บททั้งหมดของ Divorced: Ex-wife Heiress Strikes Back: บทที่ 111 - บทที่ 117

FREDA.I hadn’t slept a wink. I hardly even slept anymore but the sight of my assistant standing hesitantly at the door of my study told me that this update, whatever it was going to be, was not routine.I dismissed the woman with a nod and unfolded the document herself. It was neatly typed, just as I liked it, but the content made me pause.“Clarissa’s legal campaign has gained momentum,” the report read. “The lawyer she hired is effective and the new evidence looks solid. The court may rule in Devan’s favor.”For a long moment, I said nothing.The faint hum of the penthouse’s ventilation was the only sound, mingling with the soft clink of her spoon as I stirred untouched coffee. Morning light slanted through the glass walls, slicing my reflection into fragments across the marble table. I leaned back slowly, crossing one leg over the other, eyes narrowing in thought. If Devan walked free, Bruce’s position would fracture. The case had been his leverage, the invisible chain keeping bot

CLARISSA.The courthouse was suffocating.Even before the session began, it pulsed with tension… whispers slithering between marble columns, journalists clutching cameras like weapons, politicians hunched together in sharp suits, trading theories in low tones. I could hear Devan’s name on every lip, threaded through every conversation like a curse and a fascination all at once.I sat in the front row, my back straight and my hands clasped so tightly in my lap that my knuckles ached. I could feel the eyes—hundreds of them—pressing into my skin. To them, I wasn’t just a woman fighting for the man I loved and cared about; I was a Montclair, the daughter of a legacy built on power, secrecy, and quiet intimidation.My lawyer sat beside me, calm and meticulous, flipping through the final notes of our argument. His confidence was unshaken. “We’ve got them,” he whispered. “Everything checks out — the timeline, the witness, the new evidence. If they play fair, this is over.”If they play fair.

BRUCE.When consciousness returned, it came not only with clarity but with pain — dull, throbbing, and deep in the back of my skull. My breath came out slow and measured, my instincts kicking in before awareness fully did. I blinked once then continuously, until the blur around me started to take shape. I was in a concrete cell with no windows and no exits visible, with the walls slick with condensation. A single bulb swung above me, casting erratic shadows that moved like ghosts against the damp stone.I tried to move my arms, and I winced as the metal bit into my wrists. I was bound with industrial-grade handcuffs. My jacket and tie were gone, my shirt sleeves rolled to my elbows with dirt smeared along one cuff. Someone had stripped me of both power and presentation, something I could term a form of deliberate humiliation. My shoes, though, were still on. That detail didn’t comfort me; it unsettled me more. Whoever had done this wasn’t improvising. They were sending me a message: Y

CLARISSA.The prison always smelled the same — of bleach and rust, a sterile mix that clung to my clothes long after I left. I moved through the metal detectors with practiced calm, though my pulse betrayed my composure. The guard at the end of the corridor nodded, unlocking the door to the visitation room.Inside, the light was pale, flickering, and buzzing overhead like an anxious thought that wouldn’t fade.And then I saw him.He sat behind the glass, his shoulders slightly slumped, his hands folded on the table. His eyes lifted slowly, and for a moment, neither of us moved. The world outside—the reporters, the verdict, the whispers of Bruce’s disappearance, all of it dissolved into the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears.When I finally crossed the room and sat down, the chair scraped loudly against the floor, breaking the silence.“Clarissa,” Devan said first, his voice rough from days of incarc