All Chapters of Dear CEO, I Want a Divorce: Chapter 261 - Chapter 270

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

ANTHONY’S POVAs Mark led Natalie up the stairs, a guard trailing behind them, I watched until the top of her head disappeared from view. Only then did I turn to Ostara.“What the hell is going on?” I asked.She rubbed her temples. “Honestly? I have no idea. But I am grateful that at least one person we can’t trust is under our noses and under control.”I huffed. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, isn’t that how it goes?”“Something like that,” she said. Her eyes flicked up the staircase again. “The important part is that she came face-to-face with Peter. So we know he’s alive. And now it’s worth asking how they even know each other.”“That part’s easy,” I said quietly. “I’ve suspected for a long time that they were working together. Ever since I started looking for you in London.”“We should sleep on it,” she murmured. “I can’t think straight right now.”I looked at her for a beat. She was still the most beautiful thing in every room, but it hit me how tired she really

OSTARA’S POVNatalie humming in my kitchen was not how I envisioned the morning after finally putting my life back together.“You really don’t have to,” I said, sharper than intended. “We have a chef. And three maids.”“I know,” she replied, whisk still moving. “But I wanted to show my gratitude. Can’t I do that?”“No.” I took a step closer, steel in my spine. “Step away from the stove and drop the act.”Her eyebrows lifted, the innocence on her face shifting—something a little colder underneath. “Why are you being so suspicious? I’ve been nothing but open and transparent since I arrived here.”“Transparent?” I scoffed. “We still don’t know how you even know Peter.”Her whisking faltered. The eggs began to sizzle too hard, burning at the edges. She glanced back at the pan in panic.“Leave it,” I snapped. “Answer the question.”“It’s… a long story.”“Believe me,” I said, crossing my arms, “I have time.”Footsteps approached from behind me. Anthony entered the kitchen, hair damp from a