บททั้งหมดของ Ex-husband’s Regret: Revenge So Sweet : บทที่ 251 - บทที่ 260

Isabel’s POVI shove the door open with all the strength I have left. Heat smacks into me like a wall, thick and punishing. I stumble forward, coughing hard as smoke coils through the air—dense, choking, alive. It bleeds into everything, curling like black veins through the room, swallowing the walls, the ceiling, the floor beneath my feet. I can barely see.My chest tightens. Every breath feels like I’m inhaling fire.I reach for my pocket, for my phone—only to realize it’s not there. My gaze darts behind me. I must’ve dropped it in the room back there. A small, rectangular lifeline now lost in the chaos. My heart thunders. I hesitate, caught between going back and forging ahead. Seconds stretch. Going back could kill me. Staying here could too.I cough again, harder this time. I raise my arm and press the inside of my elbow over my nose, trying to shield myself. It barely helps. The smoke is everywhere—so thick, so fast. I stumble forward, my body trembling as I find my way to the

Cynthia’s POVI stand by the tall window, arms folded, imagining the smoke still lingering in the air. In my mind, the fire is fresh, the chaos still burning. A smug smile tugs at my lips. For once, everything feels still. Like victory.But the moment shatters.The door bursts open, slamming against the wall with a sharp crack. I don’t flinch. I don’t have to turn to know who it is. I can feel her presence before she speaks. My mother.Her heels scrape against the floor as she storms in. Her dress, a dark satin that fits her like armor, sways around her ankles. Her lips are drawn tight, her eyes blazing with disbelief.“Don’t tell me you had a hand in the fire burn that took place today,” she says, her voice rushed, breathless, but biting.I don’t respond.My silence stretches like a taut wire, humming with unsaid truths. I can see it in her eyes—the way they narrow, the way her shoulders stiffen. My lack of denial says more than words ever could.She exhales sharply, a sound that tea

Isabel’s POVMy gaze drifts to the door just as it creaks open again, and Mom walks in slowly, her footsteps quieter than usual. She left just minutes ago, practically rushed out of here after taking a call. But the woman stepping back in now looks… different. There’s a heaviness in the way her shoulders slump, a shadow swimming in her eyes, like her thoughts are still far away, tethered to something she hasn’t said yet.She closes the door behind her gently, as if afraid that even the sound might break whatever thin thread she’s holding onto. I watch her closely, and our eyes lock. Her mouth forms a faint smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Something’s wrong. I can feel it.“Is anything the problem, Mom?” I ask softly, my voice steady despite the way my chest tightens.She nods before she even answers, like the truth slipped out faster than she intended. “No… nothing’s wrong, dear,” she says, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’m just… thinking about everything.”Her eyes shift to t

Alexander’s POVThe walk to the car is quiet, the tension around us stretched thin. As soon as we reach the vehicle, I speak.“I’ll drive myself,” I say, already tired of being handled like a glass.Sabrina stops short. “What?”I open the door without answering. “You can ride in the other car,” I tell her, voice flat. “I need to make a stop.”She crosses her arms. “You’re not well enough to be driving. Whatever it is, it can wait.”I scoff under my breath, barely holding back the smirk that threatens. Of course she’d say that. Of course she’d think she knows best. She always wants things her way. But not this time. Not anymore.The driver stands by, hesitant. I move toward him, hold out my hand. He looks at me, startled, like he’s unsure whether he should obey.“The key,” I say firmly.After a second of pause, he places the key in my palm, confusion etched across his face. I grip it tightly, turning toward the driver’s seat.“And don’t follow me,” I add without looking back.I can hea

Isabel’s POVChristine follows me into the car without asking. I don’t question it either. Maybe she sensed I wouldn’t be able to go alone. The ride to the hospital is quiet. Heavy. Like the weight in my chest has crawled into the silence between us.Inside, the cold fluorescent light of the hospital lobby stings my eyes. I walk to the reception desk, ask for Alexander King, and the nurse, without glancing up, points down the corridor to the east wing.“Room 307. Straight down, last on the right.”I nod, murmuring a thank you, and start moving. Each step echoes in the white-tiled hallway. My palms feel clammy. Christine’s soft footsteps trail just behind mine, steady and quiet like a shadow.I stop outside his door. His name—Alexander King—is printed in bold black letters on a small tag mounted beside the room. I take a breath, deep and shaky. Through the small glass panel in the door, I see him.He’s alive.His head is wrapped in a bandage, his arm too. He’s half-dressed, struggling