All Chapters of I DIVORCED HIM! NOW, HE REGRETS: Chapter 151 - Chapter 160

CHAPTER 151 – THE PRICE OF A MACARONI turned slowly—only to see him.Gunther.He was back. And this time, he wasn’t alone. Two bulky men in black suits flanked him, both built like refrigerators with faces carved from concrete. The crowd instinctively parted again, whispering like waves against the ballroom walls.“Are you kidding me?” I muttered under my breath.Gunther’s expression was carved in fury, his jaw tight, his eyes gleaming with something dark and vindictive. The smear of frosting was gone, but the red mark of humiliation wasn’t. Not from his cheek—and definitely not from his pride.He stopped a few feet away, his polished shoes gleaming under the chandelier light. The silence was thick, brittle, dangerous. You could practically taste the gossip buzzing through the air.“What’s going on?” I asked, though I already knew.“Throw her out of here,” Gunther barked, pointing directly at Grace.The words cut through the air like shards of glass. Gasps scattered across the room —

CHAPTER 153 – THE SILENT CROWDWhen will this cocktail reception end and the actual auction begin?That question had been circling in my head like a broken record for the last thirty minutes. My heels ached, my cheeks hurt from pretending to smile, and the back of my neck was sticky from nerves and champagne air.The ballroom glittered under soft chandeliers, all crystal light and fake laughter. The kind of laughter that bounced too loud, too bright, because nobody wanted to admit they were bored—or uncomfortable. Damian was somewhere across the room, doing what he did best: being charming on my behalf. He’d slipped into a group of executives, laughing like they were all best friends, while I stood at the edge of the crowd like an unwanted guest at my own party.Grace was gone. Kicked out. Her absence felt heavier than the pearls around my neck. Every time someone glanced my way, I could see the story replaying in their heads—the scandal, the macaron, the rejection. I could practicall

CHAPTER 155 – THE SHADOWED PATHHe and the man left.Just like that—conversation over, tension unresolved, and they both started walking toward the exit like the rest of the world had suddenly stopped existing.I froze, still standing by the champagne table, pretending to admire the bubbles in my glass when really my mind was racing.Where were they going?Mr. Watterson didn’t seem like the type to step out for fresh air. Not after barking at someone in front of half the room. And that other man—the one with the slicked-back hair—he had that look. The kind of man who didn’t talk for long unless it involved something illegal, expensive, or both.I set my drink down and slipped into the moving crowd. No one noticed me this time. Good. Maybe scandal had its perks—it made people too uncomfortable to make eye contact.The auctioneer’s voice echoed faintly from the stage, calling for everyone to take their seats, but I wasn’t interested in overpriced art tonight. My attention was locked on

CHAPTER 157 – THE EDGE OF EXPOSUREXVES POVThe moment I saw her crouched behind the hedge, I knew she was going to get us both killed.Maya Perkins. In heels she could barely walk in, crouching in the dirt like she was on some undercover mission. Her hair was too shiny, her perfume too expensive, and the panic in her eyes too loud for someone trying to stay hidden. She looked like she belonged on a runway, not behind a bush with two men arguing about money and murder a few feet away.The sun was dipping low, throwing long, gold streaks across the marble fountain. The air was still, too still, and I could hear Watterson’s voice slicing through the quiet like a blade. I scanned the area once more—three exits, one camera, no guards on this side of the property. Good. If anything went wrong, I could get her out.Or I could try.Watterson’s voice sharpened. “You think I owe you something?”The other man stammered something about debt. I barely listened. My attention was fixed on Maya. She

CHAPTER 159 – THE FAKE SPARKLEMAYA POVBy the time I walked into the hall, my heart was still drumming from what just happened outside. The sudden change from the quiet garden to the glittering noise of the auction felt dizzying. Chandeliers dripped from the ceiling like crystal rain, their light bouncing off gold-plated frames and champagne glasses. Everything shimmered — too bright, too polished, too fake.I forced myself to walk normally, ignoring the way my heels pinched after all that crouching in the dirt. My dress still had a faint smear of soil on one side, and I prayed no one noticed. Everyone looked so… composed. The men in tailored tuxedos, the women in gowns that could pay off a mortgage.I spotted a seat near the front — close enough to see the stage, far enough not to draw too much attention — and sat down. The chair was cold against my back, and my knees still felt shaky.A young man in a shiny navy suit strutted up to the stage, holding a microphone like he owned the