All Chapters of Dear Ex-wife, You're More Than A Substitute: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

The hallway was silent when I stepped out of the elevator. Almost too silent. Everyone else had already left for the day. A soft glow from the recessed ceiling lights lit the corridor leading to the executive lounge. I’d returned to grab the documents for tomorrow’s press conference… the last batch of press kits had just arrived, and I needed to review them personally. But when I turned the corner, I saw her. Stacy. Leaning casually against the wall outside my office, like she’d been waiting. Arms folded. Lipstick freshly reapplied. That calculating smile barely masked the storm in her eyes. “Late night?” she asked. “Working,” I replied. “Some of us do.” She smirked and pushed off the wall. “Still the perfect one, aren’t you?” I unlocked my office and stepped inside without another word, flipping on the lights. Stacy followed. Uninvited. I didn’t ask her to leave. Let her play her little game. Let her think she could rattle me. She closed the door behind her slow

The corridors of Anderson Global always had this sterile quiet around noon. Most of the staff were either at lunch or hidden behind frosted glass panels. I preferred it that way… it meant less chit-chat, less curious eyes. I clutched the thin manila folder in my hand… a revised schematic update for project’s upper level eco-balcony integration. It wasn’t urgent, but Richard had asked me to bring it up once it was ready, and I had just finalized it. I figured I’d get it over with before grabbing a late lunch. I adjusted my blazer and nudged his office door open with a soft knock. “Mr. Anderson—” I stopped. Richard was standing behind his desk, one hand gripping the edge, the other fisted in his hair like he was seconds away from ripping it out. His back was half-turned toward me, but I could see his

Richard's POV I was flipping through the structural renderings on my desk, scanning through elevations and floor loads that somehow felt less important now than they used to. My mind had been trailing behind all morning stuck somewhere between the sharp edges of Camilla’s smile and the distant coolness in her eyes lately. Then I heard them. The unmistakable sharp click of heels against marble tiles. Before the door even opened, I already knew who it was. It swung open uninvited, unannounced. Stacy. Her hair was pinned back perfectly, red lips curved into a smug smile like she belonged in that office. She walked in like it was her birthright. “I thought I’d stop by,” she said sweetly, her gaze skating briefly over the papers on my desk before locking onto mine. “Hope I’m not interrupting.” I didn’t bother hiding my irritation. “You always do.” She ignored the comment and smiled wider, perching herself against the armrest of the guest chair like she owned the room.

TESSA’S POV The silence between me and Richard still clung to me. Heavy. Cold. It was the kind of silence that said everything words wouldn’t. I sat at the edge of the bed, staring at nothing... my fingers loosely curled around the hem of my robe, the soft fabric wrinkled from my grip. The door to the bathroom creaked open, and I stiffened, my breath catching just slightly. Richard stepped out, a towel draped over his shoulder, drops of water trailing down his chest. His hair was damp, messy in a way that used to feel familiar. He paused for a second when he saw me. Then he stepped closer. Slower this time. No defenses. No coldness. “Tessa,” he said softly. I looked up, startled by the gentleness in his voice. My eyes met his, and for a second, I saw something flicker in

The early evening light bled softly into the living room, turning the walls a shade of warm gold as the wind outside nudged gently at the windows. The house felt peaceful now, with Zane finally tucked away in his room, arranging his new toys from the morning’s surprise. I rubbed a hand along the back of my neck, releasing a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. It had been a long day... longer than most but the kind that left your heart full. I still wasn’t used to this kind of quiet joy. Five years in and it still felt like a borrowed dream. Caleb sat across from me on the sofa, arms stretched lazily over the cushion. He looked tired, maybe a little older, but in that good, weathered way life can age a man. The warm mug Christine had brought him earlier rested half-forgotten between his hands. Christine had stepped in just before I sat down, as if on cue, carrying a wooden tray with a porcelain mug and a small plate of almond biscuits. “Still like it with one sugar?” she asked C