All Chapters of Divorced: Ex-wife Heiress Strikes Back: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

ISABELLA.The photographs haunted me. The images… grainy shots of me with the cloaked figure refused to fade from my memory, hours after I had slipped out of Bruce’s mansion. Every picture looked detailed: my head bowed as I exchanged something with the cloaked figure, the faint tremor in my stance, and the unmistakable evidence that someone had been there, watching.I sat in the dim glow of my apartment, a glass of whiskey in my hand. The photographs lay hidden in a folder in my bag, but I could still feel them, like a heartbeat against my ribs.I took a sip of my whiskey and closed my eyes, inhaling slowly. Fear is weakness. That was what my father used to say. And Bruce had fed on fear. He had once told me with that infuriating calm of his, that panic was just a public confession of defeat. Well, I wasn't defeated, at least not yet.I drained the contents of my glass and rose slowly, slipping into my coat. My reflection caught briefly in the mirror opposite me. The perfect outlook

FREDA.My eyes fluttered open as the first pale light of dawn slipped through the curtains, catching the soft gleam of spilled wine on the glass table. I sat up slowly, the silk sheets falling away from my skin, revealing my bare body, the one of a woman who never allowed herself to be caught unprepared not even now, not even here. The city outside was waking, but inside Bruce’s penthouse, the silence still pulsed with the remnants of the night before.I turned my head, studying him. He lay half-turned toward me, and I watched the quiet rise and fall of his chest in the faint morning light. He looked peaceful and disarmed, vulnerable even. It almost made me smile not out of affection, but out of the quiet satisfaction of seeing a man who once believed he could own me, now lying unaware while I decided what to take from him next. Last night hadn’t been passionate…not really. It had been a strategy wrapped in the illusion of desire. It was a dance we had both pretended to lead, but I k

CLARISSA.The days had begun to blur together — each one a pale copy of the last, filled with the same exhaustion and the same calculated fight for control. I could barely remember when I had last slept properly. Every hour seemed borrowed and every breath a fragile struggle against the chaos pressing closer.By dawn, I found myself once again standing before the towering iron gates of the prison. The guards had begun to recognize me as they no longer asked for my name. I was the woman who never missed a visit, the one who arrived wearing a worrisome look, burning with a kind of determination that frightened even them.The air inside the prison was sharp with disinfectant and the faint metallic tang of despair. Devan looked thinner than he had the week before. His skin looked pale and his cheekbones jutted out sharply. His eyes, once so sure of themselves, now held something quieter… fatigue, maybe, or resignation. Yet when he saw me, there was still a flicker of warmth there, a shad

CLARISSA.The night before Devan’s trial felt like it stretched forever. The air in my office was stale, thick with the scent of coffee gone cold and paper ink that bled from too many late nights. The desk before me was a battlefield scattered with open files, handwritten notes, and photographs pinned together by desperation. My hair was tied back in a loose knot, my eyes hollowed by exhaustion. Every corner of the room seemed to whisper the same thing: you’re running out of time.Stacks of documents lay open — testimonies, receipts, surveillance reports, each page proof of how far I had gone for Devan. I had spent weeks gathering evidence, twisting every connection I still had to pull strings that no longer wanted to move. I had found a lawyer, expensive and ruthless, the kind who could turn a confession into a question and I had rehearsed my statements continuously until my voice broke. Everything was in place. Everything should have been enough. But still, it didn’t feel enough.I

BRUCE.The city had long fallen asleep behind me, and the road stretched out like a black ribbon leading nowhere. I sped down the road, my headlights slicing through mist that clung to the edges of the forest road. The letter lay open on the passenger seat — black ink on ivory paper, its words burned into my mind.Come alone. No one must know.I hadn’t told a soul, not even my most trusted men. The address had led me miles beyond the city’s edge to a forgotten manor on a hill left to rot. I kept my foot on the gas till I saw the building slowly revealing itself in the mist. The iron gates hung crooked, their hinges rusted to ruin.I stopped the car, stepping out into the cold air. The manor loomed ahead looking stone cracked, its windows hollowed out and vines swallowing what was once grandeur. Even in decay, it carried a haunting kind of authority. And the moment I saw it, my chest tightened with recognition. I had been here before, and that was years ago.The place wasn’t just a fa