Semua Bab Dear CEO, I Want a Divorce: Bab 241 - Bab 250

ANTHONY’S POVThree days.That’s how long it had been since I last heard her voice.Every hour dragged like it was meant to test me. Every morning, I woke half expecting to get a call — a demand, a report, anything — and when nothing came, the silence became its own kind of punishment.By the third morning, I couldn’t sit still anymore. I’d gone through every possible contact in Italy, called every favor I could think of, and still nothing.“She’s fine.”Cameron’s voice broke through my spiral. He was sitting across the table, his tone calm, measured, frustratingly steady.I looked up. “You said that yesterday.”“And I’m saying it again today,” he replied. “Because it’s still true.”“How do you know?”He leaned back slightly, his eyes clear in that way that told me he wasn’t bluffing. “My people told me.”“Your people?” I frowned. “Who the hell are your people, Cameron?”He closed his laptop and looked at me like he was deciding how much to reveal. “You know the community work I’ve do

OSTARA’S POVI started to understand something about power.It wasn’t a crown you wore. It was a fever — a craving that grew louder every time someone bowed. And Peter was drunk on it.Every day, his behavior shifted further from calculated cruelty into something frantic and desperate. His eyes twitched when someone hesitated. His jaw clenched if a man asked for clarification. There was no rhythm to his mood anymore — just spikes of arrogance followed by sudden eruptions of temper.When the older men in the mob questioned him, he softened his voice, hand over his heart, promising he was doing it “for the family.” That he only had the best intentions, that he wanted to secure financial safety for everyone, and give them good lives. But when the younger ones questioned him, he threatened to kick them out of the mob.Which, in their world, was the same as a death sentence.And the men knew it. I could see it in their tension. Their hesitation. Their glances at each other when his back w

OSTARA’S POVThe house had changed again.It wasn’t just the tension. That had always been here, humming through the halls like something woven into the walls. This was different. Sharper. More frantic. The air felt charged, like everyone inside was waiting for something—or someone—to explode.I sat on the edge of the bed, tying my hair back, when the first raised voice echoed down the corridor.I stood and moved toward the door.I couldn’t see anything from inside my room, but I could hear it. Peter shouting. Another man shouting back — older, steadier, refusing to bend.My pulse picked up.“—too fast!” the older man snapped. His accent was thicker than the others. One of the veterans, maybe. Someone who had been with the family long before Peter became the leader. “You push the chemist past capacity, and we lose everything. We lose the product, the buyers, and the safety.”“You think small,” Peter shot back. His voice was tight. On edge. “We either grow or die. There is no safe path

OSTARA’S POVHe did it. He finally snapped.The shouting died down to low, angry murmurs. More footsteps. Then silence again.I backed away from the door and sat on the edge of the bed, palms pressed to my knees, trying to slow my breathing. A soft knock came a few minutes later.I tensed. Everything in my body tightened up, as if bracing for a car crash. “Who is it?” I managed, my voice cracking. The door opened a crack. Riccardo stepped in. He shut the door behind him and stayed there, his back to it, as if he needed something solid to lean against.“What just happened?” I asked quietly.He exhaled slowly. “He almost killed Marco.”My stomach dropped. “Marco? His assistant, Marco?” “Boss aimed right at his forehead.” Riccardo finally met my eyes. “Sante shoved his arm at the last second and the shot went straight through a lamp, but still.” Peter had pulled the trigger on his right-hand man. Not a warning shot. Not a fake-out. A real one.I swallowed. “So… he is… alive?”“Yes.”

OSTARA’S POVI woke to warmth on my face.Not the harsh, hostile kind I’d been living under for days — but real sunlight. Soft. Golden. Filtering through sheer curtains in slow, lazy shapes. For a moment, I didn’t move. I lay there with my cheek against a pillow that smelled faintly of lavender and detergent, listening to the gentle hum of cicadas outside, the faint clinking of dishes somewhere in the house, the soft sound of water lapping at the edge of the lake.It felt unreal.I could breathe without fear tightening my lungs. I could blink without the dread of someone knocking on my door. I could stretch my arms without expecting them to be grabbed.I was safe. Fully, completely safe.A small laugh slipped out of me. Just a breath. A tiny release.By the time I got dressed and stepped out onto the terrace, everyone was already seated.Cameron’s parents were discussing something by the railing in hushed tones. Anthony stood behind Donna, guiding her hands as she spread jam onto a pi