All Chapters of My Billionaire Ex's Biggest Regret: Chapter 121 - Chapter 130

The first thin drops of rain began to fall again. Kelz moved like a shadow through the darkness, his boots slipping on damp tiles, his mind a tangle of agony and calculation.Men like him did not have that luxury, so he was not supposed to be afraid. He couldn't get the image of Darcy's face out of his head—just so quiet, emotionless, frigid words that were heard more menacingly than a bullet to the brain. You fail me once, Kelz… you'll wish the cops had found you first.And Kelz had failed. Sean Harris was still breathing.He wiped the rain from his face and stayed low as he and Slize crawled over the roofline of the Washington block. Below, sirens wove through the night like restless ghosts. The cops were closing the net, every alley, every stairwell.Kelz's breath steamed in the chill. His shoulder throbbed from where he'd slammed into a railing earlier, but he didn't stop. He couldn't. Darcy's punishment wasn't just death-it was disgrace, erasure. Once Darcy blacklisted you, no on

Kelvin stood in the small corridor and felt his stomach turn with every shot. The muffled sound of automatic gunfire shook the ceiling. He leaned against the wall, breathing through his mouth and still tasting copper. The only sound was coming from above, and everyone's attention was on the building.He went up the stairs carefully, feeling his way along the banister. Every shot seemed to reverberate inside his mind. The street door was at the bottom of the stairs, dimly lit by the orange glow of the city outside. He paused before it.Kelvin struck a match. The brief light showed cracked wallpaper and a filthy hall stool. Now he heard the sirens, closer, circling. Police were close. He opened the door and stepped into the refreshing night after snuffing out the match.A flurry of lights and shouting filled the pedestrian street. Police officers escorted bystanders out of the blocked block. Gunfire could still be heard from Sean's building. He turned up his collar, hunching his shoulde

The dog moved with strange, deliberate purpose—head low, tail stiff—as it crossed the living room. It stopped in front of the door leading into the kitchen and began scratching the wood, whining in a thin, anxious thread of sound.Sandra's scream tore through the room.“Get it out! Please—get it out of here!”Darcy flinched at the outright panic lacing her voice. “Sandra, what's wrong with you?”Kelvin felt the hair rise along his arms. Her fear wasn't theatrical; it was primal.Already, Jack was moving. In two strides he reached the door, twisted the handle, and flung it open; the dog shot inside like a bullet.Kelvin couldn't see into the kitchen from where he was standing, but he heard Jack's breath catch—just once, sharp. The dog had stopped moving. Its nails clicked on tile. Then a soft whimper.Kelvin looked over at Jack, and Jack gave him a quick glance. Kelvin knew what it meant: Move.He pushed off the wall and crossed to the hall door, planting his back against it, blocking

The knock came just after sunset—soft, almost apologetic, yet steady enough to pull Lilian away from the thoughts she’d been trying to outrun since morning.She stood stock-still in the hallway.No one knocked this way in her world.Chris pounded.His assistants buzzed her phone.In came his mother.But this—this was tenderness.And in her experience, gentleness always came bearing risk.Lilian opened the door an inch.Jack Macon stood there.It was more subdued than that, yet his build filled the doorway. He did not need to manipulate the situation at hand. He sized it up and watched, then remained in a holding pattern, only moving forward when requested.He was standing in the corner of a paper bag and protruding from his chocolate croissant this evening."Good evening, Lilian," he muttered, "you haven't answered your phone yet."I thought I would stop by.She let out a heavy breath, not realizing it. "Wasn't expecting anyone."Jack peered into her face with the kind, unassuming eye

Chris despised the sound of his own heartbeat. Too loud, too erratic, too telling.It made a fistlike arch behind his chest tonight, like he was wrestling with something.He sat in the dark living room and noticed that one bulb cast a sickly yellow light across some of the scattered files. On one torn envelope lying on the table was Lilian's name, inscribed with so much tenderness and innocence unlike the chaos now seeping into his brain.He was staring into the envelope, his eyes wide like a man famished.But he did not touch it.Not yet.A soft knock sounded on his door.Three taps.MeasuredPremeditated.Chris froze. Then forced himself up, wiping his damp palms on his jeans. When he opened the door, Rita leaned against the frame, dressed in a simple black blouse, her hair pulled into a low knot.She gave him a smile-soft, sympathetic, practiced.The kind that could disarm even men quicker-witted than himself.“Chris,” she murmured. “I heard what happened at the lab today. You were