All Chapters of The CEO's ex-wife is Untouchable : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

“You’re not walking away from me that easily, Marcelline.”She blinked once, pen poised above the paper, then set it down with infuriating grace. “Rowan,” she said coolly, as though acknowledging a business associate, not the man she’d spent nine years married to. “Dont be dramatic. It makes you look… desperate.”His jaw clenched. He said standing upright. “Don’t play with me. You think you can just throw divorce papers at me and vanish into thin air? That after nine years of marriage, you can just, just disappear?”Marcelline leaned back in her chair, the corner of her lip curving ever so slightly. Not a smile. Not warmth. Something sharper. “We've talked about this. I didn’t vanish. I walked out. You just never thought I would.”The air between them crackled. His fingers twitched at his side.“You don’t get to decide when it ends,” he snapped.Her brows lifted, mocking. “Oh? And you do? Nine years, Rowan. That was our deal. Nine years, and I go. I’ve only kept my end of the bargain.

The air outside Marcelline’s office was still tense when her assistant appeared at the door, she was about to knock when Marcelline just opened the door.“Miss Odette, we are having the meeting now” she said and Marcelline nodded, her other assistant following behind her. She opened the door to find a bowed posture of a man who commanded authority.“President Adair—” her eyes darted nervously around anything but Rowan, sensing the heavy atmosphere, “the joint investment summit begins in fifteen minutes. The other executives are already gathered.”Rowan, still leaning against the edge of her desk, straightened slowly, eyes narrowing as he turned to look at the assistant.“Joint investment?” he asked to be sure.“Yes.” the assistant replied nervously. Was she planning to exempt him from this? How come he didn't know anything about this? He thought.The assistant turned to leave. Rowan’s jaw clenched as he followed.The grand boardroom at the summit venue gleamed with polished mahogany a

Selene had not slept well.The glow of the bedside lamp was still on, her phone clutched in her hand as if gripping it tightly would keep the unease at bay. Her manicured nails tapped against the glass screen, restless, impatient.The email she’d received in the early hours still sat at the top of her inbox—You’re not the only one watching her.It should have terrified her. And for a moment, it had.But terror quickly gave way to something else—anger.Because the real knife in her chest hadn’t been the anonymous threat. It had been the phone call she overheard downstairs. Rowan hadn’t come home until dawn. His driver had dropped him directly at the estate, and Selene had padded to the hallway, expecting him to come up to their room.But he hadn’t. Instead, she had caught fragments of his voice through the heavy doors of his study. Tired, raw, low. And then, Marcelline’s name.Selene hadn’t needed to hear more. He had been with her. Again.The thought made her chest constrict, bile ris

The elevator hummed as it climbed to the 47th floor, carrying Selene Vale and the faint perfume of victory. She stood before the mirrored wall, smoothing the crease in her champagne blazer, watching her own reflection smirk back at her. Maxwell had agreed. The dinner, the wine, the little vial. Everything was in motion. For the first time in months, the knot in her chest loosened. Rowan would see it — the collapse of Marcelline’s perfect little empire. He’d see that Selene had always been the one fighting for him, protecting what was theirs. The elevator chimed. Penthouse level. She stepped into the soft hush of her marble foyer, heels tapping against the imported stone. The city glittered beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, a thousand lights bowing before her triumph. “Ms. Vale,” her head of security stammered as he met her halfway. “There’s—someone inside.” Selene’s brow arched. “Inside? You let someone in?” “He—he forced his way up, ma’am. Said it was life or death. He s

The city never really slept, but tonight, its pulse seemed sharper—brighter—like it sensed the storm brewing underneath its glass-and-steel skin. Rowan Adair’s car cut through the streets like a blade through silk. The tinted windows reflected streaks of light, and his jaw was locked in that quiet, dangerous calm that only came when he was close to breaking. Kenneth Dunlap’s voice still echoed in his head. > “It’s about Marcelline. Tonight—” Then gunfire. Silence. He’d replayed that moment three times before his decision crystallized. No guards. No driver. No time. Just him. Moments later he received a text scrambled but he could make what was about to happen. Five words, one text was enough to make him know she was about to be poisoned. >Lady Odette. Carlton restaurant. Poison. He’d left his penthouse in seconds, the phone still in his grip, his mind a torrent of precision and fury. Someone was trying to hurt her. *** The Carlton restaurant glowed like an amber jewel at