All Chapters of Divorce After Betrayal Ex-Wife Revenge : Chapter 171 - Chapter 180

Evelyn’s footsteps echoed rhythmically on the wooden floor of her quiet studio. Night had long fallen, but the hanging lamp still glowed warmly above. Her worktable was cluttered with sketches, metal fragments, and gemstones yet to be set. But tonight, her mind was no longer bound to design.On the table lay a white envelope with gold trim—crisp, clean, unmistakably personal. The seal on the back bore the emblem of Maison Leclair, the oldest network of art and jewelry galleries in France.Evelyn slowly opened the letter, her eyes scanning the neatly written lines:> "To Evelyn Ren,We are honored to invite you exclusively to open the Evelyn Ren Permanent Gallery in Paris, as part of our long-term program to introduce Asian talent to the global stage..."She held her breath.> "...We believe your work represents a new generation of design—bold, emotional, and visionary. This is a priority offer, and we hope you’ll consider joining the Leclair Group in the near future."Below the messag

Rain fell softly over the city of Paris, gently streaming down the windows of the small gallery Evelyn had just opened in the corner of the seventh arrondissement. Behind the clear glass, adorned with hand-carved patterns she had etched herself, Evelyn stood alone, watching the busy traffic and the soft flicker of yellow streetlights.Her hands cradled a cup of warm tea, while on the small wooden table behind her, stacks of new sketches had begun to fill the space. She had just finished preparing for the residency class she would be teaching the following week. But her thoughts refused to stay present.Not about William. Not about Haruki. But about herself.All this time, she had measured happiness by the presence of others. By warm embraces. By whispered promises. By gazes that assured her she was worthy of being loved.But the most painful lesson—one that eventually made her stronger—was this: when everyone leaves, the only one left is yourself. And if she didn’t know, love, or even

“Our next panelist joining us today is… William Hartford.”Applause erupted across the grand hall of the international design conference. Evelyn froze for a moment, her fingers stilling over the edge of her speech notes. She hadn’t expected this—not today, not now.From the right side of the stage, William emerged, dressed in a sleek black suit and a deep wine-colored tie that made his gaze appear even sharper. His hair was neatly styled, his posture composed—but the moment his eyes swept the room and landed on Evelyn, time seemed to halt.Evelyn fought to keep her expression calm. She nodded politely, as though their reunion was nothing more than professional courtesy. But inside, her heart thundered like a storm against her ribs.William made his way to his seat. The long panel table was set with microphones and bottled water. His seat… was right beside Evelyn’s.“Good to see you again, Evelyn,” he whispered low, just enough for her to hear.“In a professional setting, always,” she

“I won’t take much of your time,” William said as he walked briskly behind Evelyn, weaving through the flurry of staff and conference crew backstage. His voice cut through the noise with quiet urgency.Evelyn glanced over her shoulder, stopping near a rack of camera equipment.“If you’re here to talk about what happened on stage—”“I’m not,” William interrupted calmly. “I’m here to talk privately. Not as a speaker. Not as an ex.”Evelyn let out a slow breath, then pointed to a folding chair in the corner of the backstage room.“Five minutes.”They sat down. The space between them was barely a meter, but it felt like a chasm of unfinished history.William looked down at his hands before finally speaking, his voice deeper than usual.“I’ve learned something, Evelyn. That loving someone doesn’t always mean staying by their side.”Evelyn laced her fingers together in her lap, watching him silently—giving him space to continue.“I let go of a lot,” William went on. “Not because I gave up,

“There’s a letter for you,” said the studio receptionist, handing over a plain white envelope with no return address.Evelyn took the envelope with a furrowed brow. No stamp, no postmark. Only her name written in elegant cursive on the front: Evelyn.She walked into her workspace, set down her bag, and stared at the envelope for a long moment before finally sitting down and slowly breaking the seal.It wasn’t a business document.Not an invitation. Not a congratulatory note.But… a poem.Handwritten. Bold black ink on crisp white linen paper. The lines felt like echoes from a nearly forgotten time—like her own voice.> “When rain taps on glass,I hear the whispers left unfinished.It wasn’t love that died,But faith beaten down by time.”Evelyn stiffened.This... was a poem she had written years ago—a poem she had never posted, never shared publicly. She had written it in her leather-bound journal, pages only ever shown to one person—William.Her breath caught in her throat.Her finge