《No Second Chances, Ex-husband》全部章節：第 171 章 - 第 180 章

ETHAN'S POV The air inside the room smelled faintly of disinfectant and rubbing alcohol. My doctor’s latex gloves squeaked slightly as she adjusted the Velcro straps on my armcast. The moment the cast came off, my skin prickled — itchy, stiff, almost foreign to me. I flexed my fingers slowly, each movement reminding me of the damage that Roman caused. A dull ache spread from my elbow to my shoulder, but it wasn’t unbearable. It was progress. “Try straightening your arm,” my doctor said in that calm, clinical tone of hers. I obeyed, moving slowly. The familiar sting rippled through the muscles, sharp but brief. I winced, then relaxed, breathing through my teeth. “It’s getting better,” I muttered. She nodded, jotting something on her clipboard. “Good. The bone is healing well, but avoid lifting anything heavy. Keep doing the exercises, and don’t push yourself too hard. You’ve come a long way since the injury.” I forced a dry smile, though my mind wasn’t really in the room. The da

ETHAN'S POV My car screeched to a stop in the driveway, the engine dying out with a low rumble that did nothing to calm the storm raging inside me. Before the driver could even reach for the handle, I shoved the door open myself and climbed out, slamming it behind me with such force that it echoed through the quiet neighborhood. The sound was sharp, final like the punctuation to an anger I could no longer contain. My jaw clenched as I stormed toward the front door, every step heavy and fueled by frustration. I didn’t care that my arm was still wrapped in a cast, or that every movement sent a dull ache radiating up to my shoulder. The pain barely registered anymore, it was a constant companion, one I had learned to live with since that disastrous day Roman decided to “teach me a lesson.” Just thinking about it again made my blood boil hotter. The ride home had been nothing short of torture. Sitting there, staring out the tinted glass, all I could think about was the chaos waiting fo

ETHAN'S POV “That has to be a joke,” Sophia said, her voice sharp, echoing through the tension-filled living room. Just when I thought there would finally be a moment of silence, some quiet space for me to think, to plan, to breathe she opened her mouth again, shattering what little calm I had left. My head was already pounding from the chaos of the day, and hearing her tone only fueled the storm raging inside me. “Do you think for a moment I’ll joke about something that important?” I snapped, my voice carrying more edge than I intended. I rubbed the bridge of my nose, trying to suppress the anger crawling under my skin. The whole situation was spiraling faster than I could contain it. Sophia crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing at me. “So what do we do now?” I let out a long, shaky breath. “I don’t know,” I admitted, pacing across the room. “Before I walked in here, I thought this whole news mess was only on blogs, and not every investor of nowadays reads blogs. I already called

ROMAN'S POV “Have you seen this?” I asked, dropping my tablet on the desk so the screen faced up between us like an accusation and a trophy at once. Lauren reached for it. She sat opposite me with the composed, deliberate air she’d cultivated; when she flicked through the headlines a small, satisfied smile curved her lips. The expression was quiet, almost private like someone who’d just watched a plan click into place and had the luxury of enjoying the first small victory before the clean-up began. I watched her. I couldn’t help it. There was still a recoil in me, a wariness that showed up as a flinch behind my eyes — whenever she exercised the kind of power that didn’t come from a title or a bank account. Her influence right now came from a different source entirely: truth laid bare. That was the kind of leverage that made investors run. The tablet showed a cascade of articles, reposts and social snippets. Some were professional-minded, clinical analyses on market impacts. Others

ROMAN'S POV “Sir, I believe it’s Cassandra Boyce,” the manager said. Her words dropped like a stone into the room — sharp, unexpected, unsettling. I raised an eyebrow slowly, confusion flickering across my face. Cassandra Boyce? The name didn’t strike a bell. Was I supposed to know who that was? “Who?” I asked flatly, my tone cold and clipped. Lauren, who had been quietly observing until now, leaned forward slightly. “And what makes you think it’s her?” she asked, her voice calm but edged with curiosity. So Lauren knew who Cassandra was, that much was clear from her tone. I didn’t, and that fact alone annoyed me. The manager straightened her posture a little, trying to compose herself before speaking. “Sir, Cassandra is my personal assistant,” she began. “She was working as one of the business development managers at our German branch in Europe. A few months ago, she was transferred back here. We thought it would be best for her to work at headquarters as the business developmen