All Chapters of Married to my ex-husband's boss: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

ELLE Raymond returned about an hour later. By then, the city outside had started to dim more. I had been sitting on the couch, wrapped in one of his sweaters, pretending to read the same paragraph of a magazine for nearly forty minutes. I wasn’t really reading, of course. I was listening. Waiting. When the door finally unlocked, the sound was so sharp in the silence that my heart leapt before my body even moved. He was home. Relief flooded me first, followed too quickly by something sharper. Anger. Because for the past hour, I had been convincing myself not to worry, not to picture the worst, not to scroll through my phone wondering where he had gone that morning. And I had failed. Miserably. But he didn’t even give me a chance to speak. Raymond crossed the room in long, urgent strides, his coat still half on, and before I could stand, he pulled me into his arms. His grip on me was hard and gentle, coated in desperation. The kind of embrace that felt like a confession. “Raymo

ELLE By morning, the air felt strange. Or maybe I did. The sunlight filtered weakly through the curtains, pale gold spilling across the sheets and the faint scent of lilies tugging me awake. When I turned my head, there they were—white lilies in a small glass vase, sitting prettily on the breakfast tray beside my bed. One of my favorites. And next to them, a mug of coffee. But Raymond wasn't in the room. I sat up, brushing a strand of hair from my face. Then I quickly washed up and headed downstairs. Raymond looked up from where he was standing by the window, dressed in his crisp shirt and rolled-up sleeves, his tie hanging loose around his neck. His smile was soft, the kind that used to undo me. “You’re awake,” he said, voice low and even. “I was just about to bring this to you.” I forced a smile. “You’re spoiling me again.” He shrugged, walking over and setting the tray in front of me. “You’ve barely eaten in days. Consider it an intervention.” The food was simple but th

ELLE The world tilted. For a heartbeat, I couldn’t tell if the ground beneath me had moved or if I had. The noise of the street faded into nothing but a hollow echo inside my head. “Escaped?” I whispered, barely forming the word. “That’s… that’s not possible. There must be a mistake.” “I’m afraid it’s no mistake, ma’am,” the officer said. “He overpowered a guard during transport. We’ve been tracking him since. That’s why we’ve been trying to reach your husband. We've been reporting to him on everything.” My vision blurred, the edges of the world dissolving into static. My lips felt numb. “ I-I don’t understand… You said it’s been more than two weeks?” “Yes, ma’am. That's the exact time Raymond’s behavior had changed. And they had been reporting to him. He knew. He had known all along. “Mrs. Orlando?” the officer’s voice broke through the fog. “Are you still there?” “Yes,” I managed, swallowing the dryness in my throat. “Thank you for letting me know. I’ll… I’ll tell my hu

ELLE Seven months later. If someone had told me that peace could feel this heavy, I wouldn’t have believed them. Paris, for all its beauty, had a way of reminding me that peace wasn’t always freedom—sometimes it was just the absence of noise. We had left the penthouse months ago, trading glass walls and city lights for a single-story bungalow at the edge of the 14th arrondissement. It was small, simple, tucked behind ivy and iron gates that creaked when you opened them. The street outside was quiet, lined with trees that whispered when the wind blew, and most days, the loudest sound came from church bells drifting in from somewhere far away. It wasn’t home. But it wasn’t terrible either. At first, I hated it, the silence, the distance, the way everything seemed so still. But eventually, the stillness began to feel safe. I could breathe here. Walk outside without looking over my shoulder. Pretend, even if just for a moment, that the world wasn’t watching. Raymond said it was bet

RAYMOND I barely registered the sound of my own voice when she started screaming. One moment, Elle was still—too still, staring at me with that broken, hollow look that tore through me like a blade—and the next, she was fighting to get up, her eyes wide with panic. “Elle!” I reached for her, but she flinched, wild and disoriented. Her hands hit my chest in weak, trembling slaps, the kind that hurt more for what they meant than how they landed. “Where is she?!” she cried, her voice cracking. “Where is she, Raymond?! You were supposed to protect her!” I caught her arms before she could hurt herself, holding her gently but firmly. “Elle, please—listen to me—” But it was like she wasn’t hearing me. Her eyes were unfocused, wide and terrified, her breath coming too fast, too shallow. Her body trembled beneath my hands, and every muscle in her arms strained like she was fighting to claw the truth out of thin air. “Elle—Elle, stop—please!” I tried again, my own voice breaking. “She