Semua Bab The Billionaire's Ex-wife Never Looks Back : Bab 81 - Bab 90

Shawn’s Point of View The air in the foyer felt like it had thickened into molasses, Cliff’s words still ringing in my ears, his gray-eyed glare cutting through me like a blade through paper. Ella stood beside me, Lily sleepy in my arms, and I could feel the fire in her, the way her shoulders squared despite the exhaustion etched into her face. Before I could respond to Cliff’s cold demand to walk away from her, she stepped forward, her voice steady, sharp, like a scalpel. “I’m Dr. Ella Harper,” she said, her chin lifted, her tone unyielding. “I’m sorry for whatever mess you think I’m dragging into your life, but I’m not some bad omen to be tossed aside. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.” Her words hit like a spark, fierce and unapologetic, and for a moment, I wanted to pull her close, tell her how damn proud I was. But Cliff’s gaze didn’t waver, his lips curling into a faint, dismissive sneer, and I knew this wasn’t the place for a fight—not with Lily stirring in my arms, h

Ella’s Point of View The room felt too small, the walls pressing in as I sat on the edge of the bed, my hands still trembling from the call with Amanda. Her voice—smug, cruel, accusing me of being the problem—echoed in my head like a bad song stuck on repeat, each word a fresh cut. I’d thrown the phone across the bed, its screen now dark, but the fury still burned in my chest, a live wire sparking with every heartbeat. Lily’s laughter drifted from her room, the cartoon’s cheery music a cruel contrast to the storm inside me. Vanessa’s face in the diner, Amanda’s betrayal, Cliff’s cold disdain downstairs—it was all too much, a tidal wave threatening to drag me under. I pressed my palms to my face, my breath shaky, trying to hold it together, to keep the pieces of myself from shattering. The door creaked open, and Shawn stepped in, his cane tapping softly on the hardwood, his presence a quiet anchor in the chaos. His face was tight with concern, his brows furrowed, his voice low

Marcus Carter’s Point of ViewThe bass from the club’s speakers thumped like a heartbeat, vibrating through the leather stool where I sat, the air thick with the smell of sweat, perfume, and spilled liquor. The Night Sins hadn’t changed much since my college days—same dark corners, same pulsing lights, same promise of escape. I’d come here to drown out the day, to shove Ella’s rejection and Vanessa’s ghost out of my head with a few shots of vodka and maybe a warm body for the night. Going back to my empty apartment, stewing in the fact that I was a rejected nobody, wasn’t an option. I swirled the glass, the ice clinking, and tried to focus on the burn of the liquor instead of the ache in my chest. Five years I’d chased Ella, convinced if I pushed hard enough, she’d see my love, see her mistake, and come back. But today, seeing her with Lily, my daughter, in that diner—her green eyes sparkling, her laughter like a hook in my gut—I realized I had something real to lose. And then Vane

Vanessa Monroe’s Point of ViewThe air in The Night Sins pulsed with heat, the bass thumping like a fever in my veins as Marcus’s hand slid up my thigh, his touch bold, possessive, igniting a spark I hadn’t felt in years. His eyes, dark with intent, locked on mine, and I leaned into it, my lips curving into a smile that promised everything and nothing. Five years ago, I’d have melted under that gaze, begged for his love, but now? Now, I hated him—hated the man who’d shattered my world, who’d pushed me hard enough to lose our child, who’d left me to claw my way through the wreckage of my faded fame. But hate was a fire, and fire could burn both ways. I let him lead me out of the club, his grip firm, my dress clinging to my skin, the night air sharp against my flushed cheeks as we headed to his apartment. I wasn’t here for love. I was here for revenge.Inside his penthouse, the city’s glow filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting shadows over sleek furniture and polishe

Ella’s Point of ViewThe morning’s warmth still hummed in my veins as Shawn and I descended the staircase, our fingers laced together, his touch a quiet promise after the soft hours we’d stolen in bed. The memory of his breakfast tray—flaky croissants, tart strawberries, his lips brushing mine—kept a fragile smile on my face, a shield against the shadows of last night. Amanda’s venom, Cliff’s sharp-edged threats, the specter of Marcus and Vanessa—they lingered like a low hum, ready to flare at any moment. But Shawn’s hand, steady despite the faint tremor from his old surgeries, grounded me. Lily’s laughter spilled from the dining room, bright and unburdened, pulling us forward. I squeezed his hand, his cane tapping softly beside us, and we stepped into the sunlit room where Lily sat, her small hands curled around a glass of orange juice, her smile a light that made my heart twist with love and fear.“Hey, sweetheart,” I said, pressing a kiss to her forehead, her curls tickling my