All Chapters of After Divorce: Ex-wife Never Turns Back: Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

Barrett’s POVThe afternoon light filtered in through the tall windows of Emily’s restaurant, casting a soft golden hue across the crisp white tablecloth and delicately arranged tea set before me. I leaned back slightly in my chair, cigar long extinguished, the aroma of fresh herbs and warm fruit filling the air. Emily moved with the grace of a dancer, placing platters of vibrant foods before Tom and me, her smile glowing with sincerity and quiet confidence. It was a different kind of strength than I was used to — not forged in boardrooms or battles, but grown in the soft, persistent soil of daily intention and care. A strength you could eat, I thought, marveling at the spread before us.“I wanted to do something special,” she said as she settled into the chair across from me. “This is part of something I’ve been dreaming up — a lifestyle brand built around nutrition, mindfulness, and family. Something real. I’ve spent so long building something for myself, and now… I want to build so

Emily’s POVThe house was silent, that comforting kind of quiet that settles just before twilight. I had dimmed the lights in the kitchen and lit the candles I kept tucked away for special occasions, letting them cast soft, flickering shadows across the table. The scent of roasted garlic, sun-dried tomatoes, and fresh basil danced through the air, blending with the heady sweetness of the vanilla candle near the door. Damian had texted me an hour ago to say he was finally headed home after a brutal day at the hospital. I could almost hear the exhaustion in his message.He had been working late all week, dealing with a string of emergency surgeries and difficult patients. I had seen it in the shadows under his eyes and the way his voice sometimes trailed off mid-thought. I hated seeing him that way. So tonight, I decided, was just for him.The table was set with our mismatched plates and the fancy cloth napkins we never used. A bottle of Chianti stood like a soldier at attention beside

Barrett’s POVThe next morning, I sat in my leather recliner, nursing a secund cup of black coffee, and staring out over the manicured estate. Thoughts of the approaching date churned in my mind, and I found myself… restless. Seventy. The big seven-zero. The number itself tasted both bitter and regal on my tongue. I had not planned to celebrate, not publicly anyway. But as the morning wore on, I began to feel something stir in my chest. A small fire. A whisper of sentimentality. Perhaps, I thought, a modest gathering with those closest to me would not be entirely foolish.I reached for the landline beside me, its polished brass and ivory buttons still more satisfying than any of these cursed smartphones. I dialed Charles’ office number and waited.“Father,” Charles answered, his voice clipped, professional. Always the executive, even for me.“I hope I’m not interrupting your hostile takeover of a rival firm,” I said, smirking to myself.“You’re lucky I find your sarcasm charming, Fath

Charlotte’s POVThe rain had turned to mist by the time I arrived, a fine silver veil that clung to my coat like static. I pushed open the door of the bar and stepped inside, the warmth immediately enveloping me in a comforting, spicy mix of clove-scented candles, citrus, and whatever simmered in the kitchen. It was quieter than I expected. Jazz music hummed softly in the background, the low hum of conversation weaving through clinking glasses and the occasional laugh. This wasn’t some loud, chaotic dive or a pretentious speakeasy pretending to have charm. It was effortless. Like Emily.I slipped off my coat and slid into a booth in the corner, the plush velvet seat hugging me with a quiet familiarity. I ordered a glass of wine I didn’t really want. I hadn’t come here for drinks. I hadn’t come here for ambiance. I had come for answers.She fascinated me. That was the only word for it. Emily had taken up space in my thoughts lately, a slow-burning curiosity that I couldn’t seem to shak

Nathan’s POVI moved to a quieter corner of the bar and pulled up my computer. I needed to catalog my clips before the light changed. As I clicked through stills and video snippets, she showed up again and again. One shot was practically a close-up—her brow furrowed as she listened to the bartender, her lips barely parted like she was on the verge of some revealing statement. It was like she had been placed there deliberately, woven into the frame by fate rather than accident.Curious, I asked the bartender when she walked by, “Hey, do you know who that woman is? The one in the cream coat?”The bartender smiled brightly, a bit too brightly. “Oh, her? I think she’s a journalist. Said she was working on a piece for some food magazine. Real polite. Asked all the right questions.”I arched a brow. “Really? Which magazine?”The bartender shrugged. “Didn’t say. You know how these people are. Always sniffing around for the next trend.”My gut told me she was sniffing for something else.Stil