Lahat ng Kabanata ng SCORNED EX WIFE : Queen Of Ashes: Kabanata 81 - Kabanata 90

Chapter 81Camille's phone buzzed on her nightstand, pulling her from a dreamless sleep. The screen glowed with Alexander's name. Not a text message, but an actual call at, she squinted, 5:36 AM."Hello?" Her voice was rough with sleep."Look out your window." Alexander's voice held an energy that made her sit up straight."It's not even dawn," she protested, but was already moving to the floor-to-ceiling glass that showcased the Manhattan skyline."East. Toward the water."Camille pressed her forehead against the cool glass, eyes searching the horizon where night was reluctantly giving way to morning. "What am I looking for?""Wait for it."As if on cue, the first ray of sunlight broke across the water, igniting the glass towers of the financial district in gold and fire. But it wasn't just the buildings that caught the light. An enormous structure floated in the harbor, a ship unlike any Camille had seen before. Its vast deck gleamed with what appeared to be thousands of mirrored pa

Chapter 83The late afternoon sun slanted through the tall windows of the Lewis family estate, casting long shadows across the polished floors. Margaret Lewis sat alone in the east wing parlor, surrounded by open photo albums. Her trembling fingers traced a photograph of seven-year-old Camille, beaming with a missing front tooth and holding a science fair ribbon."First place," Margaret whispered to the empty room, her smile crumpling.She turned a page. Camille at ten, sitting with Margaret on marble steps, their heads bent over "The Secret Garden." Margaret remembered how Camille had begged to read two chapters that night.The memories washed over her in waves. These were all from before Rose had arrived when Camille was thirteen. Before everything changed.With shaking hands, she pulled out a photo tucked between pages: Camille at ten in the kitchen with Margaret, making Christmas cookies despite the chef's protests. Flour dusted their faces, laughter frozen in time. They had been

Chapter 85Rose stepped out of the black sedan, her eyes adjusting to the fading daylight as she gazed up at the gleaming skyscraper. The doorman nodded respectfully as she entered the marble lobby, her heels clicking against the polished floor,the last vestige of her former life's confidence. The private elevator climbed sixty floors without stopping. She studied her reflection in the mirrored walls, barely recognizing the woman staring back. Her cheekbones jutted sharply beneath skin that had lost its glow. Dark circles shadowed her eyes. Only her expression remained unchanged, cold determination etched into every line."You made it," Herod Preston said as the elevator doors slid open directly into his penthouse. He stood framed against floor-to-ceiling windows, Manhattan sprawled behind him like a glittering carpet. "Welcome to your new home.""Temporary arrangement," Rose corrected, stepping into the vast space. Her gaze swept across Italian furniture, original artwork, and views

Rose lifted her champagne flute, the bubbles catching the afternoon sunlight that streamed through the penthouse windows. Across the table, Herod mirrored her movement, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. On the television behind them, muted news channels cycled through images of Camille's face alongside headlines questioning her mental state. The stock ticker at the bottom showed Kane Industries down fifteen percent and falling."To bringing down giants," Herod said.They clinked glasses. Rose savored the expensive champagne, allowing herself this moment of triumph. "I must admit," Herod said, settling back in his chair, "your media contacts exceeded my expectations. The coverage is... spectacular."Rose smiled, running her finger along the rim of her glass. "Money talks. But so do old favors." She nodded toward the television where her tearful interview was replaying. "Eliza Jenkins has hated Victoria Kane for a decade. Ever since Victoria blocked her husband's appointment to the

Chapter 89Alexander Pierce's car slid to a stop outside the modest apartment building in Brooklyn. He checked the address on his phone again, confirming this was indeed where Stefan Rodriguez now lived. The fall from grace had been steep, from a penthouse overlooking Central Park to this brick walkup with peeling paint."Wait here," he told his driver, stepping out into the brisk afternoon air.The security buzzer was broken. Alexander pushed through the lobby door, grimacing at the smell of old cooking oil and cigarettes that hung in the narrow hallway. Apartment 3B was at the end of the third-floor corridor, its door as shabby as the rest of the building.Alexander straightened his tie, a habit from childhood when facing difficult situations, and knocked.Footsteps approached from inside, followed by the click of locks. The door swung open to reveal Stefan Rodriguez, unshaven and bleary-eyed in wrinkled clothes. Recognition dawned slowly on his face, followed by confusion."Pierce?