Semua Bab Dear CEO, I Want a Divorce: Bab 171 - Bab 180

ANTHONY’S POVThe car pulled away from the TV studio, and I watched the city go by. I did not see much of it. I was thinking about Donna. The words kept playing in my head.Maybe it’s time for Donna to meet her father.I kept my breathing steady. I did not want to get carried away. One step at a time. Do not scare it off. Do not mess it up.When we reached my building, I thanked the driver and took the lift up. I opened the door to my apartment, walked straight to the couch, and fell into it. The cushions gave under me, and I stared at the ceiling for a long second. Then I sat up, pulled my phone out, and opened a browser.Gifts. I needed something to bring. Chocolates were easy. She liked them. I had seen that. But which ones? Milk, dark, filled, plain? I searched for the best artisan chocolate boxes for kids. Pages loaded with too many choices. Gold boxes, ribbon boxes, cartoon boxes. I opened five tabs and kept going.What else? Dolls. Safe, I thought. But what kind? Something she

OSTARA’S POVThe kitchen smelled of garlic and rosemary. I stirred the pan, tasting as I went, making sure the flavors were balanced. Anthony always liked his food hearty, simple, and clean. Roast chicken, roasted potatoes, charred greens with lemon. It wasn’t complicated, but it felt right. After everything we had gone through, I wanted tonight to be steady. Safe. Something normal for once.Behind me, the sound of laughter rang out. Donna was in the living room, twirling in yet another one of her fairy princess dresses. The skirt flared, her plastic tiara slipped, and she kept running to the mirror to see if she looked “royal enough.”Bethany leaned on the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, eyes soft. Davina was with her, sipping tea, both of them watching me like hawks.“You’re sure you’re all right?” Bethany asked for the third time that hour.“I am,” I said, tasting the sauce again. “Really, I am.”Davina smirked. “You look calmer now than you did on television this morning.”I smile

PETER’S POVThe drop point was an old service warehouse on the edge of town. Empty except for broken crates and the sound of rain dripping through cracks in the roof. Exactly the kind of place you didn’t ask questions about.I’d chosen it for that reason. Neutral. Forgettable. Safe.She wasn’t.Natalie stumbled inside twenty minutes late, her coat half-buttoned, hair sticking to her cheeks, eyes wide like she’d been running for her life. She carried her bag clutched tight to her chest, muttering under her breath, her steps uneven.The sight irritated me instantly.“What the hell is wrong with you?” I snapped, stepping out from the shadows. “You’ve stolen things a million times before. You walk in, you walk out. You look like a hunted animal right now.”She jerked at the sound of my voice, then sagged with relief when she saw it was me. Her lips trembled.“I—” Her voice cracked. “Peter, I—”I clenched my jaw. The rambling tone, the hysteria, it made my skin crawl. This wasn’t what I ne

OSTARA’S POVCameron walked me down to the lobby after our talk. The air between us felt different now—lighter, though still careful. He wasn’t grinning like a boy who had won something, but there was a quiet satisfaction in the way he carried himself, a warmth I hadn’t noticed before.“I’ll drive you home,” he offered, taking his keys from his pocket. His voice was even, low. “You’ve had enough this week. No more cabs or drivers.”I smiled faintly. “That would be nice.”Outside, the city lights reflected on the car windows, sharp against the dark sky. He opened the passenger side door for me, an old-fashioned gesture, but it didn’t feel forced. Just Cameron being Cameron.The drive was quiet but not uncomfortable. He talked lightly about a new gallery opening in Mayfair, about a wine his friend had shipped in from France, about little things that sounded far away from funerals and broken families. I found myself nodding, listening, thankful for the normalcy.When we pulled up outside

PETER’S POVSylvester had been the last competent one in that family. Now he was gone.I sat in my office with the curtains drawn, the room sunk in amber shadows from a single lamp on the desk. The will lay open in front of me, its neat script written with the old man’s precision. I’d read it three times already, and every time I finished, a grin tugged wider at my mouth.The bastard had known everything. Every weakness, every betrayal, every scheme brewing in his brood. He’d chosen his words carefully, weaving control even from his grave.I lifted my glass of whiskey and let the warmth burn down my throat. If I were in his shoes, perhaps I would have done the same. The man had nerve. He hadn’t ruled with sentiment. He had ruled with foresight. And I respected that.The papers rustled when I closed them, sliding the will back into its envelope. MedDirect was finally steadying, the bleeding slowing, the patient finding its heartbeat again. Long nights, creative accounting, and more