All Chapters of Chasing The Stubborn Ex-Wife: Chapter 121 - Chapter 130

Evelyn’s phone vibrated just as she stepped into the elevator, her hands full of folders, coffee, and the crisp scent of early morning office air. She glimpsed Sophia’s name flashing on the screen. For a moment, guilt flickered—Sophia’s desperate messages always came laced with the old ache from their childhood—but it passed swiftly, replaced by a hard certainty. No. I can’t do this. I can’t get dragged under again.This wasn’t the first apology, or the first plea. Every time, Sophia promised to change, promised that this time the crisis was different. But Evelyn had learned: the holes in Sophia’s life were too deep for one person to fill, and each rescue ended in the same anguish, the same public humiliation—like last week, in the restaurant, with all eyes burning into her as she slapped her own sister in a desperate bid to be heard.She silenced the phone, shuffled her folders, and watched her own face in the elevator doors. The reflection stared back, pale but determined, mouth pre

James leaned into the thick, cigar-stained leather of his study chair, the weight of his empire collapsing in on him like the dust of old bricks. The day’s numbers sprawled across the screen—red, red, relentless—all hope bleeding out. In the deepening twilight, he nursed a trembling glass of whiskey, pulse pounding at his temples.He dialed hastily. “Senator Raines. It’s James.”“James. Didn’t expect to hear from you.” The senator’s voice was cool, practiced. It had the boom of command, but it vibrated now with caution.“I need a face-to-face. Tonight. Discretion, as always.” James’s voice was hoarse but carried desperation.A pause. “That’s highly irregular.”“I want my permits on the Riverside project expedited. Quietly. I’ll make it worth your while. I’ll double your usual fee.”More silence. “Come to my office in an hour. And James,” the politician added, “come alone.”When Raines hung up, James sat slumped in the half-light, sweat beading on his brow. He shut his eyes, picturing

The sun was still bright, painting the sky in gentle gold as Evelyn made her way up the cracked path to grandmother's house. The garden was wild with late spring flowers—iris, peonies, ragged roses climbing the old white trellis. She paused at the foot of the stairs to smooth her skirt, arrange her thoughts, and then let herself up onto the porch, drawn by the sound of laughter drifting out through a half-open window.She didn’t expect Hunter to have arrived before her. Yet, there he was, standing at the threshold with a paper-wrapped bouquet in each large hand, grinning sheepishly as Grandma clapped her hands in delight.“Oh, you dear boy!” Grandma said, delighted by the unexpected treat. She crinkled her nose, laughing, as she sniffed the peonies and daisies he’d brought for her. “Just look at these, Evie! When’s the last time you saw a young man with such manners?”Evelyn’s guard, which had been bristling ever since Hunter started showing up again, slipped just a little at the sigh

The tension had followed her from the living room, trailing behind like the faint scent of Sophia’s tears and desperation.Hunter broke the silence first, his tone light, trying to be gentle. "So," he said, running a thumb across the edge of the book, "I guess you’re really going to do it. Help her out again."Evelyn looked at him sidelong. Hunter’s face was calm, but there was wariness in his eyes. He wasn’t the kind to explode. He wore his concerns like a steady, slow-filling glass of water—never spilling, but heavy all the same."I have to," Evelyn said, her voice barely above a whisper. "She’s sick, Hunter. And she’s pregnant. She’s got nobody.”Hunter sighed, closing his eyes for a moment, then sat up straighter against the headboard. "I get that," he said. “I really do. But, Ev... how many times are you going to let her pull you under? Last time, wasn’t it the same? She cried, you paid for her rent, her cell phone, the detox that didn’t last—"Evelyn interrupted, more sharply th

James sat in the back of his sleek black car, the city lights strobing across his cold features as he thumbed through messages on his phone. Each keystroke carried intention, every carefully crafted rumor another stone in the avalanche he planned for Hunter’s empire. It had taken weeks to line up the lies, to grease the right palms, to orchestrate the perfect social media campaign and plant the whispers in boardrooms he knew well. Tonight, the work would bear fruit.He transferred a final payment, encryption bouncing between shadowy bank accounts. With a flick of a smile, James sent the last message: an anonymous tip to a financial journalist notorious for salivating over corporate scandals. Hunter would never see it coming.---At first, the news coverage was a trickle—a murmur of suspicion, a couple of unimpressive headlines tucked at the back of finance pages. But within days, it surged. “Fraud Allegations at Blackwood Holdings.” “Senior Executive Implicated in Tax Evasion Scheme.”