Divorced: Ex-wife Heiress Strikes Back의 모든 챕터: 챕터 211 - 챕터 220

BRUCE.I didn’t run. Running was for people who are afraid of being caught. I moved through the night the way I always did: unhurried, deliberate, invisible to anyone who didn’t know how to look. The mansion receded behind me in soft pools of light and music, laughter floating up like nothing had happened at all. That was the beauty of it. Chaos, when done properly, never announces itself.My pulse was still elevated though, not by panic but by adrenaline. The clean, electric kind that hums just beneath the skin when something goes exactly as designed.Clarissa’s scream replayed in my mind, not loudly, not obsessively, just once, like a brushstroke completing a painting. The way her fingers had clawed at the ledge. The way her body had gone rigid with terror. The split second where she understood, with absolute clarity, that all her careful planning, all her alliances, all her illusions of safety meant nothing at all.That moment had bee

DEVAN.The mansion no longer felt like a home. It felt like a perimeter. I noticed it the first morning after the rooftop incident, standing barefoot on marble that used to gleam with quiet luxury and now felt cold, exposed. The ceilings were too high, the windows too wide, every entrance too generous. What once read as elegance now looked like vulnerability disguised as wealth.Security had become my watchword.By noon, half the house had been rewired. Motion sensors layered over motion sensors. Cameras stitched into corners that architecture pretended didn’t exist. Blind spots eliminated, then re-eliminated, because I didn’t trust the first pass, or the second. If Bruce was watching, I wanted him to choke on redundancy.Clarissa hated it. She didn’t say it outright, but I could feel it in the way her shoulders tensed when another technician walked past, or when the quiet was broken by the soft chirp of a system recalibrating. She carried life inside her now, and the world had respon

CLARISSA.The knowledge that Freda was willing to help should have brought relief but instead, it settled over me like a second shadow; long, cold, and impossible to shake.I had always known Bruce was dangerous. I had felt it in the way conversations bent around him, how rooms seemed to recalibrate when he entered. But Freda’s calm, almost clinical assessment stripped away whatever illusions I still clung to. Bruce wasn’t just powerful. He was embedded, rooted deep inside systems designed to protect people like him and devour people like us.That truth changed everything.Isabella and I sat across from each other at the dining table long after Devan had gone upstairs, the house quiet except for the low hum of the security system. The fragile alliance between us felt like glass; necessary, sharp, and liable to cut us both if mishandled.We started cautiously.At first, it was logistics. Timelines. Names spoken carefully, as thoug

BRUCE.I stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse, a glass of untouched whiskey in my hand, and surveyed what was mine. The lights below pulsed like a living organism: arteries of traffic, clusters of power, nodes of influence. People liked to think cities were chaotic. They weren’t. They were systems. And systems, once understood, could be controlled.I felt it then, a deep, bone-settling satisfaction.The chaos I had unleashed wasn’t random. It was deliberate. Orchestrated. Every faltering stock price, every collapsed deal, every nervous boardroom whisper was a note in a symphony I had composed with care. Devan Owen’s empire was cracking, just as I had predicted. It was not shattering, not yet. Watching a structure collapse too quickly was dull. The beauty lay in the slow realization, the dawning horror as he understood that every move he made only tightened the noose.Marcus Montclair, for all his bluster and legacy, was

BRUCE.Alexandro’s office was designed to make a point without ever raising its voice. Glass walls overlooked a city that bent itself toward money, steel, and silence. The desk between us was sculpted from a single slab of obsidian-black stone, polished to a mirror sheen that reflected power at anyone foolish enough to doubt it. There were no personal photos, no indulgent clutter. Everything here existed to signal permanence.Control. I liked that about him.Alexandro sat opposite me spine straight, his hands folded loosely as if he were attending a lecture instead of deciding the economic fate of someone else’s empire. His expression never wavered. He didn’t fidget, didn’t rush, didn’t perform. Men like him didn’t need to announce authority. It radiated.We didn’t waste time with pleasantries. A holographic display hovered between us, columns of data cascading in muted blues and reds. Markets collapsing. Credit lines are tightening. Strategic acquisitions were delayed “pending review