Divorced by my Billionaire Ex, Now He Wants Me Back! のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 51 - チャプター 60

51Stella.The scent of fresh flowers hit me as soon as I stepped into the hotel lobby. Boxes of table centerpieces lined the front desk, and someone had wheeled in a rack of fairy lights I hadn’t ordered but immediately approved. It was the eve of the fundraiser, and for the first time in a long time, I felt good genuine.“Put those hydrangeas on the far end of the banquet table,” I called out to Emma, one of the volunteers, as I clipped my clipboard closed. “We’ll keep the lilies in the center. And make sure the candle trays are all flame-free. No open fire.”She nodded, giving me a thumbs-up, and went back to directing her team.My phone buzzed. Josh.“You alive?” he asked when I picked up.“Barely,” I said, smiling. “You?”“The twins just spent the last ten minutes practicing their speech in front of an audience of stuffed animals. Eli’s clearly nervous. Emma’s pretending not to be.”I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I should come home.”“You should do no such thing. They’re fine.

53Stella.The ballroom shimmered with warm golden lights, soft music playing from the quartet tucked near the stage, and the low hum of conversation rose like waves against the walls. I stood near the entryway of the hotel I had once built out of desperation and determination. Tonight, it looked more like the palace of someone who belonged in the spotlight. But I still felt like I was holding my breath, waiting for something to go wrong.I adjusted the collar of my emerald silk dress and forced a smile as a city councilwoman approached with her husband, both of them offering polite compliments about the décor and the cause. I thanked them and guided them toward the donation booth manned by my new assistant, Lena. My hands itched to keep fixing things—centerpieces, table linens, music levels—but the truth was, the event was perfect. The hotel staff had outdone themselves.Dane had hired additional security, and although I hadn’t asked him to go so far, I was grateful. I saw one of the

55StellaThe morning after the fundraiser, I woke with a sore throat and a ringing phone.The sore throat I expected from too many thank-yous, too many speeches, too many tight-lipped smiles that had been stretched wider than I thought possible. I’d spent the night forcing my voice into steadiness, reassuring people I barely knew that I was fine, that the children were fine, that the hotel was thriving, that we were moving forward. Every word had scraped my throat raw.But the phone call? That was something else entirely.I reached across the nightstand with a clumsy hand, the phone vibrating angrily against the wood. For a moment I considered letting it ring out, burying myself back under the sheets, but instinct made me answer.“Stella Harrington?”The voice was crisp, official. No warmth. No hesitation.“Yes.”“You’ve been summoned to a hearing regarding unresolved inheritance claims. Courthouse, downtown. Noon.”No explanation. No names. Just a summons, dropped like a stone into

57Stella.I wasn’t sure what I expected when the older woman stopped me outside the courthouse, but it wasn’t the steady, clear eyes of someone who didn’t flinch in the face of my suspicion. She had introduced herself as Mrs. Greene and claimed she had once worked for my mother. Even as the words left her lips, I felt the air tighten around me. My mother’s name was a fragile place in my heart, one I rarely let anyone step into.We arranged to meet the following afternoon at a quiet tea shop on the edge of town. I spent the night restless, pacing the hall after the twins were asleep, glancing at the journal of paperwork scattered across the kitchen counter. Josh urged me to wait until we knew more about this woman, but something in her face lingered with me. There had been no hunger in her eyes, no sign she wanted something from me. Only some kind of urgency.By the time I walked into the little shop, my nerves were thrumming. Mrs. Greene was already there, seated at a corner table by

59Stella.The journal sat in my bedside drawer, tucked beneath folded sweaters, but I could feel its weight even through the wood. Every night since Mrs. Greene had handed it to me, I told myself I’d leave it there, that I didn’t need to reopen old wounds. And yet, I always found myself lifting it out, tracing my mother’s handwriting with my fingers as though her words were a lifeline.The entry about protecting the children at all costs burned brightest. She had written it like a vow, one I felt pressing against my ribs now, pushing me forward.Josh noticed my distraction easily—he always did. In the morning, while the twins ate breakfast and argued over whose turn it was to sit by the window, he caught my eye across the kitchen. He raised a brow, the silent question. Later, when the kids had gone to school, I finally opened my mouth.“I met someone after the hearing,” I said.Josh looked up from rinsing dishes. “Who?”“A woman named Mrs. Greene. She worked for Mom years ago. She ga