All Chapters of Chasing The Stubborn Ex-Wife: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

The morning sun, usually a gentle balm, felt like a harsh, unwelcome glare through Evelyn’s curtains. She stirred, a wave of nausea washing over her, churning her stomach with unsettling ferocity. Her head throbbed, a dull, insistent drumbeat behind her eyes, and her limbs felt strangely heavy, leaden. She pushed herself up, a groan escaping her lips as the room spun momentarily. Just a little lightheaded, she tried to convince herself, a bad night's sleep. But she knew it was more. She managed to make her way to the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face, trying to quell the rising queasiness. Her reflection looked pale, her eyes shadowed. When she finally descended the stairs for breakfast, moving slower than usual, Hunter was already in the dining room with Grandma, a cup of steaming tea in his hand. He looked up as she entered, his gaze immediately sharpening, an almost imperceptible flicker of concern in his eyes. "Good morning, Evie," he said, his voice quiet, his usual m

The air in Grandma’s house, once thick with unspoken tension, was now imbued with a fragile, burgeoning warmth. Evelyn, despite her lingering fears, found herself gradually letting go, her rigid defenses softening with each passing day. Hunter’s quiet, consistent efforts were no longer just about seeking forgiveness; they were about a profound, unwavering commitment to making her feel truly seen, deeply loved, and utterly safe. He was not merely rebuilding trust; he was trying to mend the very fabric of their shared life, piece by painstaking piece. One morning, Evelyn awoke to a soft, tinkling melody. It was faint, barely audible, but unmistakably familiar. She pushed herself up, her heart thumping, and looked towards her nightstand. There, bathed in the gentle morning light, sat her old music box. The delicate antique, which she had found broken years ago and stored away, was now gleaming, its tiny ballerina poised. As she watched, the ballerina slowly twirled, its delicate tune fi

The afternoon sun, which had been a warm and constant presence, suddenly gave way to a bruised, grey sky. Evelyn was in the far end of the garden, lost in the quiet contemplation of a new sapling she had planted. She was so absorbed in the simple, grounding task that she didn’t notice the first heavy drops of rain. By the time the sky opened up, releasing a sudden torrent, she was too far from the porch to make it without getting soaked. A frantic dash proved futile; within seconds, the front of her clothes was plastered to her skin, her hair was slick with rain, and cold rivulets ran down her face and neck. She finally reached the shelter of the porch, breathless and shivering, a frustrated laugh escaping her lips as she stood there, dripping. She looked up. Hunter was standing in the doorway, a soft, woolen towel clutched in his hands. His expression was a familiar blend of concern and a quiet, almost heartbreaking, intensity. He didn't speak, just held her gaze for a long, heavy

The quiet stillness of Grandma’s house, once a sanctuary, now felt like the calm before a storm. Evelyn’s gradual thawing, her tentative acceptance of his presence, was both a source of immense relief and a constant, gnawing fear for Hunter. He knew that their fragile progress, her safety, her very freedom, hinged on one man: James. The legal battle, while a necessary first step, was a slow-moving beast. Hunter had to move faster, more discreetly, in the shadows where James truly operated. He spent his nights in his study, a ghost in the silent house, hunched over his laptop. The legal proceedings were moving forward, but Hunter's real work was happening on a parallel track. He was meticulously investigating James’s movements, his shell corporations, the seedy underbelly of his business empire. He knew a man like James wouldn’t simply surrender to legal pressure. He would retaliate, and his targets would be Hunter and, more importantly, Evelyn. Hunter knew he couldn’t fight this bat

The morning was one of those rare, perfect days in early autumn, where the air was crisp and cool, and the sun cast a golden glow over everything it touched. Evelyn, feeling stronger than she had in weeks, decided to take a longer walk in the garden. She felt a profound sense of peace, the result of her slow but steady physical and emotional recovery. Hunter was nowhere in sight, and the solitude was a welcome companion. She walked slowly, savoring the feeling of the soft grass beneath her slippers. The scent of damp earth and late-blooming roses filled the air. She passed the small indoor garden Hunter had made for her, a small smile touching her lips as she admired the vibrant green of the ferns. Her heart, so recently a clenched fist of resentment, was now a more open, vulnerable thing, accepting his care and the burgeoning hope it offered. As she rounded the corner of the house, a sudden, familiar wave of dizziness swept over her. It was a remnant of her recent illness, an unwel