All Chapters of Dear CEO, I Want a Divorce: Chapter 121 - Chapter 130

ANTHONY’S POVShe arrived unannounced.The knock at the door was chipper, casual, like it was someone I was already expecting. Mark opened it. I heard the pause, the familiar register of her voice. By the time I walked out of the back room, she was already inside, already sitting on the arm of one of the chairs like she owned the damn place.“Natalie,” I said flatly.She smiled like we were old friends. “Anthony! London suits you.”I didn’t answer. I just looked at Mark.He shrugged lightly, a silent apology. “She wouldn’t leave.”Of course, she wouldn’t.She crossed one leg over the other, laptop under one arm, her whole posture suggesting confidence she hadn’t earned.“I came to help,” she said brightly.“With what?”“Harvest Bloom. Zenith. You’re clearly stuck. You approached it the right way, now it’s time to twist some arms!” “We’re not twisting arms,” I said firmly. “Well, if it comes to that…” “It’s not coming to anything, Nat, I don’t want you working on Zenith, it’s my pr

OSTARA’S POVDonna was asleep. Finally.She’d curled into herself, one arm thrown over her deer plush, legs tucked high under the blanket. Her hair was a mess, and her cheeks were still slightly pink from the panic of earlier. I sat at the edge of her bed for a while, just watching her sleep. Her breathing was soft. Steady. Nothing like it had been an hour ago.I closed my eyes for a second, just to gather myself. Everything about today had spun me sideways.When I stood up, I closed her door quietly behind me and walked out into the hallway. The air felt too still. I needed to step outside, ground myself.The terrace doors were open just a crack. I pushed them wider and walked out barefoot onto the stone tiles. The wind was cool, steady. The sky was already turning dark.Elijah was sitting on the outdoor couch, legs crossed, his laptop on his knees, eyes narrowed at something. Ethan was curled up in the armchair across from him, one knee up, a thick book resting on it.They both loo

OSTARA’S POVThe sun hit different in Italy.That was my first thought when we stepped off the jet in Milan, and the warmth of early spring air kissed my skin. Lighter. Softer. Like someone had turned the world down to a gentler volume.Donna let out a little whoop as the breeze blew through her curls, bouncing on her toes in her little sneakers.“I can already smell pizza,” she announced to no one.Davina raised her sunglasses and smiled. “I told you this kid had priorities.”Bethany was behind us, juggling two of Donna’s bags with the kind of ease only she could manage. She didn’t complain, just scanned the tarmac for our next ride.I took one slow breath.This wasn’t home. It wasn’t safety. But it was quiet. And right now, that was enough.A sleek black helicopter sat waiting just ahead, blades beginning to slow. The pilot waved us forward.Donna tugged at my sleeve. “We’re going up again?”I nodded. “Just a little further, then we’ll rest.”“And gelato?”I laughed. “You’ll survi

OSTARA’S POVAs promised, Peter didn’t reach out for an entire week.Not a single message. Not a casual “How’s the view today?” Not even a forwarded itinerary or a wine suggestion.Just silence. Polite, deliberate silence.And I couldn’t decide if it impressed me… or annoyed me.That week, Donna and I made Lake Como our own. We explored the cobblestone streets in the nearby villages, tried too many variations of pistachio gelato, hired a boat that Donna insisted she would captain, which meant sitting at the helm in oversized sunglasses, ordering the captain, who took her very seriously, and spotted at least two celebrities sunbathing on private docks. Davina nearly passed out when she realized one of them had liked one of her old Instagram posts from 2019.She spent the rest of that afternoon “casually” fixing her hair.Bethany relaxed, too. She had that watchful stillness about her most days, but even she began walking more slowly, sitting longer in the sun, taking longer pauses wit

PETER’S POVThe lake was darker when I left her villa. The water lost its late light and took on that flat, steady tone that makes the shore feel honest. I walked the path alone. No driver. No assistant. I needed the quiet that comes when there is nothing to answer and nowhere to pretend to be.At my place the staff had already lowered the lights. Someone left a carafe of water on the console and a linen napkin folded into a square. The air held the faint burn of the fireplace even though it hadn’t been lit. I slid my jacket off, set it over the back of a chair, and loosened my cuffs. My phone lit up on the side table—three messages, none urgent. I didn’t open them. I stood at the open doors to the terrace and let the night sit in my chest until my heartbeat slowed to a normal pace.Dinner should have been simple. It was supposed to be simple. Good food, a gorgeous terrace with views, and the right amount of talk. I had vowed to keep every line clear. She did most of the work for me—