All Chapters of Chasing His Ex-wife Back : Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

I insisted on meeting Mr. Abbas somewhere neutral. My house felt too exposed, too fragile — like one more secret waiting to be cracked open. His home, on the other hand, was drenched in shadows I had no intention of walking through again. So we settled on a quiet hotel lounge on the outskirts of Chicago’s business district — discreet enough for powerful men to trade lies behind smiles, and far enough from downtown that familiar eyes wouldn’t linger.The drive there was suffocatingly silent. Liam sat in the passenger seat beside me, his jaw locked tight, knuckles bone-white around his phone. Every few minutes, he’d glance my way — not saying anything, but the question hung heavy in the air between us: Are you sure about this?I didn’t answer. I just tightened my grip on the steering wheel, feeling it tremble faintly beneath my palms. It had been years since I’d driven myself anywhere — years since I’d trusted my own hands to take me where I needed to go. But today, I needed the control

The night stretched endless, a heavy, unbroken stretch of darkness that refused to let me breathe.Sleep had been a cruel stranger. I’d drifted in and out of shallow, jagged dozes, each one ending in a start, my heart pounding at sounds that weren’t there—Kent’s laugh, Kent’s cry, Kent calling for me from somewhere I couldn’t reach. By the time the first faint threads of dawn leaked through the curtains, I felt brittle, scraped hollow. My body was a knot of tension; my throat burned as though I’d been swallowing stones all night.The staircase creaked beneath my weight as I descended, each step heavier than the last, dragging me down as if the house itself was trying to keep me from moving.The smell of coffee reached me before anything else—rich, dark, bitter. Normally it was a comfort, a small anchor in the chaos of my mornings. Today it only made my stomach twist.Liam was already there.He stood at the counter with his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, his tie loosened, moving wi

Evelyn’s POVThe corridor was a battlefield.Not with guns or bombs, but with the relentless pounding of my heart and the ghosts that had been resurrected before my very eyes.Sebastian Rodgers.Even under the harsh fluorescent lights, even pale and unconscious on that stretcher, he was unmistakable. The sharp lines of his jaw, the slope of his brow, the mouth I once swore could destroy me and save me in the same breath.And just like that, all the air was sucked out of the sterile hallway.The scent of antiseptic clawed at my throat. Somewhere down the hall, a monitor beeped in an endless rhythm, steady and cruel. I couldn’t move. My back pressed against the wall, the cool paint biting through the thin fabric of my blouse as my nails carved half-moons into my palms. They wheeled him past—white sheets, pale skin, the faint, rhythmic sway of his arm against the rails—and the world narrowed to that single moment.My world was Kent in that room. My son. My baby. His fragile breathing, hi

The morning sun spilled through the curtains, scattering gold across the living room. Streamers crisscrossed the walls, balloons bobbed in clusters near the corners, and the faint scent of chocolate cake drifted from the kitchen.It was the first time the house had felt alive in weeks.Kent sat propped up on the couch, still pale but smiling faintly, his eyes glowing brighter than they had since the hospital. A soft blanket was tucked around him, his small frame dwarfed by the cushions. Rolland crouched in front of him, holding up two different sets of ribbons like they were sacred artifacts.“Blue or gold? You pick, Kent. It’s your birthday.”Kent blinked at the ribbons, his lips twitching in the smallest of smiles. His hand—still weak, trembling slightly—lifted and pointed toward the blue.“Blue it is!” Rolland announced triumphantly, puffing out his chest like a hero who had just won a great battle.Anastasia clapped her hands, the sound light and sweet, and skipped to Muna’s side

The silence stretched for a heartbeat too long, heavy and fragile all at once. The air felt thick, as if even the walls were holding their breath, waiting for someone to move first. Evelyn looked away, pretending to busy herself with clearing crumbs from the table, anything to avoid the familiarity in his voice.Anastasia didn’t notice the tension; she was already onto the next box, dragging it toward Sebastian with both hands. “This one’s from Rolland!” she announced proudly.Sebastian’s eyes flickered toward his eldest son. “Is it?” His tone was light, but his voice trembled at the edges.Rolland gave a stiff nod, refusing to meet his father’s gaze. “I—I made it,” he muttered, his fingers twisting the edge of his shirt.Sebastian swallowed hard. “Then I’m honored.” He opened the box carefully, as if afraid to damage whatever lay inside. When he pulled out a small wooden airplane—roughly carved, uneven but full of care—his breath hitched. He turned it over in his hands, tracing the g