All Chapters of FORSAKEN WIFE, NOW A BILLIONAIRE'S GREATEST REGRET: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

The ghost of Lanc in the grocery store aisle should have been the final period. But the past, I was learning, was a book with pages that could still rustle in an unexpected wind.The foundation’s new building was a symphony of light and noise. In the pottery studio, a dozen small hands were slapping and coiling clay. In the next room, a fledgling choir was murdering—with joyous enthusiasm—a Beatles song. I was in my small office, a converted storage closet I loved for its view of the bustling main hall, when my assistant, a bright young woman named Chloe, buzzed me.“Gwen? There’s a woman here to see you. A Ms. Huzon. She says it’s personal.”The name was a punch to a long-numbed part of my soul. Huzon. Stella.My first instinct was to have Chloe send her away. But curiosity, that treacherous cat, got the better of me. “Send her in.”Stella looked… ordinary. The sharp, polished edges were gone. She wore a simple, inexpensive coat, and her face was free of the heavy makeup she’d once u

The world snapped back into focus with the sound of the foundation’s front door closing behind Mr. Albright. The brittle will and the faded photograph lay on my desk, not as relics, but as live grenades.Arthur’s face was pale. “Gwen, we need to call a lawyer. Right now. This… this changes everything.”“It changes nothing,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady, though my hands trembled. I carefully placed the documents back into the velvet-lined briefcase and clicked the locks shut. The sound was final. “This isn’t our war. This is for Elara.”“But you’re the one holding it! Do you have any idea what the Arcony lawyers—what’s left of them—will do if they find out this exists? What Caridad will do? She’s not just going to fade away if she learns billions she considered hers are going to a woman Lanc was obsessed with!”“Then they can’t find out.” I stood, clutching the briefcase. It felt heavier than Angela’s urn. “I have to find Elara. I have to warn her. I have to give her this… this

The drive back from the clinic was a blur of grey sky and grim silence. Arthur’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. Lanc’s final, whispered warning echoed in the car’s tense atmosphere, a venomous seed taking root. “She will come for you.”“He’s just trying to scare you, Gwen. He’s lashing out,” Arthur said, but his voice lacked its usual conviction.“No,” I replied, my own voice hollow as I stared out the window. “This isn’t a threat. It’s a prediction. He knows his mother better than anyone. He’s handing me over to her.”Back in the city, the foundation’s bright, noisy normalcy felt like a fragile diorama. I moved through the motions—guiding small hands with clay, approving supply orders—but my mind was in that sterile room, watching Lanc’s soul collapse and hearing his final, chilling prophecy.For three days, nothing happened. The silence was its own kind of torture. I jumped at every knock, flinched at every ring of my phone. The briefcase was now hidden in a safety depos

The grand reopening of the Angela Gonzalez Foundation was no longer about charity; it was a declaration of war, meticulously staged. The scent of fresh paint and new wood deliberately overpowered the last, stubborn ghosts of smoke. The walls, once stained, were now a brilliant, defiant white. Where fire had charred the main hall, a stunning, sprawling mosaic now climbed the wall—a phoenix crafted from thousands of shards of donated sea glass and broken pottery, its wings outstretched in triumphant flight. The children had made it. It was our banner.The guest list was a carefully curated weapon. I’d invited every socialite, CEO, and philanthropist who had ever sniffed around the Arcony name. The press corps, led by a visibly eager Caleb Thorne, was corralled near the entrance. The air hummed with a volatile mix of charity gala politeness and the bloodlust of a high-society gladiatorial arena. Everyone was here for one reason: to see if she would come.Arthur stood by my side, a steady

The Malibu police station was a jarring blend of sterile bureaucracy and surfer-town casual. The air smelled of stale coffee and salt spray. A social worker with tired eyes led me to a small, windowless room.He was sitting in a chair that was too big for him, his legs dangling, not touching the floor. Lanc Arcony Jr. He had his father's dark, intense eyes, but they were wide with a shell-shocked fear that was entirely his own. He clutched a battered Game Boy like a lifeline."Lanc?" I said softly, kneeling in front of him so we were at eye level. "My name is Gwen."He looked at me, and a flicker of recognition crossed his face. "You're the lady from the pictures," he whispered. "The one Mommy didn't like."The blunt honesty of a child was a punch to the gut. "I knew your mommy. And I knew your dad.""My dad's in heaven," he stated, parroting a line he'd clearly been told. "Mommy said he was sick. She said you made him sicker."Another blow. I took a steadying breath. "People are comp