All Chapters of A Ruthless Revenge: the Billionaire's Ex Wife Is Back: Chapter 371 - Chapter 380

Celeste’s POVI told myself to focus.The studio was quiet, washed in soft afternoon light. Fabric lay draped over the worktable—linen, silk, structured wool—materials that usually made my fingers itch with ideas. My sketchbook was open. Pencils sharpened. Coffee cooling beside me.Perfect conditions.Still nothing came. Damn. I stared at the page longer than I should have, forcing lines that refused to make sense. The silhouette felt wrong. Too safe. Too stiff. I erased it, then tried again—bolder this time—but the proportions collapsed under my hand.I exhaled sharply and flipped the page.“Come on,” I muttered. “Work with me.”It was useless. Every idea unraveled the moment it touched paper.My mind kept drifting back—uninvited, persistent.Alain.The island. Henri. The fire.No body was found.No answers. Just that awful, echoing absence that lived somewhere between hope and dread.I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed my pencil harder than necessary, sketching jagged lines that to

Alain’s POVI told myself I was only keeping an eye on her.That’s the lie I’d been repeating for days.From across the street, half-hidden by the shadow of a closed bookstore, I watched Celeste laugh at something a vendor said earlier, then grow quiet as she drifted toward the curb. She looked lighter than I remembered—and at the same time, more fragile. Like someone who’d survived a storm and didn’t yet trust the sky.She shouldn’t be alone.My eyes darted around, and I was suddenly hyper-aware of everything around me. Could Genevieve be close? Is she planning another revenge on Celeste, to finish what she’d started? Or has she actually changed already somehow?I kept watching Celeste, following her discreetly and quietly. When the man stepped out of the darkness and took her hand, my body moved before my thoughts caught up.Theo.The recognition hit hard, sharp. The ex. He remembered seeing him before at the hospital. “What the hell are you doing here?” I muttered under my breath

Celeste’s POVBy midnight, my studio smelled like pencil shavings, fabric glue, and stubborn determination.My workspace was littered with sketches now—not just one idea, but many. Flowing dresses with sharp, architectural shoulders. Cropped jackets paired with tailored trousers. Men’s coordinates that played with structure and fluidity—clean lines one moment, unexpected softness the next.I laid the last sketch flat, exhaled, then snapped photos one by one. Dresses. Jackets. Full men’s looks. A complete vision.I sent them all to Sebastian.Here they are. Thoughts?The reply came too quickly.I opened it—and my stomach sank.Sebastian: [They’re beautiful. Technically excellent. Dresses, outerwear, even menswear—you’re versatile, no question.]I held my breath.Sebastian: [But you’re holding back.]I frowned at the screen, pacing the narrow space between my table and the window.Holding back?Another message followed.Sebastian: [Your Contrast Collection with Margaux was strong. It s

Damien’s POVMy feet slowed, then turned, then started moving toward my father’s office instead of the conference room. Curiosity wasn’t the right word for it. Instinct was. The kind you develop when your childhood teaches you that closed doors and lowered voices usually mean damage.The hallway outside my father’s office was eerily quiet. Too quiet for a building this alive with money and power.I stopped a few steps away.Muffled voices slipped through the thick wood—low, controlled. No shouting. No slammed furniture. That alone unsettled me more than outright chaos ever could.“…you promised,” my mother’s voice said. “We’ve talked about this already.”My hands balled into fists slowly at my sides.My father replied, calm as ever. “I promised nothing. I just said we’ll try to work it out.”“Well, I didn’t come here to beg,” Isadora said coolly. “I came for a mutual solution. To benefit us all.”“Good. That’s what we both want.” There was a pause, then I heard my dad add, “But there

Celeste’s POVBy the time we arrived, Paris was glowing.Late-afternoon light spilled across the station, catching on steel and glass, turning everything soft and golden. As soon as I stepped off the train, I felt that quiet, unmistakable pull. Like the city was waking something in me that had been dormant for a while.Harper bounced along beside me, sunglasses perched on her head, excitement barely contained. Michael walked a few steps ahead with Auntie Eleanor, carrying her bag even though she’d insisted—twice—that she was perfectly capable now.And she was.Stronger. Straighter. Moving with a confidence she hadn’t had before.Auntie Eleanor paused as we stepped out onto the street. She looked around slowly, seemingly taking it all in—wide streets, old stone, Paris slowly easing into evening.“I’ve never been here before,” she said softly, almost to herself. Then she smiled. “I always imagined Paris when I was younger. I just never thought I’d see it like this.”Michael glanced back