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

Richard’s POVMy phone lit up on the desk with an unknown number. I raised an eyebrow. This phone was safe from strange numbers. I was about to drop it when I saw the call was accompanied by a message. I squinted.The message was short, cold, and devastating:*Old yacht at Pier 17. Come alone. Your wife and son are waiting. One hour. Tell anyone and they die screaming.*I read it twice. My blood turned to ice, but my mind sharpened the way it always did in crisis. This wasn’t random. This was calculated. The same feeling I had when Michael was alive, that creeping certainty of a trap. That asshole is still alive.I didn’t hesitate.I grabbed the gun from the hidden drawer in my office, checked the magazine, and slipped it into the holster under my jacket. Then I dialed Caleb.He answered on the first ring.“Richard?”“Michael ’s alive,” I said, voice low and steady. “He has Camilla and Zane. Pier 17. Old yacht. He says come alone, but I’m not stupid. I need you.” I didn’t see him as c

The water was at my chest now.Cold. Relentless. Rising faster with every second. The yacht groaned like a dying animal, metal twisting and screaming under the pressure. I kept both hands locked on the dead-man’s switch, arms burning, fingers numb. If I let go even for a moment, the bomb would detonate and take everything with it.Camilla’s screams still echoed in my ears even though Caleb had already dragged her and Zane down the corridor.“Richard! No! Please don’t do this!”Her voice had cracked with pure agony. Zane had been crying my name — “Richard! Richard !” — until his voice disappeared behind the roaring water.I stood alone in the flooding room, teeth clenched, holding death in my hands.This was the only way.Michael had designed it perfectly. One person had to stay. One person had to die so the others could live. And after everything — the lies, the guilt, the pain I had caused and endured — it had to be me.The water reached my neck. I tilted my head back, gasping for the

The hospital room smelled of the same sharp ammonia and sterile cold that had defined the worst nights of my life. For years, that scent had been a trigger, a sensory bridge back to the days when I was a ghost in my own home, waiting for a “medical accident” to claim me. But tonight, as I sat by the edge of the high-tech bed, the smell didn’t feel like a threat. It felt like a boundary. A clean line drawn between the wreckage of the Seraphina and the life we were about to begin.Richard lay propped up against the pillows, his chest bandaged, his skin still bearing the fading soot of the explosion. He looked exhausted—his eyes deep-set and rimmed with the red fatigue of a man who had swum through hell—but for the first time since I’d known him, the tension in his jaw was gone. The “quiet” he always talked about wasn’t a hollow void anymore. It was peaceful.“You’re staring, Camilla,” he rasped, his voice still sandpaper-rough from the saltwater.“I’m making sure you’re real,” I whisper

Stacy's POV The air around me didn’t carry the scent of diesel, rot, or the metallic tang of blood that had clung to my skin like a second suit for five years. Here, the air is thin, sharp, and smells of pine needles and ancient, frozen stone. It has a sterile smell. It is the smell of a fresh bandage.I stood on the balcony of the villa Caleb had provided, wrapped in a cashmere robe that cost more than my foster parents had earned in a decade. The sun was just beginning to crest over the jagged white peaks, bleeding a pale, watery gold across the valley.I looked at my hands. They were steady.For the first time since I was seventeen, the "quiet" inside me wasn't a defensive wall. It wasn't the silence I had kept while Andrew’s heart stuttered to a halt, or the stillness I had practiced while Richard looked into my "blind" eyes and saw a tragedy worth protecting.I was no longer a ghost. I was Lara Vance, a woman of means, a sister found, a shadow retired.I walked back into the w

Caleb's POV The iron fire pit in my backyard crackled, a low, rhythmic sound that felt like the steady breathing of a past finally put to rest. As I stood in front of the fire I couldn't help but admire how beautiful it was.I stood alone by the flames, the evening air chilling the back of my neck. In my hand, I held a small, silver thumb drive. It felt heavy, far heavier than a few grams of plastic and silicon should. It was the only proof of what was left of Stacy's crime, which wasn't at the bottom of the ocean. It was the only thing left of the woman the world knew as Stacy.As long as I lived, no one was going to find anything about her. I watched the pictures and flashdrive burn to ashes. Only then was I at peace that my sister was safe.I sat back on my chair, ready to enjoy the evening when my phone beeped. It was Camilla. My heart skipped. Almost immediately I remembered I hadn't told her anything about Stacy. In my mind I could see that I was not a good friend but what w