บททั้งหมดของ After Divorcing My Husband, I became His Boss: บทที่ 151 - บทที่ 160

Hannah’s POV:The brown envelope trembled slightly in my hand.It was ridiculous, really. A single envelope, thin and almost weightless, yet it felt heavier than anything I had ever held in my life. It rested against my palm like a verdict, like a final judgment on everything that had happened in this house.I sat on the edge of the bed that used to belong to Hayes and me, the gold frame cold beneath my thighs. The room smelled stale — alcohol, dust, abandonment. Nothing about it felt alive anymore.My fingers slid under the flap.For a moment, I couldn’t bring myself to pull the letter out. The handwriting on the front; neat, familiar, already told me everything I needed to know.My Suicide Note.I swallowed and unfolded the paper.Every line cut deeper than the one before.Hayes wrote about Lenora first.He wrote about how the house felt hollow without her presence, how he still expected to hear her footsteps racing down the hallway or her laughter spilling from the living room. He

Hannah’s POVReturning to my family home was always the hardest part of any day. It somehow almost felt like walking back into a war zone where the enemy already knows all my weak points. Or more like the weak points I had grown so used to getting attacked that now when they did it, it didn't hurt anymore. It was just any random day. A usual thing.The gate opened with its usual quiet whine, the iron bars sliding apart like the mouth of a beast that had swallowed too many of my secrets. I stepped inside, the familiar tiled walkway stretching ahead of me like a corridor into everything I used to try to forget.I didn’t even make it halfway through the living room before the atmosphere hit me.My mother was seated on the couch, her back reclined against a pile of cushions, eyes half-closed in lazy contentment. Maria knelt behind her, hands moving in slow circles over her shoulders, her expression sweet, dutiful, almost angelic. The sight alone made Hannah’s chest tighten.When my mother

Hannah’s POVMy father looked up at me, the streaks of silver in his hair catching the slanted sunlight pouring in through the study window, it also highlighted his shoulder and head shadow. For a moment, he just stared at me like I’d spoken in a foreign language. Then his brows drew together slowly, his confusion giving way to a guarded frown.“What do you mean?” he asked.I took a step closer to his desk, feeling the weight of the words pressing down on my chest.“I mean that by tomorrow, you’re going to be voted out of power,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “Uncle Chen is going to take over the company. We don’t have time, Dad. We need to do something now.”He leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking beneath him, still studying my face as if he expected me to laugh and admit it was a joke.“Hannah,” he said slowly, “where did you hear something like this?”I opened my mouth to explain about Chairman Gus, about the coffee shop, about the look in his eyes when he told m

Hannah’s POV:My father’s face contorted in disbelief as he stared at the chaos before us. His voice trembled, betraying his shock. “What? Why would Maria do something like this?”My mother, equally stunned, shuffled her feet and shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice laced with confusion. “When she came home today, I asked where she was yesterday. She didn’t answer me, just started throwing our things outside. She told us to leave… said she owns the house now.”The words hit my father like a physical blow. His eyes widened, and he shook his head in disbelief. “She said she owns the house? That’s impossible.”Inside, my mind raced. Maria had to have been at Uncle Chen’s place yesterday, maybe even earlier. She must have known about his plan to overthrow my father at the company. That explained her sudden confidence, her audacity to throw us all out like we were nothing. But even then, how exactly had she gained control of the house? Just because Chen had taken ov

Hannah’s POVThe whole family gathered around Adam’s dining table that evening, and the air in the room was thick with an unspoken tension. The warm scent of food, spices mingling with the savory aroma of slow-cooked meat and fresh herbs filled the space, trying to comfort us but unable to mask the heaviness that settled over our hearts.Dad, Adam, and I sat on one side, while Mom, Micheal, and Bryce sat across from us. The silverware clinked softly against the plates, the occasional scrape of a fork accompanied by the gentle murmur of small talk. But the words were few and far between. Mostly it was just the practical, the surface-level exchanges like “pass me the salt,” or “could you please pass the water?” Simple necessities to keep the dinner moving forward.Yet beneath those mundane words, there was a quiet undercurrent, something that hummed just below the surface. It wasn’t bitterness or anger. No, it was something closer to guilt. A shared weight that none of us quite knew how