All Chapters of After I Died, He Truly Panicked: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

Maxwell’s POVI needed air. Needed to get out of this house before I said something to Morgana that I’d regret. Before the guilt and rage and self-loathing consumed what little dignity I had left.“I’m going out,” I said, grabbing my keys.“Maxwell, where—”“Just out.”I drove through the city without any destination in mind, just needing movement, needing distance from the wreckage of the day. The radio was playing business news, and I quickly turned it off before they could mention the architectural forum incident.Eventually, I found myself at the Marriott downtown. The same hotel where the forum had been held. Where I’d destroyed my reputation in front of everyone who mattered in this industry.The hotel bar was nearly empty at nine PM on a Wednesday. Just a few businesspeople nursing drinks and trying to forget whatever disasters their days had brought.I took a seat at the mahogany bar and ordered scotch. The bartender was young, probably hadn’t seen the video yet. He served my

Maxwell’s POVI sat in the plastic waiting room chair, staring at my hands. There was blood under my fingernails from where I’d tried to open Regina’s car door. Her blood.The smell of the place made my stomach churn. Hospitals always smelled the same. Like the facility where Regina had been tortured. Like the NICU where Ivan had fought for his life as a premature baby.Like death and suffering and consequences.My phone rang again. This time it was a number I didn’t recognize.“Maxwell Chamberlain.”“Mr. Chamberlain, this is Rebecca from Channel 7 News. We’re reporting on the car accident involving Regina Veyron. Can you comment on the circumstances that led to—”I hung up.How did reporters already know? The accident had happened less than an hour ago, but of course they knew. Regina was news now. Her drunk driving accident would be front-page news by morning.More calls came in. Different reporters, all asking the same questions. I turned off my phone and buried my face in my hands

Regina’s POVI’d managed to convince the doctors to discharge me this morning instead of keeping me another night, though my head still pounded with every heartbeat.A soft knock at the door interrupted my brooding. Lindsay peeked inside, her face bright“Can we come in?”Before I could answer, Mia burst through the door, her golden hair flying behind her as she ran toward my bed. Frederick followed more cautiously, his medical training probably cataloging every visible injury.“Mommy!” Mia threw herself against my side, careful to avoid the worst of the bruises. “Are you really okay? Lindsay said you got hurt in a car accident.”“I’m fine, sunshine.” I wrapped my good arm around her small body, breathing in her scent. “Just some bumps and scratches.”“You have a big bandage on your head.”“The doctor wanted to make sure it healed properly. It looks worse than it is.”Mia pulled back to study my face critically, her gray eyes taking in the purple bruising along my jawline and the stit

Regina’s POVThe drive home from the hospital felt different than I’d expected. My head still throbbed from the concussion, and every bump in the road made my bruised ribs ache, but my mind felt clearer than it had in weeks.Maybe nearly dying did that to a person. Stripped away the confusion and panic and left only what really mattered.Mia sat in her booster seat behind me, chattering excitedly about her ice cream adventure with Frederick and Lindsay.“And then Uncle Frederick helped me pick strawberry and chocolate together, and Lindsay got vanilla because she said it was classic, and there was a man with a camera who took pictures of us eating!”“That sounds wonderful, sunshine.”“The ice cream was really good. But…” Mia paused, her voice dropping to a more thoughtful tone. “I don’t want to lie about Lindsay and Uncle Frederick being my real parents.”My hands tightened on the steering wheel. This was the conversation I’d been dreading since sending them out together. Her simple h

Regina’s POVPatricia’s office felt smaller today, the mahogany walls pressing closer as we discussed strategy.“The articles will be subtle at first,” Patricia explained, tapping her pen against a notepad. “We’ll focus on Maxwell’s business practices. His public outburst at the architectural forum. Questions about his judgment under pressure.”I nodded, though something in my stomach twisted at the thought. “How long before we can file the custody appeal?”“Six weeks minimum. We need to build a foundation first. Show a pattern of poor decision-making that affects Ivan’s wellbeing.”“What kind of pattern?”“The public humiliation incident. His association with Morgana Faye, who spied on you. The fact that he’s kept Ivan completely isolated from his biological mother.”Patricia slid a folder across the table. “We start with business publications. Questions about Maxwell’s fitness to run a major firm. Then we move to parenting magazines. Articles about children’s rights to know both par