Semua Bab Divorce and Regret: Chasing My Famous Lawyer Ex-Wife: Bab 91 - Bab 100

Carmilla’s POV“You did it for Brandon, didn’t you?” he asked angrily, his tone full of accusation. A laugh escaped me, sharp and disbelieving. “Oh my God,” I muttered, shoving the door open again. “This—this is what it’s about? You’re insecure of your brother?!”Nathan stood up from behind his desk, his eyes piercing at me. “Careful, Carmilla.”“Careful?” I took a step closer, heat pulsing in my chest. “You just accused me of treason, and for what? Because you think I still give a damn about your brother and York International?”His jaw tightened. “Half-brother.”“Oh, half-brother. Right. Thank you for clarifying,” I said with a mocking little bow. “Unbelievable. You really can’t stand the idea that someone might be more loyal to him and his company? Well, guess what, Nathan? You’re right.”He rose slowly from his chair. The movement was deliberate, predatory. “You should stop talking now.”“Why? Because I hit a nerve?” I shot back. “You think everything revolves around you. Maybe t

Natalie’s POVThe morning newsfeed was a bloodbath.Rumors had already detonated across every major network — York International and Graveswell Holdings listed as “co-conspirators” in Maison Vivra’s fraudulent imports. The word “fraud” pulsed in bold on the screen like a wound that refused to close.By the time I walked into the executive boardroom, three departments had already called emergency meetings. I’d called one of my own.Legal. PR. Compliance. A small army armed with caffeine, panic, and half-finished statements.I dropped my folder on the table. “All right. Let’s get one thing clear,” I said. “This is not a scandal until we allow it to become one. York International’s reputation is built on trust and integrity, and I intend to keep it that way.”The chatter stilled. Dozens of eyes turned toward me.I paced once around the table, deliberately slow. “Here’s what we’re doing. First—Legal firewall. We file an injunction against Maison Vivra within the next hour. Vivian Sinclair

Brandon’s POV“York International and Graveswell Holdings Under Federal Inquiry — Possible Collusion with Maison Vivra.”I stared at the words on my phone screen, jaw locked. Below it, a photo of me shaking hands with Vivian Sinclair at last year’s charity gala. Perfect lighting. Perfect bait.The accompanying article read like a dagger dressed in politeness — sources claim internal records link York’s financial division to ProcureEx Trading Ltd., a subsidiary under Graveswell Holdings.Bullshit.The PR inbox had already imploded, my notifications flooded with requests for comment. When I walked into the office, the air was thick with whispers. Heads turned. Conversations cut short. Phones ringing off the hook.I passed the reception desk where two assistants were murmuring behind their hands — one of them flinched when our eyes met.In the conference room, my executive team looked like they’d just been hit by a bomb.“Who authorized the press to use our statement?” I demanded.One of

Nathan’s POVI was halfway down the corridor to the interrogation room when I heard voices — familiar ones. That alone stopped me cold. No one talked down here unless I’d asked them to.Then I saw them.Carmilla.And right behind her—Brandon York and Natalie Harris.My stomach dropped, then hardened. “What the hell is this?”Carmilla had that half-guilty, half-defiant look she’d perfected. “Before you explode, I didn’t invite them. I just mentioned that Brunner was here. They showed up on their own.”I stared at her, voice rising. “You what? This is my company, Carmilla. My employee. You don’t bring an audience to an internal interrogation.”She bristled. “Relax, Nathan. I didn’t roll out a red carpet. They just… came.”Brandon’s tone was calm but barbed. “We came because this concerns York International too. If Vivian’s involved, we have a right to hear what he says.”I took a step forward, jaw tight. “You have no right to walk into my building like you own the place.”Natalie’s voi

Emma’s POVThe restaurant wasn’t bright or breezy — it was the opposite.Dim lighting. Velvet booths. Brass accents that glowed like low embers against dark wood. The kind of place where you half-expected to see celebrities pretending to be incognito and deals being made over expensive whiskey at noon.I tugged at the sleeve of my blazer and told myself to breathe.This wasn’t a date. It was business. Just a meeting.I repeated that lie three times in my head as I spotted him.Lucas sat near the back, perfectly framed by the soft light filtering through amber-tinted glass. He wasn’t scrolling his phone or checking his watch — just sitting there, relaxed, looking far too pleased with himself. When he noticed me, his mouth curved into that slow, self-assured smile that made my pulse do inconvenient things.“You’re early,” I said, sliding into the seat across from him.“I don’t keep people waiting,” he replied, leaning back in his chair. “Unless I enjoy the suspense.”I groaned inwardly.