All Chapters of A Ruthless Revenge: the Billionaire's Ex Wife Is Back: Chapter 321 - Chapter 330

Soline’s POVI’ve hardly slept in days. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard Alain’s voice again — broken, desperate, cut off by dead static.“Help…”Then nothing.Nothing but silence that wrapped around my throat like a rope.I sat curled on the thin mattress of the tiny rented room in Marseille, knees pulled to my chest, listening to every sound in the hallway. I’d registered under a fake name. Paid in cash. Covered my hair with a scarf and kept the curtains drawn tight.But the fear never left.Every creak of the wooden floorboards made my breath stop. Every passing shadow under the door made my heart slam itself against my ribs. I kept expecting Genevieve’s men to burst inside and drag me out. Or to just kill me right here. The fact that no one came was somehow worse.Silence meant nothing was happening. Nothing happening meant something would.Eventually.It terrified me, wondering when they would come and what they could do to me. Perhaps I should move somewhere far away whil

Celeste’s POVIf love could take physical form, it would have been the way they all clung to me—arms around my shoulders, hands gripping mine, voices overlapping with relief and trembling laughter. I felt wrapped in something fierce and soft at the same time. For a moment, I didn’t even feel my leg. Or the lingering nausea from the helicopter. Or the ache in my chest that had lived there for days.When we finally moved toward the house, Auntie Eleanor squeezed my waist. “Come, darling. We prepared something special.”I expected a quiet lunch. Something simple. Calm.I didn’t expect… this.The moment the front doors opened, warmth rushed out—golden lights, the scent of herbs and butter, music softly echoing through the living room. A long table was set near the windows overlooking the gardens. Plates of my favorite Provençal dishes filled it—ratatouille, daube stew, freshly baked fougasse, lavender chicken, even the mushroom truffle soup I adored.And dessert—God. A tower of macarons.

Nico’s POVI had no idea what the hell was happening to me.For the past three days, I’d been waking up before my alarm.Me. The guy who used to show up to ranch work five minutes late with a hangover and a smirk.Now?I was always the first one at the stables.And I hated—hated—that the reason had a name.It was embarrassing. Infuriating. Impossible to explain. But every time she shot me one of those annoyed looks, every time she told me to tie a knot properly or stop scaring the damn horses, something inside me… switched on.Like I suddenly had something to prove. Like I wanted her to see me differently.Which was stupid.She wasn’t even nice to me. Not once. Not even accidentally.This morning was no exception.I spotted her brushing down one of the mares, braid slipping over her shoulder, sunlight catching the little wisps of hair around her face. It made my silly, stupid heart race. I sauntered over. “Morning.”She didn’t look up. “You’re early.”“Is that a compliment?”“It’s an

Damien’s POVI exhaled slowly through my nose. Of course everything would go to hell the moment I let myself breathe for five seconds.I didn’t even respond yet—just stared at the glowing screen until it dimmed, then buzzed again with two more messages.My father pulling strings behind my back wasn’t new—but managing to shove Levi into a position he wasn’t remotely ready for? That was a step farther than usual. And my mother causing chaos in the press again? That was the perfect cherry on top.At least Amaya had stayed quiet after what happened at the hotel. Small mercy. Or maybe she was simply planning her next move. I raked a hand through my hair.I had to go back. I didn’t have a choice.My eyes drifted again toward the garden—toward Celeste, shoulders hunched, head bowed as Harper held her close. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t falling apart.She was surviving.Yet I hated that I wouldn’t be here when she needed someone later.Hated that returning to the U.S. felt like walking away

Celeste’s POVWe stepped into a small clearing between the vines, and for a moment I forgot how to breathe.The blanket was already laid out, tucked neatly between two ancient vines twisted together like old lovers. Bowls of fruit, warm pastries, butter, and jam were arranged with careful hands—not rushed, not careless. Even the thermos of coffee was placed where sunlight struck it just right, steam unfurling into the air like a quiet invitation.It wasn’t extravagant or loud. It was intentional.“This is…” My voice thinned, emotion pulling at its edges. “It’s beautiful.”He shrugged again, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s simple. But I thought you might like it.”“I love it,” I said before my brain could stop my mouth.Damien’s eyes softened in a way that made my stomach flip.We sat. We ate. And for the first time since we arrived yesterday, since the news of Alain, since everything, the two of us laughed together. The sound felt strange at first. Then freeing.He told me how on