บททั้งหมดของ Seducing my Ex-husband back: บทที่ 141 - บทที่ 150

THE PRODIGAL SON~RICHARD'S POV~The glass doors of Blackwood Industries slid open with a soft whoosh—a sound I used to associate with power, with arriving at my kingdom. Now, it just sounded like an insult.I stopped in the lobby, staring at the security guards who refused to make eye contact with me."I'm not doing this," I muttered, turning to leave. "Alistair made it clear. I'm out. Walking back in here like a petitioner is pathetic.""It's not pathetic, Richard. It's strategic." David blocked my path, his hand firm on my shoulder. He looked infuriatingly calm in his navy suit, while I felt like I was wearing a costume of the man I used to be. "You can't keep avoiding him. You need to show the old man you aren't the same broken mess he fired last week."I scoffed, shaking his hand off. "I am exactly the same mess, David. Just with less money and more rage. And with Monica's reputation dragging me down? Alistair won't risk putting me back on the board. He cares about the stock pr

DIRTY HANDS~ALEXANDER'S POV~Playing dirty wasn't just a tactic I learned; it was my first language.I checked my watch as the black SUV idled outside the unassuming warehouse on the outskirts of Queens. 6:00 PM. I had promised to pick Claire up for dinner at seven. That gave me exactly one hour to break a man who had held out for weeks."Status on the Sterlings?" I asked Ilynos as he opened my door."Quiet, sir," Ilynos reported, his face grim. "Brad Sterling goes to the office, comes home. Annette goes to the gym, goes to Darla's. They look clean.""They aren't clean," I muttered, buttoning my jacket. "They just know how to hide the dirt. Keep watching them."I walked into the warehouse. The air changed instantly—from the exhaust of the city to the metallic tang of rust, old oil, and fear.Ilynos led me to the back room. Inside, Owen Sinclair sat zip-tied to a heavy steel chair. He looked... reduced. His designer clothes were ruined, his face bruised and unshaven. He had been h

THE BASTARD'S LUCK~DAVID'S POV~"Fold."I tossed my cards onto the green felt table, watching the dealer rake in my chips for the third time in twenty minutes. Fifty thousand dollars. Gone.I signaled the waitress for another scotch, my jaw tight.When did this start again? The gambling? The need to bleed money just to feel something? It reminded me of college. Back then, I would squander the hush money my father sent me just to spite him. I would burn through thousands in a night, trying to fill the void where a family was supposed to be.I looked at the whiskey swirling in my glass.I was the mistake. The illegitimate son. My mother had taken Thomas Blackwood's payoff the moment the ink was dry on the check, leaving her three-year-old son behind like a piece of luggage she didn't want to pay the fee for. My nanny was the only mother I ever knew. She was paid to care, but at least she showed up.And then... there was Claire.I closed my eyes, the casino noise fading into a dull ro

THE ART OF SURVIVAL~ANNETTE'S POV~The jar of artisanal olives I had dropped shattered against the floor, the sound exploding like a gunshot in the silent house.For a second, nobody moved.I stared at the scene, my brain trying to process the impossible. Richard Blackwood, covered in blood like a butcher. David Blackwood, holding the corner of a rolled-up rug. And my father... my father lying facedown on the floor, a dark pool expanding around his head."Dad?" I whispered.Then, survival instinct kicked in. I took a slow step back toward the open door. Just one step."Grab her!" David shouted.I turned around to run, but Richard was faster than he looked. He lunged, his bloody hand clamping around my arm. I screamed—a high, piercing sound that I hoped would reach the street—and swung my purse at his head."Get off me!" I shrieked, kicking and clawing. "You murderers! Help!"David was there a second later, grabbing my other arm. They dragged me backward, my heels skidding uselessly

TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT~CLAIRE'S POV~The coffee in the hospital waiting room vending machine was terrible, but it was hot, and that was all that mattered.I sat on the vinyl chair, staring into the dark liquid. My mother was sleeping. The doctors said she was improving, but every time the monitors beeped, my heart skipped a beat. I felt stretched thin, like a rubber band ready to snap."Claire?"I looked up. Standing near the elevators, looking unusually shabby, was Annette.She was wearing a trench coat that was buttoned wrong, and there was a smudge of something dark—dirt? grease?—on her cheek. She looked like she had been through a war."Annette," I said, standing up. "What are you doing here?"She walked over to me, her movements jerky and nervous. She kept glancing down the hallway as if she expected someone to jump out at her."My father," she said, her voice raspy. "He... he had an accident. A fall at home. I had to bring him in.""Oh my god," I said, my earlier suspicion soft