All Chapters of Dear CEO, I Want a Divorce: Chapter 261 - Chapter 267

ANTHONY’S POVThe sound reached me before the panic did—a sharp, splintering crash from the direction of the upstairs guest bedroom. For one second, I assumed it was Donna knocking something over, but the heaviness of it, the echo, the silence that followed… my blood chilled.I left my study at a near run.Ostara stood near the window, frozen in place. White porcelain shards were scattered around her feet, coffee dripping slowly across the tiles in thin, pale streams. Her hands were trembling. Her eyes were fixed—not on the mess, not on me—but on the large window facing the garden.“Ossie?” I said.She didn’t look at me.I followed her gaze. The garden looked empty in the muted morning light, peaceful even. Nothing moved but the leaves. Nothing felt wrong… and yet everything was wrong because the expression on her face wasn’t confusion.It was fear.Pure, silent fear.“Ossie,” I repeated, stepping carefully toward her. “What did you see?”Her breath shuddered out. “Someone was there,”

NATALIE’S POVPeter sat across from me like he had every right to be there, like he wasn’t the reason my life had detonated twice before I managed to glue it back together. “What are you doing here?” I asked, keeping my voice cool, unbothered.He ignored the question entirely. “I’m impressed, honestly,” he said, gaze sweeping over me. “Private brunches, invites to launch parties, Pilates memberships, and yet… not a single photo online. No tabloids, no gossip sites. Nothing. Almost impossible for someone who loves constant attention.”I lifted a brow. “Those are the perks,” I said smoothly, “of living in a city where people have actual money. They don’t need to validate themselves by posting every grain of salt on their avocado toast. And they respect privacy.”I leaned back. “Unlike you, Peter. I know you can’t resist sticking your nose in places it doesn’t belong.”His smile sharpened—not amused, just dangerous. “Careful, Natalie.”“You don’t get to tell me—”“I don’t care who you p

OSTARA’S POVAnthony’s study always felt like the safest room in the house—dark wood, steady lighting, walls lined with books that made everything feel grounded. Today, even the room seemed on edge.We spoke in angry whispers, the kind people use when they don’t want the person in the next room to hear them.Anthony leaned close to me, jaw clenched, voice low. “I don’t trust her. Not one bit.”“I don’t either,” I whispered back. “But have you actually looked at her? She didn’t even look like this when we found her after she disappeared for all those years!”Natalie was sitting on the couch outside the study door, wrapped in one of Bethany’s blankets, sipping tea with both hands curled around the mug like she expected ghosts to burst out of the walls at any moment. She kept staring into the cup as if something inside it had personally wronged her.I hated that part of me that reacted to her bruises. I hated even more that another part wondered what was real and what was performance. Cu