All Chapters of RUTHLESS BILLIONAIRE EX-HUSBAND CHASED ME BACK: Chapter 141 - Chapter 150

The next move had to be bold. Bigger than town meetings and quiet confessions.We called Marcus, the journalist I’d once avoided.“I want to go public,” I told him. “All of it. With your help.”He didn’t hesitate. “Let’s burn it down.”The article went live on a Tuesday.“Power Broker: The Land, the Lies, and the Woman Behind the Curtain.” Marcus didn’t hold back—Camille’s voice, the recordings, the deals, the betrayal of Belmont’s trust. And it wasn’t just her. Jeff’s name was there too, threaded carefully through the article like a cautionary tale: a man who let ambition blind him. A man who almost became her.The town exploded.By noon, protesters gathered outside City Hall. Social media surged with calls for Camille’s arrest and demands for Belmont’s land trust to be audited. People who once turned their backs on me now reposted my quotes from the article. Strangers reached out. Survivors. Whistleblowers. Even donors.But as the dust cleared, something lingered beneath the adrenal

June brought a kind of stillness that wasn’t silence.It was the kind of stillness that came after a storm, when the trees were stripped bare and the air tasted clean. No more secrets thickening the air. No more knives behind smiling teeth.The world didn’t feel fixed. It just felt like mine again.I moved through my mornings with a steadiness I hadn’t known before. No rush. No haunting emails. No donors demanding meetings over power breakfasts. I drank coffee on my porch while the sun climbed the sky, listening to birds argue in the branches.Some days, I didn’t speak until noon.And for the first time in years, I didn’t feel behind.When the news broke about the Panama extradition, I was alone in the garden.Letty texted me first:"Jeff’s name is on the docket. He’s really doing it."I didn’t know how to feel.Proud? Wary? Moved?All I knew was that I sat down in the grass and cried. Not because I missed him. Not because I wanted him back.But because for once, the world tilted in a

It had been three weeks since the mural’s vandalism, and while the public support hadn’t wavered, Camille had gone quiet—too quiet. The kind of silence that buzzed with strategy.“I think she’s planning something bigger,” Rosa said, not looking up from her tablet as we sat in our shared workspace. “She’s waiting for you to drop your guard.”“She can wait forever,” I muttered. “I’m not backing down.”But even as I said it, the tension in my chest coiled tighter. I hadn’t slept through the night in days. Every knock at the door made me flinch. Every unread email felt like a ticking time bomb.Then the time bomb went off.Subject: Official Gallery Notice – Exhibit CancellationFrom: events@EverlightArtsCenter.orgDear Ms. Perez,We regret to inform you that due to recent legal complications regarding the provenance of your work, the upcoming "Tide & Truth" exhibition has been indefinitely postponed.We hope the matter is resolved quickly and appreciate your understanding.My ears rang.T

Grief had a strange texture—something like silk soaked in oil. It slithered over your skin, too soft to scream at, too slick to hold. That's what I felt in the days after Camille stormed into our lives like a hurricane and declared war with a folded piece of paper.A paper that claimed Jeff was the father of her unborn child.I still couldn’t say it out loud.Couldn’t even fully look at Jeff, not the same way. Not without seeing Camille’s smirk burned into the back of my eyes.We were living in the same house again, but it felt like a museum of silence. He stayed on the west side in the master suite, and I took up refuge in the glass room I once called my studio. Rosa brought me food. I left my plates clean and my words untouched.Jeff tried knocking once.I didn’t open the door.A week later, Rosa came in while I was lying on the cold tiles, staring at the high ceiling. My sketchpad was blank. The charcoal in my hand hadn’t moved in hours.“She’s gone,” Rosa said gently.I didn’t ans

It had been two weeks since Camille vanished from our lives again—this time, not with a bang, but a whimper wrapped in paperwork.The paternity test? Fabricated. The supposed pregnancy? A lie, backed by a desperate woman and a shady private clinic she’d paid to fake the results. She disappeared once the fraud was uncovered, likely to avoid the legal storm that was chasing her down in three countries.I should’ve felt relief.But what I felt instead was hollow.Not because I doubted Jeff’s innocence anymore—but because trust, once cracked, never settles back in quite the same way.We were trying. Slowly. Carefully. Rebuilding what Camille tried to burn down.Jeff cooked more. I read aloud at night. We’d gone on long walks near the bluff where the wind couldn’t hear our doubts.And we’d even booked that vacation. Two weeks in Southern Italy. No phones. No news. Just the Mediterranean and enough white wine to forget everything that had come before.But as fate would have it—peace didn’t