All Chapters of Billionaire’s Virgin Ex-Wife: Chapter 441 - Chapter 450

Did he think she wanted to be sitting on top of him? If it weren’t for that damned strand of hair, she wouldn’t touch him even if someone paid her.Ava pushed herself up at once, straightened her clothes with brisk, irritated movements, then glanced down at him. “Are you alright?” she asked quickly, tone clipped. “I didn’t hurt you when I bumped into you, did I?”As she spoke, her eyes were already searching.Where was it?She scanned his chest, the grass, the folds of his jacket—nothing. Perhaps it had fallen when she collided with him.Her heart loosened slightly.Then—The corner of her eye caught it.A short, dark strand, half-hidden beneath the edge of his collar, swaying gently with the breeze like it was mocking her.Damn it.Even the universe was conspiring against her today.Suppressing the urge to swear, Ava stepped closer again, schooling her expression into one of concern. “That’s good,” she said lightly when he murmured that he was fine. She lifted her hands and brushed at

Ava walked slowly along the fourth-floor corridor, her footsteps muted by the thick carpet beneath her shoes. The hallway seemed unusually long tonight, stretching ahead like a quiet trial she had already accepted but could not avoid.At the very end lay the terrace.The hanging garden there was dimly lit, its main lights switched off. Only small decorative lamps glimmered among the shrubs and flowering vines, casting soft halos of light that gave the place a dreamlike, almost deceptive tranquillity. Leaves stirred gently in the evening breeze, brushing against one another with a faint, whispering sound.She followed the narrow stone path between the flowerbeds until she saw him.Alexander stood beneath a tall mimosa tree, one hand tucked into his trouser pocket, the other holding a wine glass. His head was tilted slightly upwards, eyes fixed on the night sky as if searching for something that refused to answer him. Moonlight filtered through the leaves above, dappling his shoulders an

Back in her room, Ava moved with swift, practised efficiency.She opened her suitcase and didn’t hesitate—documents, wallet, phone, keys. Everything essential went straight into a backpack. She slung it over her shoulders, then crossed the room and went into Marcello’s bedroom.From the wardrobe, she grabbed the first suitable outfit she saw—jumper, trousers, trainers—stuffed them into the bag, then gently lifted the quilt.Marcello stirred faintly as she wrapped him in it, his small body warm and pliant against her chest. He didn’t wake. He trusted her far too much for that.Cradling him securely, Ava turned and left the room, her steps light but purposeful as she descended the stairs.The mansion was hushed, steeped in the deep stillness of night. The servants were asleep; only the guards remained at their posts by the entrance.As soon as she appeared with the child in her arms, one of the bodyguards stepped forward, concern flickering across his face.“Miss Vega?”Ava didn’t slow.

The bedroom was dark, save for the faint amber glow leaking in from the streetlamp outside the window. The curtains stirred slightly with the draft from the radiator, and shadows danced across the ceiling like slow-moving clouds.Marcello lay on his back, one arm tucked beneath his head, staring at the faint outline of the wardrobe. He did not move. He did not fidget. He did not toss and turn like children were supposed to when sleep evaded them.He was thinking.“Mmm…” he murmured softly to himself, lips barely parting. “Alexander…”The name rolled off his tongue without reverence or fear—only contemplation.“I’ve already done my part,” he continued in a whisper so low it barely disturbed the air. “I helped you keep Mummy here.”He paused, brow creasing slightly, expression uncharacteristically solemn for a child his age.“If you still can’t find her,” he went on, a faint frown tugging at his lips, “then you’re just too dumb…”The word came out blunt, clipped, borrowed from overheard

The following morning, the small kitchen was filled with the faint smell of butter and coffee, sunlight filtering through the thin curtains and falling across the narrow dining table.Ava, however, was in no mood to appreciate any of it.She sat stiffly at the table, fork in hand, viciously hacking her fried egg into uneven fragments as if it had personally offended her. The yolk had long since surrendered, smeared across the plate in a golden mess, yet she continued to chop at it with grim determination, her jaw tight, her brows drawn together.Across from her, Marcello ate with his usual discipline—small bites, proper posture, wiping his mouth with a napkin after every few mouthfuls. He observed her plate for a moment, then lifted his gaze to her face.“Mummy,” he said calmly, after swallowing, “who upset you?”Ava stopped mid-stab.She glanced at him, then promptly skewered a particularly mangled piece of egg and shoved it into her mouth, chewing with far more enthusiasm than the s