes I asked questions just to feel like I was doing something. Anything.Maya shook

FionaThe morning air tasted like freedom, or at least what I imagined freedom should taste like. Sharp, clean, nothing like the recycled institutional air I'd been breathing for weeks. I leaned against Harrison's car—some beat-up sedan that looked like it had seen better decades—and watched the facility's entrance like I was waiting for Christmas morning.Harrison sat behind the wheel, window down, one arm draped casually over the door. He'd been chain-smoking since we got here twenty minutes ago, dropping butts on the asphalt like he owned the place."You're gonna wear a hole in that concrete," he said, not looking at me. "Pacing like a caged animal.""I'm not pacing." But I was. Had been since we pulled up. Back and forth, three steps each direction, my heels clicking against the pavement in a nervous rhythm I couldn't seem to stop."Sure you're not." He took another drag, exhaled slowly. "When's the last time you ate anything?"I ignored the question. The last thing I wanted was H

MayaThe elevator in Troy's building was one of those ancient cage contraptions that wheezed and groaned like it was personally offended by our presence. The four of us barely fit, and I found myself pressed against the back wall, breathing in a nauseating cocktail of someone's leftover curry and industrial cleaner that made my empty stomach lurch."He's probably just sleeping it off," Olivia said for the third time, but there was something brittle in her voice now. Like she was trying to convince herself as much as the rest of us.Sarah shifted beside me, and I caught her eyeing the building's questionable aesthetic choices with that polite judgment she'd perfected during her years in Parisian galleries. Alex checked his phone again—when had I started noticing every small gesture he made?—and the soft glow of the screen high

MayaI pressed my forehead against the car window, watching Manhattan blur past like a watercolor someone had spilled. The glass was cool against my skin, grounding me in something physical while everything else felt like it was dissolving.Alex's cologne mixed with the leather seats, creating that specific smell I'd started associating with safety. Now it just made me want to crack the window and breathe something that didn't remind me of before. Before Troy. Before those words that kept replaying in my head like a broken record.Princess Maya with her tragic backstory.Behind me, I could feel Olivia and Sarah doing that thing where they communicated entirely through meaningful looks and tiny gestures. The weight of their concern pressed against my shoulders like hands I didn't want there.Alex kept fucking with the radio. Volume up. Volume down. NPR to some pop station to classical to silence and back again. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel in a rhythm that didn't matc

MayaMy phone had become the enemy.It sat on the kitchen counter, lighting up every few minutes like some needy pet demanding attention. Alex's name flashed across the screen—twice before I'd even finished my first cup of coffee, then again while I was staring at the wall pretending to think about breakfast.I let it ring.The coffee maker gurgled, that familiar morning sound that used to signal the start of productivity. Now it was just noise. Honest noise, at least. The machine wanted nothing from me except water and grounds. No hidden agendas. No fake concern. Just hot liquid caffeine, which was about all the relationship I could handle.Another buzz. Olivia this time, with a text I glimpsed before swiping away: