All Chapters of Dear CEO, I Want a Divorce: Chapter 221 - Chapter 230

OSTARA’S POVFor a moment, I couldn’t move.Adaline Kingswell.The name itself tugged something faintly unpleasant in my chest — not hatred, not even jealousy, but discomfort. The kind that comes from remembering an old version of yourself you’d rather forget. The woman Anthony’s father had once wanted for him, heir to the Kingswell hotel chain. Adaline had always been… perfect. Soft-spoken, elegant, the kind of woman who never seemed uncertain about her place in a room. She’d been the portrait of everything I wasn’t when I was still Elisha — calm where I’d been frantic, measured where I’d been impulsive. Even now, standing in the same room, I could feel the faint echo of that old insecurity trying to rise again.But I wasn’t that woman anymore.I was Ostara now. And I could hold my own. Even if, deep down, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what she was doing here.Adaline saw us first. Her smile was genuine, surprised but warm, as she stood from the armchair opposite Anthony. “Ostara?

ANTHONY’S POVThe drive back was heavy with silence.Donna sat in the back seat, her little hands folding and unfolding her doll’s dress as if the careful movement could shield her from whatever she sensed hanging in the air. Ostara stared out the window the whole time, her reflection flickering against the glass as the city blurred past. I kept my focus on the road, jaw locked, the sound of the tires filling the space where words should have been.Every few minutes, I caught Donna’s eyes in the mirror — alert, uncertain. She could feel the tension too.When we finally pulled into the driveway, I forced a smile and said, “We’re home, sweetheart.”Donna looked up, hesitant. “Okay.”Bethany opened the door before I’d even killed the engine, greeting Donna with her usual bright warmth. “There’s my girl! Come on, bath time.”Donna hesitated, glancing between us again, but I reached back and squeezed her hand gently. “Go with Bethany, baby. I’ll come tuck you in later.”She nodded, trusti

OSTARA’S POVCameron’s voice broke the moment like a quiet crack of glass. He stood in the doorway, crisp tuxedo, hair neatly slicked back, the faint scent of cedar and his cologne cutting through the room.I blinked, stepping back instinctively. “Oh—Cameron. I thought you’d already left for your event.”He smiled, though his eyes flicked briefly between us. “I was just heading out, but I came to see if you were still coming with me. You said you would.”Right. I had.For a second, my mind blanked. “Oh my God,” I muttered. “I completely forgot.”Anthony, mercifully, said nothing. His arms crossed, his expression neutral but heavy.Cameron’s tone was light, but his gaze lingered a fraction too long. “You still have time… if you’d like to come?”I forced a smile. “Give me twenty minutes. I’ll be ready.”He nodded. “I’ll wait.”I turned away quickly.Upstairs, my heart was pounding. Not from guilt, exactly, but from confusion. The hug had been brief, impulsive, something born of shared

ANTHONY’S POVMonday arrived like a slap.I woke before dawn, long before Donna’s soft footsteps or Bethany’s coffee clatter in the kitchen. My body was still, but my mind wouldn’t stop turning. The ring kept flashing behind my eyes — the rubies, the light, the easy smile on her face when she’d noticed me looking.I’d told myself I wouldn’t think about it. Not today. Not when everything else was hanging by a thread.There was still hope, wasn’t there?If I wanted any chance at a future with her — any chance at keeping Donna safe — I had to move. I couldn’t drown in what-ifs. I couldn’t sit here like a man mourning something he hadn’t even lost yet.Business first. Survival first. Everything else would come later.By midmorning, Mark and I were sitting across from the three founders of MedDirect in the small conference room at their Midtown office.Tyrell looked cautious, eyes sharp behind his glasses, while Henry fidgeted with a pen, his nervous energy filling the room. Jeffrey, as u

OSTARA’S POVThe morning light poured across the table, warm and honey-colored, turning fabric samples and ribbon swatches into small treasures. Bethany sat opposite me with her reading glasses perched halfway down her nose, sorting through a mountain of bridal magazines. Davina was curled up on the couch with her laptop, clicking through mood boards like a woman on a mission.It was the kind of scene that should have felt chaotic — color palettes everywhere, fabric draped across chairs, Bethany and Davina debating over peonies versus ranunculus — yet somehow it was peaceful.“Well, blush roses are timeless,” Bethany said, tapping a page. “But the mauve tones feel more… you.”Davina shook her head. “Mauve is safe. She needs something bolder. Think color blocking, something that pops in photos. Maybe an ombré arch with gold accents.”“Gold?” Bethany asked, scandalized. “It’ll look so tacky!”“It’ll look regal,” Davina countered.I smiled faintly, letting them argue while I sipped my te