All Chapters of We Divorced Now He Wants Me Back (Billionaire Contract Wife): Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

When I finally closed the door to my room, the silence felt heavier than the city fog outside my window. I walked to the dresser, placed my phone down, and stared at my reflection.My face looked calm on the surface…But my eyes told a different story.There was fire there.Old fire.Unwelcome fire.It had been years since I let myself feel it — that sharp, bitter ache that always came when anything related to that family surfaced.And now… here it was again.I gripped the edges of the dresser.last night I received a message from the last person I wanted to see in my world. My mother,who abandoned me years ago for the love of her life.she wanted a meeting, maybe to earn me never to go close to Vincent " I scoffed at the idea Tomorrow…I wouldn’t go there as the timid girl who once loved blindly.I wouldn’t go there as someone hoping for closure.I wouldn’t go there as someone searching for explanations or apologies or clarity.I would go there to make one thing absolutely, unshakab

The morning had already been a disaster.I hadn’t slept properly for days—weeks, maybe months. Time blended into one continuous stretch of gray monotony: meetings, contracts, mergers, silent meals, empty nights, and a hollow penthouse that echoed back every breath I took.But today was worse.Today, my head felt packed with gravel and static. Every voice grated on me, every notification from my phone made my jaw tighten, and even Noah’s breathing felt too loud.I sat behind my desk, surrounded by towering stacks of files and projected screens showing graphs and market forecasts. The air conditioner hummed quietly overhead, and the bitter scent of black coffee lingered heavily in the room.I didn’t look up when the door slammed open.“Get out,” I snapped automatically, not caring who it was. “Noah, I told you—no interruptions.”But Noah didn’t retreat.Instead, he shut the door behind him and stood there, gripping his tablet as if it were a bomb ready to explode.“Sir,” he said, voice

The first drop landed with a soft tap against the windshield.Then another.Then another. The wipers struggled to keep up, dragging the water aside in harsh sweeps that matched the rhythm of my pulse.I tightened my grip on the steering wheel.I had been on my way to Alice’s father’s mansion.What I planned to do when I got there… I couldn’t explain. Not even to myself.I just needed answers.Closure.Something.Anything that could make sense of the hollow ache buried deep in my chest since I saw that photo two days too late.Alice.Back in the city.Meeting her mother.And I was only told now.My jaw clenched.Noah’s negligence still burned like acid in my blood.The rain blurred the streetlights into unfocused amber halos as I sped through the city, ignoring the way the thunder rolled somewhere in the distance.I needed to see her father.Needed to ask why she came back, what she wanted, whether—My phone rang.Urgent tone.The one nobody used unless it was life or death.I pressed

The car moved with a smooth hum beneath me, the soft leather seat warm against my back as I leaned into it. I didn’t even realize how much the exhaustion had wrapped around my body until I closed my eyes. The moment they shut, the world faded into a comforting blur—the gentle rhythm of the car, the distant city sounds, the faint perfume Mary Jane always wore drifting in the air.My mind drifted to my boys again. Their bright little faces. Their sleepy grins. The tiny chaos they brought to my mornings. It softened the edges of everything inside me.Paris.My sons.My business.This was the life I built with my bare hands.My second chance.My peace.Or so I kept telling myself.But then—“Madam Alice,” Mary Jane’s voice cut into the silence, her tone sharp, urgent.I opened one eye lazily, already suspecting I wouldn’t like whatever she was about to say.She twisted in her seat, tablet in hand, mouth tight with a seriousness that only meant trouble. “We need to head to the company imme

The living room was a beautiful chaos — toys scattered everywhere, plastic wrappers from their new gadgets on the floor, my boys and Adrian’s daughter all tumbling over each other in excitement.Adrian watched them for a moment, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. Then he turned toward me with that calm, older-brother expression he always slipped into when he thought I was overworking myself.“Alright,” he said, clapping his hands lightly. “Enough madness for now. You—” he pointed at me with a small smirk, “go upstairs. Take a shower. Change into something comfortable.”I blinked at him. “Are you kicking me out of my own living room?”“Yes,” he replied shamelessly. “Because we’re making dinner. Me and these rascals.”He ruffled Darling’s hair.Darling puffed up proudly. “I’m going to cut the carrots!”“You’re too small to cut anything,” Derek argued.“No I’m not!”“You absolutely are,” Adrian added dryly. “You can wash the vegetables.”Darling gasped. “That’s boring!”Adrian rais