Все главы Dear CEO, I Want a Divorce: Глава 231 - Глава 240

OSTARA’S POVThe week passed like a soft blur.The Halloween flavor competition had taken over Harvest Bloom.Someone had drawn a scoreboard on the break room wall. Every morning, new sticky notes appeared with flavor names that ranged from brilliant to borderline absurd. “Caramel Blood Moon.” “Pumpkin Praline Panic.” “Ghoulberry Crunch.”By Thursday, Sabrina’s absence still felt strange, but the team’s excitement had a way of filling the gaps she’d left.We agreed to hold a company-wide vote the following week to decide the winner.By Friday, my attention had shifted entirely to Donna’s school charity bake sale. The school courtyard was bright with paper banners and tables lined with baked goods. The air smelled of sugar and cinnamon, laughter and autumn. Children raced around with frosting on their faces while parents haggled politely over cookies as though they were stocks on the market.Our stall looked lovely. The white tablecloth fluttered gently in the breeze, baskets of brown

OSTARA’S POVThe email glowed on the screen like a threat carved in light. For a long time, none of us spoke.The words blurred in and out of focus — Will you marry me? — taunting, obscene, personal. My throat closed around a sound that wasn’t quite a scream.Anthony’s voice broke through first, low and wrecked.“Ostara, I’m sorry. I—”“Don’t.” My voice came out sharp enough to cut glass. “Not now.”Cameron leaned forward from the counter, rubbing the back of his neck. “You two can fight later. Right now, we have something we didn’t have ten minutes ago — a clue. That’s what matters.”He was right, but I couldn’t make myself breathe past the panic clawing up my chest.I wanted to shout, to throw the laptop across the room, to demand time rewind thirty-four seconds and stop this from happening at all.And then —Ping.A new email.All three of us looked at the screen.No police.Tell them your mother called. Tell them she found Donna.Get rid of everyone.Or I’ll start sending pieces.

OSTARA’S POVCameron stood behind me as I stared at the email draft, my fingers hovering over the keys. The cursor blinked — steady, unbothered — as if it wasn’t carrying the weight of my entire world.Anthony was pacing by the window, the dark outline of London beyond him, his reflection fractured across the glass.“He wants you to say yes,” Cameron murmured. “So say it. But make him prove she’s alive first.”I swallowed hard and nodded. The words on the screen blurred for a moment before I steadied my hands enough to type:I’ll marry you. But I need proof. I need to see my daughter — alive, safe, and unharmed.I hit send.No one breathed.Seconds ticked into minutes, every one of them stretching into eternity. Then — ping.The air went out of the room.Anthony was the first to move, leaning over my shoulder as I opened the new message. There was no text this time, only a video file.I clicked play.The screen filled with the image of Donna sitting on a bed — her knees pulled up, her

PETER’S POVMatteo answered on the second ring, breath quick like he’d been running. I could hear the night around him—crickets, a dog barking far away. Good. The world had to feel normal when we made it anything but.“Do it tonight,” I said. My voice was flat. “Take her. Bring her here. No marks. No harm. You hear me?”There was a pause long enough that I pictured the man hesitating, weighing his choices. Then the gravelly reply. “I’ll be careful. She’ll be safe.”“One scratch and we’ve lost everything. Treat her like a porcelain doll. Anything happens to the girl and Ostara will be impossible to bargain with.”Matteo made a noise like assent and hung up. I set the phone down and watched the screen go dark. The house felt too large. The candles in the sitting room threw long shadows. I did not like shadows. Shadows suggested corners, and corners suggested mistakes.I stood and moved to the old oak chest I kept in my office. It was a plain box, unassuming, boring, even. But what i ke

OSTARA’S POVIt wasn’t like I didn’t know this would happen.I had walked into the villa knowing exactly how the night would end. That was, after all, the plan — or at least the version of it Cameron and I could live with. If I had to marry Peter Banducci to bring Donna home, then I would. And if, in doing so, I gained a window into his operations, a way to end this entire nightmare from the inside — then maybe it was worth it.After Anthony was dragged out of the house, bruised and shouting, one of Peter’s men led me upstairs. The hallways were silent again, wiped clean of the chaos that had filled them minutes before. The man said nothing, just gestured toward a door at the far end of the corridor.It opened into a large bedroom — surprisingly warm, lit by a low chandelier. The walls were cream, lined with old wooden panels and framed sketches of villas that had probably been beautiful once. The air smelled faintly of lemon polish and damp fabric.It was quaint. Old Italian charm. B