All Chapters of The Billionaire's Ex-wife Never Looks Back : Chapter 171 - Chapter 180

Ella POVThe world slowed to a crawl, every sound muffled except for the pounding of my heart as Vanessa Monroe stood there, her gun pointed at me, her eyes blazing with a hatred that sent ice through my veins. The outdoor venue, so perfect just moments ago with its white roses and soft music, was now a frozen tableau of shock. Guests sat rigid in their chairs, their faces pale, some clutching each other, others too stunned to move. Shawn’s hand was tight around mine, his warmth the only thing anchoring me as I stared at Vanessa, her dark hair wild under the wide-brimmed hat she’d just thrown aside. My wedding day, the moment I’d been dreaming of, had turned into a nightmare in the blink of an eye.“What are you doing here, Vanessa?” I asked, my voice trembling despite my effort to sound strong. My free hand instinctively went to my belly, protecting the tiny life growing inside me.Vanessa’s lips curled into a sneer, her eyes glinting with a venom that made my stomach churn. “Marcus

Ella's POV The drive home from the hospital was a blur, the Chicago skyline passing in streaks of light as Shawn navigated the quiet streets. I sat in the passenger seat, still in my wedding dress, though Shawn’s jacket was draped over my shoulders, its warmth a small comfort against the chill that had settled deep inside me. Lily was in the back, curled up in her flower girl dress, her eyes red from crying, her small hands clutching the stuffed bunny she’d grabbed from the car. The image of Vanessa Monroe pointing a gun at her, of Marcus collapsing in a pool of blood, played on a loop in my mind, each replay tightening the knot in my chest. My wedding day, the day that was supposed to be perfect, had shattered into a nightmare, and I was still trying to piece myself together. We pulled into the driveway of our home, the familiar sight of the brick house doing little to ease the tension in my body. Shawn turned off the engine, his hand finding mine in the dark. “We’re home

Marcus's POV The hospital room was a haze of dim light and antiseptic smells, a sterile cocoon that felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for something to break. I lay in the bed, my chest throbbing with a dull, relentless ache that pulsed with every heartbeat, my head pounding like someone was hammering nails into my skull. But the worst part wasn’t the pain—it was the absence of feeling in my legs. They were there, under the thin hospital blanket, but they might as well have belonged to someone else. I stared at them, willing them to move, to twitch, to give me some sign they were still mine, but they stayed still, mocking me with their silence. The doctor’s words from earlier echoed in my head—significant spinal damage, likely paralysis—and I fought the panic clawing at my throat, trying to focus on the steady beep of the monitors beside me. It was the only thing keeping me from spiraling into the void of what my life might become, a future I wasn’t ready to face. T

Ella's POVThe courthouse was nothing fancy, just a squat brick building tucked between a coffee shop and a dry cleaner in the heart of Chicago. Its plain exterior didn’t match the wild, joyful energy thrumming through me as Shawn, Lily, and I hurried up the steps, hand in hand. Shawn’s grin was infectious, his eyes sparkling with that impulsive, mischievous charm that had made me fall for him in the first place. Lily skipped beside us, her sweater bouncing with each step, her excitement bubbling over despite the heaviness of the past day. My heart felt lighter than it had in hours, maybe days, as we stepped inside, the weight of the hospital, Marcus’s injury, and Vanessa’s violence fading just a little in the face of this moment.The clerk at the front desk raised an eyebrow when we explained we wanted to get married right then and there, no appointment, no frills. “You sure?” she asked, her glasses slipping down her nose as she peered at us. “You don’t exactly look like you planne

Celeste POVThe afternoon light filtered through the apartment windows, casting soft, golden shadows across the hardwood floor, a gentle contrast to the weight of the moment. Marcus sat in his wheelchair by the living room window, his hands gripping the armrests so tightly his knuckles were pale, his face a mix of determination and vulnerability that made my chest ache with a fierce, protective love. The past few weeks had been a relentless storm—hospital visits, sleepless nights, and the endless adjustments to his new reality as a paraplegic. His apartment, now remodeled with lower counters, wider doorways, and a ramp where stairs once stood, felt like a different world, one he was still learning to navigate. The changes were practical, necessary, but they screamed of his limitations, and I could see the toll it was taking on him. But it was his words that hit me hardest, cutting through the quiet like a knife, raw and jagged.“This isn’t going to be good for you, Celeste,” he sai