Lahat ng Kabanata ng Dear CEO, I Want a Divorce: Kabanata 271 - Kabanata 280

NATALIE’S POVThe house was many things.Quiet.Predictable.Safe.And God, it was boring.I hadn’t realized how much noise I’d grown used to in Dubai. My friends, the parties, the brunches, the sound of tourists in the marina outside my balcony, the late-night laughter drifting from restaurants below. Here, everything felt muffled, wrapped in cotton. Even the footsteps in this mansion seemed engineered to be soft.But boring wasn’t bad. Boring meant controlled. Manageable. Boring meant they weren’t sure what to do with me yet.I knew the guard was still standing there, tall and stiff, his gaze fixed on the wall opposite him as if he’d taken an oath to never blink again. If only he would leave me alone for even five minutes. I could have walked this entire plan forward twice as fast.Still… everything was going according to schedule. Peter had insisted it would work if I played my part correctly. Destabilize them first—let them believe they were being watched, toyed with, stalked. Th

NATALIE’S POVTwo days had passed since our talk at the pool. Two full days of cautious glances, half-open doors, and quiet, unfinished sentences hanging in the air like humidity.Ostara was warming up to me—slowly, carefully, the way someone tests water, expecting it to be freezing. She still wasn’t an open book, not even close, but she was allowing small things. Letting me sit with her in the garden. Letting Gerard hang back a little instead of shadowing my every breath. Baby steps. I took what I could get.Anthony, on the other hand, was keeping his distance. A polite, firm boundary. He never said anything rude, never treated me harshly. But he hovered at the perimeter of rooms instead of entering them. He acknowledged me with nods instead of full sentences.Fine. I didn’t need him. I needed her. And she was beginning to let me exist in her world without recoiling.Still, I couldn’t help noticing the shift between her and Anthony. They were cozier. Familiar. There were moments wh

OSTARA’S POVI hated that it was getting easier.Nothing dramatic happened… that was the problem. Natalie didn’t give tearful apologies or sudden confessions or perform grand gestures that would make us feel guilty. It was… small. Like Natalie thanking Bethany when she brought tea, not with exaggerated sweetness, but a simple, absent-minded thank you, as though it hadn’t even occurred to her not to. Natalie asking before borrowing a book from the shelf in the hallway, holding it out like an offering while saying, “Is this alright?” and actually waiting for my answer. Natalie stepping back mid-sentence one afternoon when Anthony walked in, catching herself and saying quietly, “Sorry—this can wait,” before excusing herself.She never pushed, she never sulked. She was generally calmer and kept mostly to herself. I asked her once if she’d spoken to her fiancé at all.“Yeah, we speak now and again. He’s busy, so I try not to bother him.” That was… selfless. And so out of character fo

PETER’S POVThe name on the hotel register wasn’t mine.Technically, nothing in this life was mine anymore. Not the name, not the city, not even the rumpled jacket hanging off the back of the chair that I’d managed to flick from the coatroom. I’d signed in as “Mr. John Brittlesbee” two weeks ago and had been drinking burnt lobby coffee ever since.The room was decent and forgettable. Beige walls, generic hotel art, a desk that wobbled if you leaned too hard on it. Perfect.Sure, it was a long fall from the villas and penthouse offices I was used to, but atleast I could hide here. Anonymity came free with the noise in New York.I sat at the little desk, phone in hand, laptop open in front of me, and scrolled through names of old friends and allies. Most were useless now, but not everyone had vanished.For instance, a handful of Nightcap dealers who owed me their houses, their cars, their first real taste of ambition still picked up when I called. They worked smaller corners now, sid

OSTARA’S POVI had forgotten what it felt like to go somewhere for something as simple as joy.No lawyers. No investigators. No security briefings. Just a pretty dress, Anthony, and Donna.The church Adaline chose was tucked on the edge of the city, with white stone steps and a row of old trees lining the path. By the time we arrived, the late afternoon sun had turned soft.“We’re perfectly on time,” Anthony murmured, checking his watch as he helped me out of the car.Donna jumped down after me in her little dress and shiny shoes, clutching a tiny purse. “Do you think there’ll be a chocolate fountain?” she whispered.“There usually is at these things,” Anthony said. “We’ll investigate.”The aisle was scattered with petals, and music drifted around us. We took our seats on the bride’s side.I sat, smoothing the silver silk over my lap, feeling the unfamiliar lightness in my chest. For once, I wasn’t scanning exits or examining faces. Donna leaned on my arm. “Mummy, look,” she whispere