All Chapters of Divorced: Ex-wife Heiress Strikes Back: Chapter 151 - Chapter 160

ISABELLA.The world returned to me in fragments. I blinked hard, but the light only sharpened, clearer and crueler. The silhouette hovering over me shifted and expanded, and for a moment, it looked something monstrous with the broad shoulders, a smooth, blank mask, and eyes blackened into voids. My stomach clenched, and my breath knotted in my throat.I wasn’t in a room nor was I on a bed. I was back in the maze.My chest tightened and in my panic, I dug my fingernails deep into the mattress. I flinched back so violently that my shoulder slammed the metal railing.“Isabella? Hey—hey, look at me,” I heard a voice say, too close, too familiar. I could recognize that voice anywhere, even in the worst of nightmares. Bruce?I tried to bring myself to the consciousness of his presence but his features stuttered, flickering between him and the faceless figure that had chased me through the corridors of hell. His hand reached for my shoulder and my vision snapped. In a split second, I felt an

FREDA.I spent the entire evening inside the lounge parlor, pretending I wasn’t drowning. The place was dim and elegant, with lamps that cast a golden glow over the dark mahogany tables. A jazz track whispered from hidden speakers, smooth and calming, yet my insides raged. I told the staff I needed a private room. The manager had easily agreed after I made him a huge offer. He didn’t ask questions. He had just said, “Of course,” and had handed me a key.I arranged the table myself, straightened the two chairs, adjusted the silverware, and poured a glass of water I had no intention of drinking. My hands shook so badly that I spilled half of it down the stem of the glass. I kept picturing Isabella’s trembling hands, the haunted stares, the nightmares I couldn’t wake from, Bruce breaking under the weight of every truth he uncovered, Alexandro’s silence cutting deep. And the Cloak’s voice echoed inside her skull

CLARISSA.I had always believed I understood fear, that I had come to be fearless to an extent, but the moment the masked men dragged my father away, I realized I had never truly known it, not like this. Not in a way that ripped something out of my chest and left me breathless.I broke before I even realized I was breaking.“Dad!” I screamed, my voice tearing raw from my throat as I sprinted after the van. My legs burned, my heart slammed against my ribs, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. The masked men had shoved my father inside like he was nothing more than cargo, his wrists bound, his body limp and struggling.“No—NO! Stop! Please!” I shrieked, pounding my fists against the moving vehicle as it lurched forward.Devan was right behind me, sprinting, reaching, but neither of us was fast enough. The doors slammed shut and the van shot forward. The taillights streaked into the distance, then vanished into the

CLARISSA.My fingers dug into the doorframe hard enough to make my knuckles ache, but it was the only thing keeping me upright. My legs felt numb, my lungs tight, my pulse hammering in frantic bursts that refused to settle. I sensed Bruce behind me before she heard him. It was the shift in the air; the sudden drop in temperature, the suffocating heaviness that always arrived like a warning whenever Bruce decided to ruin something. I didn’t want to turn around. I already knew what would be waiting for her. But I turned anyway.And there it was, exactly what she expected. Exactly what I feared. The same thing that sickened me.A gun.Bruce held it steady with both hands, the barrel leveled directly at my heart. His hands didn’t shake. He had just the same composure he had once used in their marriage to mask the rot underneath his skin.The sight didn’t shock me. I had lost the privilege of shock years ago, but it hollowed my chest, scraped something raw inside me that I had been trying

ISABELLA.I barely remembered the discharge papers. They had been waved in front of me, signed automatically, with the nurse’s voice floating somewhere above my head like a distant radio signal. The hallway spun a little, and the sharp white lights buzzed too loudly. I couldn’t tell if it was the medication, exhaustion, or the lingering fog of trauma that made everything float around me instead of sitting still.But I did remember the man who came to wheel me out. He had broad shoulders, was dressed in a black uniform, had perfectly pressed gloves on, and the letter C stitched into his left sleeve, in crisp white threading.I had tried to speak, tried to dig my nails into the armrests and force myself out of the wheelchair, but my body refused to obey. My limbs dangled like borrowed parts, my voice cracking into ragged breaths. Yet, he never said a word.The man rolled me through the sliding doors, down the ramp, and toward a waiting black van. The moment I saw it, dark, unmarked, and