Semua Bab Dear CEO, I Want a Divorce: Bab 321 - Bab 330

OSTARA’S POV“I wanted him to see her clearly. Not… marry her,” Anthony muttered.I stared at him. “Are you sure they got married?”He huffed out a humourless laugh. “They brought a priest into a private visitation room, Ossie. What else would they get him for? I doubt he exorcised Natalie, even though she could use one.”“Don’t joke like that,” I said quietly. “I’m serious.”“So am I.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “If he married her, he’s locked himself into this. He’s not going to walk away now.”I leaned back against the wall, the painted plaster cool through my sweater.“Maybe that’s not a bad thing,” I said.He shot me a look. “You can’t be serious.”“I’m not saying I’m happy about it,” I said. “But maybe she needs someone who still believes in her when she has nothing.”“She doesn’t deserve that kind of loyalty,” Anthony snapped. His voice stayed low, but the anger was there. “She used people, lied to us, nearly got you killed, and my grandad died because of her scheming.

ANTHONY’S POVI’d always thought “quiet work mode” happened in a glass tower, in a suit, with assistants hovering outside my office. Turned out it could also happen in an old London townhouse, in a faded sweater, with a gingerbread house on the table.I sat there with my laptop and a mug of coffee. Everyone else was out. Me and the quiet.I clicked into the video meeting.Mark’s face appeared, framed by the glass walls of the Zenith conference room in New York.“Morning, sir,” he said.“Evening, actually. Time zones.”He smiled. “Right. Evening. How’s London?”I glanced at the window; drizzle streaked the glass, and Christmas lights blurred in the distance. “Damp. British. Perfect.”“Sounds ideal.”We spent fifteen minutes on the usual: year-end numbers, projections, clients, rollouts.“Do we have enough people to train the staff on the new machines?” I asked.“Yes,” he said. “They’re coming from Japan; we’ve arranged everything.”“Good.”Silence hummed.He’d taken his tie off, sleeve

ANTHONY’S POVI adjusted the laptop so my face was framed properly. Behind me, the Christmas tree still blinked faintly in the corner, refusing to accept that the holiday was over.“Alright,” came Mrs. Kaplan’s crisp voice as more little rectangles blinked into life on-screen. “We have Anthony, we have Mark. Is everyone here?”Faces appeared one by one—board members in their respective offices, some at polished desks, some clearly at home.“Thank you all for joining,” I began, slipping easily into the tone I’d used a thousand times. “I’ll keep this brief. We’ve had a strong year despite… unexpected turbulence.”A few people gave tight, knowing smiles at that.“I’ll send a full written review later this week,” I said. “But I do want to share one major change. Effective by the end of next month, I will be stepping down as CEO of both Möller Industries and Zenith.”Silence.For once, not even Mrs. Kaplan spoke. A couple of the newer board members glanced at each other onscreen like they

ANTHONY’S POVThe shop didn’t look like a shop.From the outside, it was just an old stone building tucked on a side street off Bond Street. No flashy signs or window displays… just a brass plaque.Inside, it was quiet and warm. Wood panels, soft light, a faint smell of polish and something floral. Not a mall, not a showroom—more like the living room of someone very, very rich. A woman in a dark dress approached me with a professional smile. “Mr. Möller?”“Yes.”“Welcome. We have a selection prepared for you. Right this way.”She led me into a smaller room with a round table and two chairs. That was it. On the table were just three velvet trays laid out like this was a tasting menu.“These are based on the criteria your assistant sent across,” she said. “Minimalist design. Strong lines. Nothing too flashy.”Mark had done well.When she left, I sat down and opened the first tray.Three rings.My heart was beating harder than it had in any board meeting.The last time I’d done this, I

OSTARA’S POV“Are you serious?”The question left my mouth before I could soften it.Natalie sat across from us in that cold little room, her cuffs glinting faintly under the fluorescent lights, and nodded once.“Yes.”Her voice was quieter than I remembered. There was no drama in it now, no calculated fragility. Just exhaustion and a strange kind of resolve.Anthony leaned back in his chair, still visibly trying to decide if this was some elaborate trick. “You’re offering Donna your entire trust fund.”Natalie swallowed. “Yes.”“No strings attached?” Anthony asked suspiciously. “None,” she said. “That’s what Michael is here for,” she gestured to her lawyer. “He has all the paperwork for you to look over. She will have access to it after she graduates from high school.” She looked at me. “I know money doesn’t fix what I did. I’m not stupid. But… I thought maybe I could at least be an aunt to her for once.”Something painful moved through my chest.Anthony was still suspicious, under