All Chapters of Billionaire’s Virgin Ex-Wife: Chapter 451 - Chapter 460

Finn’s efficiency lived up to its reputation.By the following afternoon, he had already traced the location of Marcello’s phone call.The black business van was parked discreetly along the curb, its windows lightly tinted. Across the street stood a mid-sized residential complex—brick façade, modest balconies, laundry fluttering faintly in the breeze. It was neither luxurious nor rundown. Ordinary. Anonymous. Exactly the sort of place Ava would choose.“This is it,” Finn said, stepping out of the car and pointing across the street.Alexander lowered the window slightly. “Which building?”Finn hesitated, then sighed faintly. “That… I can’t say with certainty, sir. The call was made through an extension line. We can only trace the main switchboard address. Most of the flats here use internal extensions, so it’s impossible to determine the precise floor or unit.”He straightened, professionalism intact. “However, I can deploy people immediately. We can conduct a door-to-door search. We’l

With her hands clasped neatly behind her back, Ava lifted the corners of her lips into a professional, measured smile.“Mr. Vanderbilt,” she said coolly, “shall we begin?”One look at her expression was enough to tell Alexander exactly what she was plotting.Instead of responding verbally, he raised a hand and began unfastening the buttons of his suit jacket.Ava’s eyebrow twitched.Was he seriously planning to strip right in front of her?She folded her arms across her chest, unimpressed. “The changing room is behind you. To your right.”Alexander glanced in the indicated direction, then back at her, lips curving lazily. “I don’t mind.”“I do,” Ava replied flatly. “I’ve no interest in watching other people undress.”Unbothered, he slipped off his jacket and draped it over the back of the sofa with deliberate care. As he loosened his cuffs, he stepped closer, the faint scent of clean soap and something distinctly masculine following him.Hooking a finger around his tie, he tilted his

For two days, Ava waited for the other shoe to drop.She had half-expected Alexander to appear at the club again—leaning against a doorway, issuing impossible demands, smirking as though the world were a chessboard built for his amusement.But he didn’t come.That evening, he didn’t return.The next day, he was absent as well.No messages. No sudden “VIP sessions.” No calculated ambushes.It unsettled her more than persistence would have.By dusk on the third day, she made her way to Marcello’s school as usual. The sky was brushed with lavender and gold, streetlamps flickering to life one by one. Parents clustered near the gates, their voices blending into a gentle hum of domestic routine.And then she saw him.Finn Huntley stood just beyond the iron gates, tall and composed, one hand lightly holding Marcello’s. His suit was immaculate as always, his expression courteous but unreadable.Marcello spotted her first. “Mummy!”Ava’s steps slowed.Finn inclined his head politely. “Good even

“Cello!”Ava’s voice carried across the terrace, crisp and controlled, though there was still the faintest warmth lingering from the evening’s festivities.She approached the table where father and son sat conspiratorially close.“The cake is finished,” she said, adjusting the strap of her handbag over her shoulder. “We should be heading home.”Rehearsal for the day had concluded. The lighting crew were dismantling equipment. The city skyline beyond the terrace had deepened into indigo, scattered with glittering office windows and the slow pulse of traffic below.Marcello placed a hand on his stomach and made a dramatic face.“Mummy… I’m starving.”Ava raised an eyebrow. “You’ve just had cake.”“That was dessert,” he said solemnly. “It doesn’t count.”Before she could retort, Alexander had already risen.In one fluid movement, he bent down and scooped Marcello into his arms as though it were the most natural thing in the world.“Uncle Vanderbilt’s taking you out for dinner,” he announ

Saturday arrived with the quiet confidence of an occasion that had been discussed for weeks and yet still managed to feel faintly unreal.By nine o’clock that morning, the terrace of Hawthorne Court Hotel had transformed into something between a fashion atelier and a very elegant playground. Racks of miniature garments stood in careful rows beneath white canopies; technicians adjusted lighting rigs with the seriousness of men preparing for theatre; assistants hurried past with clipboards, headsets, and expressions suggesting the fate of civilisation depended upon the correct positioning of a spotlight.Ava arrived precisely on time.Marcello walked beside her with a composure that might have impressed a minor duke. His small blazer sat perfectly upon his shoulders, his hair neatly brushed, his gaze forward and steady.If one ignored the faint tightening of his fingers around hers.“Ready?” she asked lightly.He nodded.They parted at the edge of the runway, where the other child models