All Chapters of The Billionaire's Ex-wife Never Looks Back : Chapter 151 - Chapter 160

Theo’s POVThe soft hum of my new apartment filled the quiet morning as I moved around the small kitchen, setting out snacks for Milla and Ben. The place wasn’t much, just a cozy one-bedroom with simple furniture, a secondhand couch I’d found at a thrift store, and a small TV I’d picked up cheap, but it was mine, a fresh start carved out from the wreckage of my old life. Sunlight streamed through the single window, catching the steam rising from the coffee pot, and I felt a flicker of pride as I arranged a tray of chocolate chip cookies, a bowl of sliced apples, and a pitcher of juice. Amanda had called me useless, a weak man who didn’t deserve to be a father, but standing here, preparing for my kids’ visit, I knew she was wrong. I’d saved enough money over the years working for Marcus, squirreling it away in a separate account, knowing deep down that I might need a safety net if things went south. And they had—spectacularly, with Amanda’s betrayal and her cold eviction of me from o

Celeste’s POVThe city lights blurred past as I drove to Marcus’s apartment, the hum of my car’s engine a steady backdrop to the anticipation thrumming in my veins. It had been a long day at the office—endless meetings, quarterly reports piling up, the usual corporate grind that left me craving release. But tonight, I was ready to let it all go, to lose myself in something primal and uncomplicated. Marcus and I had fallen into a rhythm over the past few weeks, a no-strings-attached arrangement that suited me perfectly. The sex was raw, intense, a way to vent the stress of my high-powered life without the entanglement of emotions or expectations. I’d made it crystal clear from the start: this was physical, nothing more. I wasn’t looking for love, not with him, not with anyone right now.Marcus was a storm—charismatic, unpredictable, and undeniably dangerous—and I wasn’t about to get swept up in it. He had a history, one that included hurting people like Ella, and I wasn’t naive. But

Ella’s POVThe atelier of Madame Alice was a sanctuary of elegance, nestled in one of Chicago’s most upscale neighborhoods. The air was thick with the scent of lavender and freshly brewed coffee, mingling with the soft rustle of silk and tulle as seamstresses glided through the background. Celeste and I sat at a small, ornate table, sipping espresso from delicate porcelain cups, the warm glow of the atelier’s high ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows casting a golden light over racks of wedding gowns that shimmered like dreams. I was here to find the perfect dress for my wedding to Shawn, a moment I’d been dreaming of since his proposal, and having Celeste, my best friend and confidante, by my side made it feel even more special. But I couldn’t shake the sense that something was off with her today—she was quieter, her laughter less vibrant, her gaze drifting too often to the window.Madame Alice, the atelier’s owner, was a Chicago socialite with sleek black hair streaked with silve

Marcus’s POVMarcus sat in the corner booth of the small, unassuming cafe on the outskirts of the city, his fingers drumming nervously on the wooden table. The place was nothing special—a faded sign outside read "Brew Haven," and inside, the air smelled of overbrewed coffee and fresh pastries that he had no appetite for. He had chosen this spot deliberately: neutral ground, public, no chance of things escalating into the physical territory that had defined his encounters with Vanessa for far too long. His heart pounded in his chest, a mix of anxiety and resolve churning in his gut. For years, Marcus had been a man defined by his mistakes, a walking catalog of regrets that weighed on him like an invisible chain. But today, he was here to break one link in that chain.It had all started with that brutal confrontation with Ella. God, how her words had sliced through him like a knife. She had thrown Cassie in his face—the girl from college, the one he had truly loved once, but whom he h

Celeste’s POVI was sprawled on my couch, scrolling through my phone, half-watching some mindless reality show, when the doorbell rang. It was late—later than I usually got visitors—and for a moment, I considered ignoring it. My apartment was my sanctuary, a cozy space filled with soft throw blankets and bookshelves that overflowed with novels and trinkets from my travels. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and the idea of getting up to answer the door felt like an intrusion on my quiet evening. But curiosity got the better of me, so I padded across the hardwood floor in my fuzzy socks, smoothing down my oversized sweater as I went.When I opened the door, I froze. There stood Marcus, his tall frame filling the doorway, holding an enormous bouquet of red roses that looked almost comically large in his hands. His light hair was slightly mussed, and his eyes—those intense, stormy eyes that always seemed to carry a mix of guilt and hope—locked onto mine with an intensity that made my stomach f