บททั้งหมดของ WANTING MY BILLIONAIRE EX-WIFE: บทที่ 81 - บทที่ 90

The soft hum of the jet engines faded into silence as the private plane taxied into its hangar outside Charles de Gaulle Airport. The sky over Paris was silver with early morning fog, the kind that made every surface glint like it had been polished by memory.Ximena stepped off the plane wearing a dark trench coat, a sleek black scarf wrapped around her neck, and oversized sunglasses despite the grey light. Her blonde hair was knotted in a low, precise twist.No security escort.No PR team.Only Rafael stood by the waiting car, holding a tablet, his expression unreadable.“Four hours until final rehearsal,” he said as he opened the door for her. “The room’s already humming.”She nodded and slid into the back seat without a word.They didn’t speak much during the drive. The city unfolded around them—quiet, elegant, unaware of the storm she was about to walk into.Not a scandal.Not revenge.Just fashion.And the truth sewn into every inch of silk and thread.⸻**Grand Auditorium, Paris

The restaurant was quiet, bathed in a golden glow from chandelier lights and floor-length candles. Sleek waiters moved gracefully between white-clothed tables, and soft jazz floated in the air like perfume. It was the kind of place where every movement was deliberate—every glance, calculated.Miguel Ricardo walked in with shoulders squared, his face unreadable beneath the sharp lines of his tailored charcoal suit. His assistant had scheduled this dinner a week ago and insisted—repeatedly—that it was important.He didn’t care for such meetings. Especially not the kind that came with shareholder strings attached.Vanessa Lugo sat near the window, already sipping from a tall glass of something pale and sparkling. Her black gown shimmered faintly under the light, but nothing was dramatic about her demeanour. She looked up when she saw him and smiled—easy, casual.“No security?” she teased as he approached. “I expected bodyguards.”Miguel gave her a brief smirk as he pulled out his chair.

The morning sun spilt gently through the curtains of Ximena’s apartment. She stood by the kitchen island, sipping her coffee while Miguel cleaned the last of the breakfast dishes. The silence between them wasn’t tense—it was comfortable. New. Almost unfamiliar.Miguel dried his hands. “Are you sure you don’t want me to have Rafael reschedule some of your appointments? After last night…”Ximena cut him off with a small smile. “I’m fine, Miguel. Let’s not make a scene out of it.”He nodded, though clearly not convinced. “Alright. But I’m taking you to the office. No arguments.”Moments later, they were in his car. The ride to Antonio Enterprises was quiet, filled with occasional glances and the low hum of jazz from the radio. When they pulled up to the front entrance, Miguel stepped out and walked around to open her door.“You don’t have to play chauffeur,” Ximena teased as she stepped out.“I’m not playing,” Miguel replied. “I just… don’t trust that those thugs have backed off.”Ximena

The marble floor echoed under Tania’s heels as she stepped into the Ricardo mansion, her expensive perfume lingering like a presence of its own. Everything about her appearance was carefully curated—her sleek white dress hugged her frame in all the right places, her makeup flawless, her hair pulled back into a soft, elegant twist. But beneath all that control, a storm was brewing.She had barely slept after seeing the viral image—Miguel and Ximena on a rooftop, candlelight glinting between two wine glasses, their silhouettes unmistakable. It had taken every ounce of self-control not to scream into her pillow.Now, standing inside the home she had always imagined as her future, Tania knew she had to act. Desperation had given her a strategy.“Ma’am is in the lounge,” one of the maids said, stepping aside.Tania offered a quick smile and moved through the hallway. The scent of chamomile tea and roses lingered in the air.Mrs. Ricardo sat gracefully on the velvet couch, a porcelain teac

The soft hum of the office AC greeted Ximena as she walked briskly into her corner suite, heels clicking over the polished floor. Rafael was right behind her, flipping through a folder thick with paper and mockups.“Okay, bridal capsule progress,” he said, barely keeping up. “We’ve got the boutique edits finalised, Lagos production just cleared customs, and the Paris samples are on the way for Thursday’s press review.”Ximena tossed her purse onto the sleek cream couch and pulled her jacket off, revealing a sleeveless silk blouse underneath. She moved with purpose—sharp, poised, too focused to bother with the constant noise outside her office walls.Rafael grinned as he set the folder on her desk. “Also, for the record… the internet thinks you’ve either gotten back with your ex or secretly have a billionaire admirer who sends candlelit rooftops and custom pizzas.”Ximena raised a brow without looking at him. “The internet should spend more time reading quarterly reports.”He laughed,