All Chapters of Divorced: Ex-wife Heiress Strikes Back: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

CLARISSA. The hospital walls did little to reassure me of my safety, and each time I found myself within them, I felt a constant reminder that I was a walking target, and that whoever was playing the long game with me knew exactly where I was. Now seated beside Devan’s bed, my fingers loosely intertwined between his, I felt a whole complex feeling of exhaustion and confusion, while my mind continued to think of my next strategy. I hadn’t cried since the night of the attack, and all the while he had been unconscious, despite my will for the tears to fall, my tear ducts had stubbornly refused to produce any, not even when my father had stormed the hospital, anger in his eyes, vowing vengeance on the man and anyone else who had caused his daughter pain. But the tears had fallen that morning when Devan’s eyes opened, when he had smiled weakly at me. I had been so excited to see him awake, and I had been so relieved, knowing for

CLARISSA. You’re dragging the Montclair name through the fire with every single move you make, Clarissa, and I'm not pleased with that. And to be honest, this family cannot afford another scandal with you at the center, one more time. My father’s words continued to re-echo in my ears hours as I walked out of his study in the penthouse and drove down home, and despite how much I tried to make sense of those words, I couldn’t bring myself to understand why my father, who had always been supportive of me and who had always been proud of every decision I made could no longer trust me. His thoughts towards me had obviously changed, and the one man within the family who had always championed my every move and had always stood solidly behind my decisions now seemed unsure of his stance. It could only mean one thing — either the person working from the shadows had now gotten to him, planting a seed of doubt in his he

ISABELLA.I continued to remain in the shadows, watching, learning and waiting, and for weeks now, I had kept on observing Clarissa sail through one issue or the other, through Anthonio’s attack and sudden disappearance, through Devan’s slow but steady recovery at the hospital, and as Bruce’s name continued to come up as the prime suspect at the rise of every scandal. But the juicy thing was that while Clarissa saw threats, I saw openings, new opportunities, and chances of getting back all that I had lost to her. Power never disappeared, it had only changed hands, and I had every intention of reclaiming it.The chaos that surrounded Clarissa was a dish I had carefully been preparing for months. The letters, the crest, the whispers about betrayal and about her instability were all elegantly and strategically timed and placed. What Clarissa saw each time as sudden and unprecedented hits were carefully planned plots by me, and as the tension grew thicker within the company and indeed wi

CLARISSA.The air in the hospital ward was thick, not just with the scent of antiseptic, but with raw and suffocating tension. I stood aside and watched as nurses walked in and out of the ward, tending to the wound by Devan’s side which had bled earlier, and in the chaos, my eyes remained fixed on the man who had nearly slipped out of my hands… again. He didn’t look at me all through the time his wound was being dressed, and somehow, I felt like I deserved that. His words — We need to talk, Clarissa, echoed in my ears again, and I felt a pang of guilt in my heart for not saying anything earlier, for not being there with him when I should have been. The two men who had attacked Devan were now at large, under serious chase by the police and some members of Devan’s security team, but the fact that whoever had sent them was still out there, orchestrating more plots and hiding behind Bruce’s identity had me rattled, leavin

CLARISSA.Devan's discharge from the hospital brought a different kind of peace, one that felt fragile, knowing that it could be disrupted by anything, and at any time. I had been with him from the previous day, ensuring that every step of his return home was seamless, and handling every aspect of his discharge formalities with intentional precision. I got the prescriptions from the doctors, got the follow-up appointment schedules, and ensured that I had a car waiting by the time we were finally done. It wasn't just duty on my part, it was the feeling of guilt I bore over opening up to him late, and the willingness to want to do anything that could atone for how bad I felt, despite his constant assurances that he held nothing against me. As we walked up the short flight of stairs that led to his entrance, having finally arrived at his house, I caught the way he held the banister firmly, gripping it tightly as he climbed on, and how he winced at each step he made. He tried not to show