All Chapters of Dear CEO, I Want a Divorce: Chapter 251 - Chapter 260

ANTHONY’S POVThe roof deck of Cameron’s villa was the kind of place people dreamed about when life felt too loud — quiet, warm, wrapped in mountain air and the shimmering sweep of Lake Como below. A gentle breeze stirred the white curtains that hung from the pergola, carrying with it the faint scent of lemon blossoms and distant wood smoke.Cameron’s parents had outdone themselves. Their hospitality wasn’t performative the way wealthy people often made it. It was soft, understated, and genuine. I was glad Ostara had come here first. Glad that her first steps after captivity were taken on clean floors, under clean skies, in a house filled with kind, loving people. She needed that before returning to London. Before returning to whatever her new version of “normal life” would look like.I leaned back in the chair, letting the sun warm my face. I hadn’t slept properly in days, and I’d been sitting alone for the past two hours, just trying to quiet my mind. Trying to talk myself out of

ANTHONY’S POV“I wish I could go back to that world,” she said. And it shattered my heart.“Even for a day,” she continued. “A world where the worst thing that could happen was Donna throwing a tantrum in a grocery store. Not… this.”I knew what she meant. Had my possesiveness, my madness, led us to this situation? Endangered the only woman who ever loved me and my child? “Ossie…” “You don’t have to say anything,” she said quickly. “I’m just frustrated, I didn’t mean it. I’m glad you are in Donna’s life. She loves you.” “And you?” “What about me?” I swallowed. “Are you glad I’m in your life?” She took a deep breath. The ache in her eyes tore me apart. “Even if I’m angry with you right now… yes. I’m glad.” I wanted to pull her into a hug and apologize. But no apology would ever be enough. She ran her fingers over her hair to adjust it and smooth it down. She calmed herself with a couple of deep breaths. “Alright,” she said, slipping her professional mask back on again. “Mölle

ANTHONY’S POVThe signing ended with the soft click of fountain pens, the rustle of legal paper, and a silence thick enough to choke on.The lawyers packed up their documents. Alan slid one final envelope across the table—cream paper, tied with a thin navy ribbon. David cleared his throat, speaking with the smooth composure of a man who’d practiced the line a hundred times.“Mr. Möller, this is the original will that belonged to your grandfather. It was recovered from Peter’s private study during the extraction of Ms. Beaumont. Mr. and Mrs. Morosini managed to retrieve it with the assistance of their guards.”My jaw tightened.Cameron’s parents had done more than save Ostara. They’d stolen Peter’s leverage right from under his nose.Alan continued, “This should tie up all loose ends. Even if Peter Banducci is alive, he cannot touch Möller Industries.” I didn’t reach for the envelope for a moment. My grandfather’s handwriting seemed to hum under the paper, like the ghost of who he w

OSTARA’S POVLife didn’t return to normal; it returned to something quieter, more controlled, more tense around the edges. Every morning, Bethany made coffee before I woke, and Donna crawled into my lap while I answered Harvest Bloom emails at the kitchen island. She didn’t say much about Italy—not directly—but she clung to me more than she used to, watched doorways with careful eyes, and refused to step past the gate outside. She played in the garden and the driveway, drifting a few steps farther each day before her courage ran out and she rushed back inside with an excuse about needing water or wanting to check something in her room.I didn’t push. I was barely managing my own fear.When Bethany brought a notebook to me one afternoon, filled with neatly written lists of schools in the area, I felt relief loosen something in my chest. “These are good places,” she said. “Warm teachers, low student-to-teacher ratio so she’ll get more personal attention. I thought Donna might want s

OSTARA’S POVWhat was this feeling?I kept my chin propped on my hand as I watched Anthony talk, his voice low and warm under the restaurant’s soft lights. The air smelled like toasted vanilla and citrus peel, string music threaded through the quiet, and yet none of it felt as distracting as the pulse in my own throat.I should have been relaxed. We’d eaten well, the room was beautiful, the evening had been… easy. Too easy. A little dangerous. I couldn’t name what was humming under my ribs, but it wasn’t just nerves. It wasn’t fear either. It felt like a door I had shut years ago was suddenly unlocked — just slightly, just enough for the light to leak through.I picked up my glass to hide the confusion twisting through me.“What?” Anthony asked with a crooked smile. “You’re looking at me like I’ve grown a second head.”“Just thinking,” I said.“That’s dangerous.”He said it playfully, but something in the remark sank a little too deep.Before I could overanalyze it, he leaned back i