All Chapters of Divorced: Ex-wife Heiress Strikes Back: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

DEVAN. I woke up with a heavy feeling in my chest that I couldn't explain. It wasn't pain, at least not the physical kind. My wounds had begun to knit together, and my body slowly continued to heal. I felt a tension coiling between the surface of my skin, my mind constantly reminding me that danger was close and lurking around the corner, that the air had changed, and that I needed to be actively alert. I tried to shake the thought off as much as I could, and in an attempt to distract myself, I got off the bed, deciding to get myself a mug of hot coffee. I stretched lazily as I stood, picking my phone from the bedside table as I walked out of the room. I unlocked my phone and checked my call logs, and yet there was still no call or text from Clarissa. It had been five days since we last spoke, and the last time, she had just come around to pick up a document she urgently needed. She politely and artfully dodged my invita

ISABELLA.Power wasn't given, it was taken — in silence, behind shadows, and with carefully controlled steps.I knew this better than anyone. I walked with gentle strides in the garden, at the far end of the wide compound, my mind pondering on every single scenario that had occurred since the inception of this war.My mind drifted to Anthonio. He had been the first to believe he could walk beside me as an equal, the first to make the mistake of thinking that affection could override ambition. I remembered the look in his eyes clearly from the last time I had seen him, and then he had disappeared, vanishing into thin air like he had never existed just after his failed murder attempt on Clarissa. I had grieved once, destabilised by his sudden disappearance and rattled by the fact that I had to start reporting, and alone this time. Until I got the letter.It came sealed, and with no name. But the time, location where I had received the letter and the phrase scribbled on the note in the e

ISABELLA.I arrived at the gates of the Montclair Mansion a few minutes past midnight, and as I drove towards the car park, I made a silent prayer within me, hoping that my father was already asleep. I climbed the short stairs that led to the entrance and pushed the door gently and quietly, tiptoeing to avoid any form of noise that would attract attention to me. The living room was empty as I stepped in, and I heaved a sigh of relief as I went into the kitchen to have some water before I headed upstairs to my room.I heaved an exhausted sigh as I stepped into my bedroom, shutting the door tightly behind me. I tossed my purse on the dresser and sank my weight into the armchair placed a few meters away from my bed, extremely tired from the long hours of driving. The words of the cloaked figure rang through my mind again as I replayed the sequence of my meeting with him, the phrase ‘use the most efficient seed of doubt this time’ re-echoing more often than any other thing he had said all

CLARISSA.The night felt heavier than usual, and with the incident that had happened earlier at Devan's, I found myself regretting deeply why I hadn't said anything to Devan earlier than I did, the relief of sharing what I knew with him quickly replaced by the ache of what I had kept back, still. Devan, on the other hand, had refused to take a moment's rest, pressing into every lead, making calls and seeking answers even more than I did as if his wounded body wasn't already paying a steep price. I watched him with quiet torment, my chest tightening with guilt each time I saw him wince. It was my chaos that had followed him to his home, my storm that had scarred his flesh, and yet, he kept moving like nothing had happened, like nothing could stop him.I leaned against the doorway of his study, watching him pace about restlessly. The light was low, a single desk lamp casting long shadows across the walls. He held a file in one hand, flipping from page to page. It was as if he hadn't n

ISABELLA.I pushed the door to my father's study open without knocking, because why should I? The room belonged to him on paper, but in truth, it was mine the moment he let his greed outpace his judgment. My heels hit the polished floor, each step a warning bell. I carried the weight of my schemes like a crown, invisible yet heavy enough to bend anyone else.But not me. Never me.The stack of documents slapped down onto his desk, papers fanned like a deck of cards I already knew how to play. Every single one of those papers bore his signature, his little flourish of ink binding him tighter to me. He had thought he was clever once, thought he was maneuvering me into his pocket. Poor man. What he didn’t realize was that every stroke of his pen had been another chain around his own throat.His eyes flicked down at the pages, his jaw tightening. "What is this supposed to be? A parade of signatures you tricked me into?"I let a slow smile curl at the corner of my mouth. "Not a trick, Dad.