All Chapters of A Ruthless Revenge: the Billionaire's Ex Wife Is Back: Chapter 401 - Chapter 410

Harper’s POVI liked this version of the night. Calm. Unrushed.Michael and I sat across from each other in a lovely cafe, enjoying a steaming cup of coffee after dinner. “So,” I said, tracing the rim of my cup, “if we lived here, would this be our thing? Late coffee, people-watching, pretending we’re mysterious?”Michael smiled. “I already look mysterious.”I snorted. “You really don’t.”He laughed—and that was when a shadow slipped into the pool of light beside our table.“Michael?”I looked up.She was striking in an effortless way—sleek black coat, hair glossy under the café lights, heels that clicked softly against the pavement. Her face lit up when Michael met her eyes.“Claire?” he said, clearly surprised—and unmistakably pleased.She laughed and stepped closer, touching his arm as if it were second nature. “I thought it was you. I would recognize that posture anywhere.”Michael stood slightly, smiling wide. “What are you doing here?”“Paris,” she said lightly. “Business, of c

Genevieve’s POVI kept my distance.I saw Hazel once with her model friends outside the agency, laughter spilling easily between them. They leaned against a low wall, coffee cups in hand, talking over one another in that breathless, excited way people did when they felt close to something new.“I might stay longer,” Hazel said, tossing her hair back. “Paris feels… different.”“Don’t rush back to the States,” one of the girls urged. “This is where things happen.”Hazel smiled, thoughtful, like the idea was already rooting itself inside her.Her apartment was just a few streets away.That night, I stood across the road long after the cafés had closed, watching her window glow against the dark. Midnight came and went. The light stayed on.“Careful,” I whispered under my breath, not sure whether I was warning her or myself.The city slept.Hazel didn’t.Is she really my sister?The question looped endlessly, refusing to settle. Blood didn’t feel real until it stared back at you from a scr

Alain’s POV“Blood pressure’s stable,” I said, tightening the cuff and checking the monitor. “You can relax your arm now, Madame Roux.”She smiled up at me, relieved. “You’re very gentle,” she said. “Not like the big hospitals.”“That’s the advantage of being small,” I replied. “We have time.”Time. Routine. Predictability.I was feeling really good about all this, back to just being a regular nurse. I stepped out of the consultation room and handed the chart to one of the clinic nurses. She glanced at it, then at me.“You’re on wound care this afternoon,” she said. “And Dr. Morel wants you to assist with the pediatric intake later.”I nodded. “I’ll be there.”The private clinic sat on the outskirts of Provence, tucked between vineyards and a narrow road locals used more than tourists. It was quiet in a way the large hospital never was. No constant alarms. No stretchers racing down hallways. No chaos disguised as urgency.Here, people greeted each other by name.“Morning, Alain,” the

Celeste’s POV“You’re doing that thing again.”I looked up from my sketchbook. Margaux stood by the long worktable in my home studio, sunlight pouring in through the tall windows that overlooked the estate gardens. Bolts of fabric were draped over chairs, sketches pinned to corkboards, the familiar scent of paper, linen, and coffee filling the space.“What thing?” I asked, feigning innocence.She smiled knowingly. “That look. The one where your mind is already five collections ahead.”I laughed and set my pencil down. “I can’t help it. Being back here does that to me.”Working with Margaux again felt effortless. Not because we hadn’t changed—but because we had, and somehow grown in the same direction. Our rhythm had evolved, sharpened by experience, no longer frantic or competitive. Just honest.She lifted one of the jackets from the rack near the window, turning it slightly. “This is very Contrast Collection,” she said. “Wearable. Clean. Strong.”“That was the goal we talked about,”

Damien’s POVThe call came early. Too early for good news.I stepped out onto the terrace, the morning air still cool against my skin, the estate quiet behind me. Provence looked deceptively peaceful at this hour—soft light, distant birds, the kind of calm that made you forget how easily things unraveled elsewhere.“Levi’s getting sloppy,” Mark said the moment I answered.I leaned one forearm against the stone railing. “Define sloppy.”“Whoever’s pulling his strings thinks they’re untouchable. Transactions are being made out in the open now. Not rushed. Not masked. We’re tracing everything.”I closed my eyes and let out a slow breath.“Good,” I said. “Let them hang themselves.”There was a pause on the line. Mark didn’t speak unless it mattered.“And Damien—” His voice dropped. “Tommy. Black Reapers. He was seen outside the office last night. Just… pacing.”That sharpened everything.“Doing what?” I asked.“Nothing obvious. No confrontation. Just waiting. Watching.”I straightened. “H