Semua Bab The Billionaire's Ex-wife Never Looks Back : Bab 51 - Bab 60

Ella’s Point of ViewThe cabin was a cage of flickering shadows, the red and blue sirens pulsing through the boarded window, painting the bare walls with a frantic glow. The police megaphone’s command—“Marcus Carter, release the hostage and surrender!”—echoed in my ears, a lifeline that sparked hope where despair had taken root. My heart pounded, the manacle chaining my ankle to the cot biting deeper as I stood, my long black hair clinging to my tear-streaked face, my sweater torn and damp with sweat. Shawn had found me, somehow, his urgency cutting through the miles, his promise to protect me now a reality. But the locked door, the chain, and Marcus’s obsession stood between me and freedom. My thoughts clung to my daughter in Seattle—her laughter, her trust—a reason to fight, to survive, even as fear coiled in my gut.The door burst open, and Marcus stormed in, his face twisted with panic, his dark eyes wild under the flickering bulb. His calm delusion was gone, replaced by a despe

Shawn’s Point of ViewThe hospital waiting room was a sterile prison, its fluorescent lights buzzing softly, the air heavy with antiseptic and my own guilt. Dawn crept through the windows, painting the city skyline in pale gold, but I hadn’t slept, hadn’t left. My shirt was still stained with Ella’s blood, the dark red a stark reminder of my failure, dried now into a grim map of the night before. She was in the ICU, in a coma, the bullet removed but her life hanging by a thread. I sat hunched in a plastic chair, my hands clasped, my surgical scar throbbing from the strain I’d put on my body—ignoring the wheelchair, the doctor’s orders, the limits of my newly repaired heart. None of it mattered. Ella was all that mattered, and I’d failed her.Her face haunted me—pale, bloodied, her long black hair splayed across the cabin floor when I’d found her. The memory of her limp hand in mine, the ambulance’s wail, the paramedics’ urgency—it played on a loop, each image a knife twisting deeper.

Ella’s Point of ViewMy heart felt like it might burst, a warm, fluttering thing in my chest, so full it almost hurt. I lay in the hospital bed, the sterile white of the room softened by the dim glow of a bedside lamp, the monitors’ steady beeps a quiet reminder of the life I’d nearly lost. But none of that mattered now—not the ache in my abdomen from the gunshot wound, not the lingering fear of Marcus’s cabin, not the coma I’d woken from. Shawn was here, curled beside me, his arm draped gently over my waist, his breath warm against my neck as he slept. His presence was a miracle, a dream I hadn’t dared believe in, and I nestled closer, my cheek against his chest, his heartbeat a steady anchor. I’d found love again, and this time, it felt stronger, deeper, like a fire that could burn away every shadow of my past.I traced the lines of his face in the dark, his features soft in sleep, his dark hair mussed, a faint smile lingering even now. He’d saved me—not just from Marcus, but from

Ella’s Point of ViewRelief washed over me like a warm tide, mingling with a joy so fierce it felt like my heart might burst. I was free—not just from the hospital’s sterile walls, but from the shadow of Marcus’s cage, the fear that had haunted me for years. The doctors had cleared me to leave Northwestern Memorial, my gunshot wound healing well enough for discharge, though I’d need rest and monitoring. I sat in the passenger seat of Shawn’s black SUV, my hand in his, his thumb tracing gentle circles on my skin, his blue eyes stealing glances at me with a warmth that made my chest flutter. Lily was in the back, her curls bouncing as she chattered to Emerson, her small voice bright with excitement. My father sat beside her, his face a mask of cautious relief, his gray eyes flicking to Shawn with a suspicion that hadn’t softened. I understood his worry—after Marcus, trust was a fragile thing—but Shawn was different, his love a steady anchor, and I was ready to build a life with him,

Ella’s Point of ViewThe morning sunlight spilled through the tall windows of Shawn’s mansion, bathing the guest room in a golden glow that felt like a promise of new beginnings. My heart was a fragile, hopeful thing, brimming with love for the life I was rebuilding—Shawn’s warm kisses, Lily’s infectious laughter, the safety of this home that had become our sanctuary. I sat cross-legged on the plush carpet, my abdomen still tender from the gunshot wound, but the pain was a distant hum compared to the joy of watching Lily. She giggled, her curls bouncing as she arranged her stuffed animals in a circle, her small hands precise, her imagination turning the room into a magical kingdom. “Mommy, the bunny is the queen!” she declared, holding up a floppy-eared toy, her eyes sparkling with delight.I laughed, a soft, bubbly sound, my heart swelling. “Queen Bunny, huh?” I said, my voice warm, teasing. “She’s got to be the fluffiest ruler in the land.” I reached out, tickling her side, and s