Semua Bab Chasing My Innocent Ex-wife Back: Bab 91 - Bab 100

FLORENCE’S POVWe stood in silence for a few seconds, waiting. Rosa leaned in and gently pressed her ear to the door like she’d done this kind of thing before.“Anything?” I whispered, my voice barely above a breath.She held her position for another beat, then pulled back. “Nope. Seems like it’s empty.”I let out a small sigh. “Okay, maybe—”“Florence?”I nearly screamed. I spun around with my whole body, stumbling back a step. My heart jumped straight into my throat.A guy with tousled curls and splattered paint on his sweatshirt stood a few feet away, carrying a canvas under one arm. His expression lit up when he saw me.“Ian,” I blurted out, instantly recognizing him.He grinned. “Wow, you remember me!”Of course I remembered him. We’d met on that yacht I was checking out for the Eternity-Amora event a few months back. He was one of the hopeful photographers trying to land a commission. He’d given me his card, a sheepish smile, and a surprisingly good portfolio. I’d meant to rea

FLORENCE’S POVEmily stared at the wine glass in her hand like she couldn’t remember how it got there.The room had quieted now. We’d coaxed her into eating something—a small plate of pasta and a few forkfuls of salad—and poured her half a glass of red. She hadn’t said much. She wasn’t crying anymore, but the silence around her wasn’t peace. It was a void.We sat around the little dining table in her suite, lit only by the dim overhead light and the soft glow from the city outside the windows. Rosa sat beside Emily, one protective hand resting lightly on her forearm. Rosa hadn’t even met Emily before this night, but had practically adopted her by that point. I was on her other side. Across from us, Raiden had flipped open his tablet and was already in fix-it mode.“I suggest we start with the basics,” Raiden said calmly, tapping through his notes. “Natalie, you’ll need to call the police. File a formal report. The earlier we do it, the better. Even if it doesn’t lead to anything imme

FLORENCE’S POVRaiden didn’t say a word as he led me away from the group, down a gravel path that wound through the vineyard toward a quieter patch of garden closer to the house. It was all rose bushes and old stone walls and creeping vines, and for a brief moment, I felt like we’d stumbled into someone’s private love story.The air here was still, sacred almost, as if even the bees buzzing near the blossoms knew to keep it down.“Raiden?” I asked gently. “What’s going on?”He stopped walking but didn’t turn around just yet. I watched his shoulders rise, then fall with a long exhale.“I don’t like the way Chris was flirting with you,” he said finally, his voice low and calm. “He’s got that whole harmless charm thing going, but I see through it. And I didn’t love watching you laugh at his jokes.”My brows lifted slightly. “You dragged me into a secret garden because you were jealous?”“Not just jealous,” he said, finally turning to face me. His eyes searched mine with quiet intensity.

FLORENCE’S POVOur last few days in Paris went surprisingly smoothly.It was as if all the drama had cracked open the sky, and now the sun could finally shine through. We stopped walking on eggshells, stopped checking over our shoulders. For the first time in weeks, I felt like I could breathe.And with that breathing space came something quieter. Sweeter.Raiden and I stopped working, or thinking, or strategizing. We just… existed together.One morning, he took me to a flower market tucked into a sleepy corner of Rue Cler, where stalls overflowed with peonies and sunflowers and wild sprigs of lavender bundled in newspaper. We walked slowly, fingers brushing but never fully entwining, like we were suspended in the space between a first kiss and forever.Another day, he surprised me with a day trip outside the city. Just two hours from Paris was this sleepy, golden-drenched village called Vézelay, where the streets were cobbled and wine was poured like water. We had lunch at a tiny c

MASON’S POVThe jet ride home was quiet.Too quiet, considering the war I knew I was flying into.The luxury didn’t register. I didn’t taste the wine, didn’t hear the engines. I sat there staring out the window, watching clouds smear against the sky like brushstrokes on glass.I’d agreed to move back into my parents’ estate—not because I wanted to, but because returning to the mansion I once shared with Florence felt like walking back into a coffin. At least at the estate, there were people to blame. Walls I hadn’t painted. Silence I hadn’t created.Control was easier to tolerate than grief.A black car pulled up to the jet before it even fully powered down. No welcome committee. Just a driver and two security guys.Subtle. Functional. Meant to say: You’re back. You’re needed. Don’t ask questions.I didn’t.***The estate looked exactly the same. That was the worst part.Immaculate hedges, polished floors, servants who still wouldn’t meet your eye.As soon as I stepped out of the car,