All Chapters of The Ultimatum Wife: Chapter 211 - Chapter 220

Mrs. Harrow rose slowly, joints stiff, spine straightening out of instinct rather than comfort.She crossed to the mirror near the window and studied her reflection.The woman staring back at her looked older than she remembered. Not weaker. Sharper. Stripped down to essentials. Power had once wrapped her like silk. Now there was nothing between her and consequence.“Wrong place,” she murmured, testing the words aloud. “Wrong time.”They sounded thin in the quiet room.But they were true.Lysandra Vauxhaul had not been the target.Elena had been.That fact had been lost somewhere between blood and headlines, buried beneath outrage and the public’s hunger for a villain.Mrs. Harrow had clung to it like a shield, repeating it to herself whenever the weight threatened to crush her.It had not been personal.It had not been deliberate.It had not been Lysandra.Yet even as she prepared the argument in her head, even as she shaped it into something clean and rational, she felt the familiar

Elena arrived at the memorial under a name that was not hers.Not publicly, at least.The invitation had not been meant for her. The world still believed Elena Sinclair was dead, and in many ways, that was the only reason she was standing here now, alive and breathing beneath the low amber lights of the hall.Roman walked beside her, close enough that their shoulders almost brushed. He did not touch her. Touch would draw attention. But his presence was a steady weight at her side, a reminder that she was not walking into this alone.The air inside the memorial space was thick with reverence and restraint.Candles lined the walls. White flowers crowded every surface, overwhelming in their abundance. Grief curated to look beautiful.Elena’s gaze found Lysandra’s photograph almost immediately.She did not flinch.The girl’s smile stared back at her, bright and unaware, frozen in a moment that had existed before everything went wrong.Elena had seen that smile up close. Had heard Lysandra

Mrs. Harrow’s breath caught sharply.“Not because of Harrow,” Roman added. “Not because of revenge.”“This is about ensuring,” Elena said, pulling back, “that you never get the chance to aim at someone else again.”Mrs. Harrow stood frozen, rage collapsing inward, something darker creeping in to replace it.Fear.It bloomed slowly, inexorably, as understanding settled.Elena had not destroyed her life.Elena had survived it. And survival, Mrs. Harrow was beginning to realize, was far more terrifying than vengeance ever was.Elena turned first. Roman followed.They walked away calmly, unhurried, their footsteps fading into the low murmur of the memorial.Behind them, Mrs. Harrow remained rooted in place, surrounded by candles and flowers and grief that no longer belonged to her.Vengeance slipped from her grasp. And in its place, cold and suffocating, fear finally took hold.By evening, the story no longer belonged to whispers inside a memorial hall.It belonged to the world.The first

Marcus nodded, filing the information away. “She trusts you.”“Yeah,” Jace said easily. “We trust each other.”The words came without hesitation.If he noticed the way Marcus’s eyes lingered for half a second longer than necessary, he didn’t think much of it.They cleared security quickly. Marcus had everything arranged. Priority boarding. Lounge access. Tickets already loaded. Every step felt smooth, curated, taken care of.Jace liked that.It reminded him what it felt like not to be the one holding everything together.Inside the lounge, Marcus handed him a coffee without asking how he took it.Jace blinked. “How did you...”“Black,” Marcus said. “One sugar. You stir exactly three times and forget the lid half the time.”Jace laughed, genuinely surprised. “Okay, that’s a little creepy.”Marcus chuckled. “Or I pay attention.”Jace felt warmth bloom in his chest at that. Being noticed like this felt good. After years of being the background guy, the one people leaned on but didn’t rea

The city didn’t announce itself when they landed.No skyline reveal. No welcome banners. Just a stretch of concrete, low clouds, and a terminal that looked like it could belong anywhere. Jace liked that. It felt… clean. Anonymous. Like the trip existed outside the noise of everything waiting back home.Marcus moved through the airport with quiet confidence, already guiding them toward a car that was waiting exactly where it should be. No rental counter. No questions. Just a black sedan with tinted windows and a driver who nodded once and said nothing.Jace slid into the back seat, stretching his legs with a content sigh. “You do this a lot,” he said.Marcus smiled faintly. “Travel?”“No,” Jace replied. “Disappear.”Marcus glanced at him. “You make it sound ominous.”Jace laughed. “I didn’t mean it like that. Just… efficient.”The car pulled away smoothly, the city unfolding in muted colors outside the window. Jace watched unfamiliar streets pass, the names blurring too quickly to regi