Todos los capítulos de We Divorced Now He Wants Me Back (Billionaire Contract Wife): Capítulo 191 - Capítulo 200

2 Pm(The Warehouse)Three hours ago, after I was forced to listen to Vincent and Lillian talk, Lillian had cut the call abruptly as she looked at me.The phone slipped back into her pocket with a sharp movement. Her heels clicked against the concrete floor as she paced once, then stopped in front of me. Her face was tight, her eyes sharp and impatient, like she was running out of time and patience all at once.She came back that afternoon.Her energy felt different from the last time I saw her. More restless. More dangerous.You are not going to leave him, right? she asked suddenly, staring straight at me.I looked up at her slowly, my head throbbing, my body aching from sitting on the cold floor for too long. My throat was dry. My lips cracked. I still said nothing.She smiled, but it was not a happy smile. It was thin, mocking.She looked innocent, not like what people would have expected her to look like. Her pale skin, innocent green eyes, and sweet smile. But all that was her fa

I stood at the port at exactly 7 a.m. The city behind me was already awake, horns blaring, footsteps rushing, life moving like nothing had been torn out of my chest. The wind off the sea slapped my face, cold and salty, carrying the smell of fuel and rust. My hair was a mess, scattered by my hands, by the hours I had spent dragging my fingers through it. The cigarette between my fingers burned down slowly, ash falling to the concrete, forgotten. Twenty four hours. That was how long it had been since I last heard Alice’s voice. I had not slept. Not even for a minute. My body felt heavy but my mind refused to shut down. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face, pale, frightened, her hand reaching for me. I saw blood. I saw water. I saw nothing but darkness swallowing her whole. This port. This was where they stopped. My men had traced the van here last night. Tire marks. Scratches. A broken side mirror discarded like trash. Proof that those men had been here. Proof that

I stared at the garden.Beautiful flowers bloomed everywhere, vibrant colors, delicate petals, intoxicating scents. They were breathtaking. And deadly. Just like him. Calm on the outside, poisonous underneath.They reminded me of the man standing beside me.I wondered what twisted path life had taken to turn someone into this. He was nothing like Vincent. Vincent was calm, controlled, dangerous only when necessary. This man felt like a volatile chemical, one wrong move and he would erupt, destroying everything in reach.He did not speak as he gestured for me to follow him.We walked slowly through the garden paths, gravel crunching under our feet. He talked casually, almost proudly, about his interest in poison since he was young. How plants fascinated him more than people. How he learned which extracts healed and which killed. How thin the line between cure and death truly was.Every word confirmed it.This man was a maniac. A mad man, nothing like Vincent.As we reached the back of

(Two weeks later, the city) I stood quietly by the glass wall outside the hospital block, watching Vincent talk with Noah a few steps away from me. His back was to me, posture straight, calm, controlled, like nothing in the world could shake him anymore. If someone had told me two weeks ago that he would be standing there like this, alive, breathing, arguing lightly about work schedules, I would have laughed through tears. Memories crashed into my head without warning. I placed my hand gently on my baby bump. It was already noticeable now, round and real beneath my palm. Every small movement reminded me that I was still here, that we were still here. My mind drifted back. To that moment. The moment Vincent drank the poison right in front of me. I could still see it, the way he lifted the cup without hesitation, the way his eyes stayed on mine like he was saying goodbye without words. I remembered screaming, fighting, struggling as Noah pushed me toward the car. They dragged me

I did not go back home after leaving that restaurant. There was nothing waiting for me there except arguments, control, and my father’s voice echoing through marble halls telling me what my life should look like. I already had my flight booked. Paris was calling me back. The hospital head had called earlier that morning, reminding me that my leave was over and my presence was needed immediately. No excuses. No delays. So I chose myself. By the time my plane touched down in Paris, the sky was pale and quiet. Morning had already settled in. I went straight to my apartment in Paris, showered quickly, dressed in clean clothes, tied my hair back, and changed into my scrubs. By the time I stepped into the hospital, I was already in work mode. No one there saw Morgan the heiress. They saw Nurse Morgan. And that was exactly how I liked it. No one could believe that the daughter of one of the biggest families in business chose to work under someone else, to follow schedules, take o