All Chapters of The One He Let Go: Chapter 161 - Chapter 170

Kate’s POVI shoved my hands into my coat pockets, fingers searching for anything, loose bills, forgotten cash, anything. Nothing. Just fifty damn bucks. My throat tightened as I stared at the crumpled bill in my palm. It wasn’t enough. Not enough for a cab, not enough to get me across town, not enough to drag myself out of this humiliation. I turned my phone over in my hands, staring at Marcus’s last text again, as if it willl disappear and something positive will appear, but the message stared back at me. The words sent a fresh wave of nausea through me. This is getting real….Marcus was gone and he had taken everything. And I was stranded outside this damn prison with only fifty bucks and my pride, which was quickly slipping through my fingers. I shifted on my feet, ignoring the ache in my legs from standing for nearly an hour. I had expected him to be here. Expected something. But all I got were the stares. The murmurs started quietly at first, low whispers passing through

Kate’s POVThe streets blurred around me, but I kept moving. I could still fix this. The business partners? They were mere thugs. They only cared about power and money. If I could just get my hands on some cash, I’d be valuable to them again. I just needed to borrow some money. And I knew exactly who to call. Fraya. She had always been there for me. Right now, she was the only one I could turn to. Fraya was one of my closest friends, standing here now, she was my last hope. I dug out my phone, hands shaking, and dialed her number. The phone rang once. Twice. Then went to voicemail. I clenched my jaw. I called again, straight to voicemail. What the hell? I tried again. This time, the phone rang longer before a sharp click echoed in my ear. A voice. Her tone was clipped, impatient. “Kate.” Relief flooded me. “Oh, thank God. Fraya, I need…..” “What do you want?” I faltered. “I—I need to meet you. It’s important.” Silence. Then a slow, irritated sigh. “Kate, I’m busy.”

Kate’s POV The moment I saw that car outside the diner, my stomach dropped. Sleek black Audi. The same luxury model I had paid for, Marcus’s car. He was here. My fingers clenched around the edge of my tray. My heart pounded so hard it drowned out the chatter of the diner. Finally, I found him. For weeks, I had been looking. Calling disconnected numbers, asking people who only sneered at me. Now, he was right outside, sitting behind the wheel of the car I bought him like nothing had happened. I almost ran out right then and there. Almost. But this wasn’t the place. Not yet. Not where he could just speed off and leave me humiliated in the middle of the street. I needed to do this right, to catch him in a way he couldn’t escape. So, I waited. I held my breath as the driver’s side door opened. And then she stepped out. A woman, tall, stunning. Dressed in an expensive, body-hugging dress that screamed money.My money. The way she moved, the confidence in her stride, the way Marc

Kelly I was heading home from a late meeting at the office when I first noticed her. The city’s glow blurred in the rain, turning sidewalks into reflective mirrors. But there, amid the indifferent bustle of people hurrying to escape the downpour, I saw a familiar figure. A figure I’d hoped to forget. Kate. She was slumped against a cold brick wall, her once-pristine designer coat now threadbare and stained. Her hair, once styled with care, was a tangled mess, damp with rain and sweat. I slowed down, a knot of conflicting emotions tightening my chest. I knew I shouldn’t care. I had moved on, free from the toxic memories that Kate represented. But as I drew closer, the sight of her brought an unexpected mix of bitterness and a strange kind of pity.A small group of passersby were clustered nearby. I overheard snippets of conversation: “Is that… isn’t that Kate Brook?” “Look at her, she’s a mess.” “Well deserved.”Their words, harsh and unsympathetic, stung even though I trie

KellyI barely made it to the sink before my stomach twisted violently. Gripping the edges of the cool porcelain, I gasped as another wave of nausea hit me. I coughed, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, and squeezed my eyes shut. Not again. For the past few days, something had felt… off. It wasn’t just the exhaustion, though that had been bad enough. It was the way my stomach rebelled every morning, how certain smells made me gag, how even the scent of my favorite perfume suddenly disgusted me. My hands shook as I reached for the glass of water on the counter. I took a sip, wincing as the taste sat heavy on my tongue. This couldn’t be happening. Could it? A cold dread settled in my chest as my mind drifted to a single possibility, one I didn’t even want to consider. But the signs were there. The nausea, the fatigue, the way coffee, something I normally craved, made my stomach turn. My breath caught in my throat. No. It had to be stress. I had been a rough week, ru