Semua Bab Chasing My Innocent Ex-wife Back: Bab 111 - Bab 120

FLORENCE’S POVIn the strange silence Raiden left behind, it wasn’t the absence that confused me most.It was the way Mason kept quietly stepping in to fill it.After the paint-hurling chaos at Ormela, Mason insisted—absolutely insisted—on setting up a private security detail for me.I fought him. I told him it was overkill. That I didn’t need a guard breathing down my neck.But deep down, I was tired of pretending I wasn’t shaken.And Mason—he didn’t argue. He just said, “You don’t have to notice them. Just let them notice you.”So I agreed.And that’s when the odd things started happening.Small things.First, there was a client meeting I’d been dreading for days.It was supposed to be a two-hour drive out to a remote industrial park—forty minutes of traffic, endless highway, no coffee shops in sight.I had already arranged for a taxi to take me back and forth, and downloaded podcasts to help me survive the trip. But then, like magic, the morning of the meeting, an email arrived:“

FLORENCE’S POVI could’ve asked Mason to drop me off.But the thought of him insisting on coming upstairs—to see Annalise in whatever broken state she was in—made my chest squeeze painfully.Some things were too raw. Too messy.Too sacred to share.So instead, I called a taxi and sped through the sleepy streets, my mind a blur of worst-case scenarios.The city around me looked different at night—less like a machine, more like a painting.A painting about loneliness.I pressed my forehead to the cold window, counting the streetlights until the hospital pulled into view.Inside, the corridors smelled like disinfectant and exhaustion.I found Annalise’s room number easily, tucked into a quiet corner of the maternity ward.When I pushed the door open, it felt like the world tilted sideways.Annalise was curled up on the bed in a paper-thin hospital gown, her shoulders shaking violently, hands clutching the coarse blanket like it was a lifeline.Tears streamed down her face, real and raw a

RAIDEN’S POVIt was no secret in the Black household that my father preferred to dictate every corner of my life.Where I worked. How I dressed. The places I vacationed. Even—and especially—whom I dated.The moment he learned I’d been in Paris with Florence, he made arrangements. A sleek black car waited on the tarmac the second my jet touched ground. I’d barely had time to adjust my cufflinks before I was whisked straight into the lion’s den.His study was dark, lined with imposing oak shelves filled with medals and military memorabilia—tokens from a lifetime of rigid discipline. My father stood, hands clasped behind his back, facing away from me, a calculated distance between us.“A divorcee,” he spat the word as if it burned his tongue. “And I hear she initiated it. A gold digger then. Tell me, Raiden, exactly how much did she milk from the Whitehills?”Heat rose up my neck. My hands clenched at my sides, but I forced a respectful steadiness into my voice. “It's not like that…sir.

JADE’S POV“What the hell is going on?” Daniel’s voice sliced through the speaker like a dagger. “Are you lazy, or just stupid?”I rolled my eyes and filed the corner of my nail smooth, watching the glint of the skyline flicker through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse. “These things take time,” I murmured, taking a sip of my wine, keeping my voice smooth, unbothered. “Can you relax?”“You said three weeks, Jade. It’s been months. And you have been worse than useless.”I set the nail file down and sat up straighter, wine glass held delicately between two fingers. “Daniel, darling, have a little faith—”“No,” he snapped. “Faith is for losers. And right now, you’re costing me more than you’re worth.”My stomach twisted. “What are you saying?”“I’m saying you have a week. Get me something real. Something incriminating. Or I cut you off. You can rot in that glass tower or crawl into a cardboard box. I won’t care either way.”I stood, pacing barefoot across marble floors, the c

RAIDEN’S POVThere were a thousand things I wanted to tell Florence.And not a single one I could.I couldn’t call her. Couldn’t text her. Couldn’t look her in the eyes and say, “Hey, your mother might be marrying my father, so… technically, we could become siblings.”Even thinking it made my stomach turn.What kind of sick joke was the universe playing?Joy Hart. That woman—charming, elegant, always speaking like she was starring in her own private soap opera. I had always found her strange. A little too poised, too polished. But now… now she was going to be a part of my family?No. I couldn’t let Florence get dragged into this mess. She deserved distance from it. From him.But before I could make sense of what to do, I had to understand what my father was doing. Did he actually love Joy? Or was this a business play? Was there something about Joy or her company that he needed? Was this another one of his strategic power moves dressed in personal clothing?I had no answers. Just a g