Semua Bab Her Billionaire Ex-Husband's Regret: Bab 61 - Bab 69

Chapter 61: Rest, Rain, and a Stranger’s MemorySomewhere beyond the blistered highways and the constant murmur of expectations, there lay a pocket of stillness. A town with no name on most maps, where time stretched out its limbs and exhaled. It was here, on the cusp of nowhere, that Sophia Grant finally laid her armor down.The guesthouse was quiet—achingly so. Not the curated silence of hotel lobbies or conference rooms, but the kind that came with rusted screen doors and ceiling fans that creaked in rhythm with the wind. The mango tree in the center of the compound leaned like an old man, dropping fruit in lazy bursts, as if reminding everyone that abundance doesn't have to announce itself.She hadn’t meant to stop. But something—fate, fatigue, divine redirection—had nudged her there. And for the first time in months, maybe years, she stopped running.No interviews. No speeches. No expectations.Just breath.Just bare feet on warm concrete, the faint hum of insects, and the soft l

Chapter 63: The Flames That Watch You BurnLagos didn’t whisper. It howled. It clawed at your skin with humidity, beat against your chest with traffic horns, and drenched you in light so unforgiving it peeled back every layer you thought you could hide behind. It didn’t welcome you. It demanded you survive it. And if you were lucky, maybe, just maybe, it might acknowledge your name.Sophia had been warned, again and again—“Lagos doesn’t just test you, it devours you.” But warnings meant nothing until you were standing in the center of it, blinking through camera flashes and feeling your pulse rattle beneath your skin. By the fifth stop on The Fire We Share tour, she was no stranger to pressure. But this… this was a different kind of heat. This was the fire that asked not if you were strong—but if you were true.The first press conference began in a hotel carved out of another world—glass, gold, marble polished like ice. Luxury screamed from the walls while reporters filed in with ques

Chapter 65: The Fire or the FrameUyo shimmered in hues of green and gold.Palm trees stretched heavenward beside stately government buildings, and bursts of bougainvillea tumbled over white fences like laughter desperate to be heard. The scent of fresh rain still lingered in the breeze, earthy and honest. The whole city felt like an open palm—welcoming with one hand, commanding with the other.Sophia hadn’t expected to find herself standing at a crossroads.She thought Uyo would be like Jos—still, sacred, an emotional breather.But by the second day, it was clear:This city didn’t offer rest.It demanded a choice.The event took place at the state women’s development auditorium—a wide, echoing hall brimming with power and presence. Officials, educators, rural girls, and even dignitaries from neighboring states filled the seats. This was no ordinary retreat. It was a movement amplified.Sophia stepped into the spotlight.The lights warmed her face.The room buzzed.She spoke not with

The email arrived at exactly 2:13 a.m.Subject: "I Owe You the Truth."Sophia’s fingers hovered over the mouse, a tightness blooming in her chest as her eyes locked on the sender’s name,Kosi Udemba.The girl who had nearly torn everything apart.The girl who turned a righteous fire into something suspect.The girl who had lied.With breath shallow and heart heavy, Sophia clicked the message open.It was barely a few lines. I was paid.I have proof.I need to meet you. Please.Her stomach coiled.She didn’t want apologies.She didn’t want another manufactured explanation.But when you start a fire, you don’t get to choose what it illuminates or what it burns. Truth demands exposure, even when it drags you through darkness first.They met in a modest restaurant tucked away in Surulere. It was mid-afternoon. The place was quiet, low-risk. Clara and Eniola sat a few tables away, present but distant,watchful eyes and silent support.Kosi looked like a shadow of the girl from the viral vid

Chapter 69: The Spark That Looked Like HerThe invitation arrived in an envelope as elegant as it was haunting,embossed ivory, sealed with a crest she hadn't seen in over ten years.St. Cecilia’s Girls’ Secondary School.Sophia stared at it, the gold emblem shimmering like a memory trying to resurface. She turned it over slowly, half expecting her 14-year-old self to slip out and whisper, "Do you remember who we were?"Clara peeked at the envelope. “Looks posh. Old school?”Sophia gave a wistful nod. “Very old. Boarding school days. Starched uniforms, 5 a.m. bells, soggy socks on bunk rails…”“And unresolved trauma?”A tight smile tugged at Sophia’s lips. “Plenty of that too.”The letter invited her to deliver the keynote address for their Founders’ Day. The theme? “Becoming Your Voice.”Her first instinct was to decline.But something,perhaps curiosity, perhaps healing, or the pull of unfinished echoes made her say yes.The moment her foot touched the school grounds, memories crashed