บททั้งหมดของ Chasing His Ex-Wife Back: บทที่ 71 - บทที่ 80

Isabelle’s POV There was a particular kind of silence that came before a storm. Not the kind that offered peace, but the one that made your skin itch and your instincts scream. I felt it the second I stepped into the private lounge of the Belcrest Hotel, a secluded space I’d booked under a pseudonym. Velvet drapes and soft jazz couldn’t disguise the tension in the air. I didn’t have to turn around to know who had walked in—her scent always preceded her. Expensive perfume, masked with too much desperation. Kaia Whitmore or so she wished to be called. I took a sip of my espresso without acknowledging her, letting her simmer in her self-importance. She hated being ignored, and I’d learned long ago that nothing unbalanced a narcissist faster than silence. “Still playing the part of the silent queen?” she said, her heels clicking as she strutted across the room and dropped into the chair opposite mine. “I’m not playing anything,” I said coolly, eyes still on my cup. “But you…

Damion’s POV The ice had melted long ago. I stared into the bottom of the glass, the remnants of my third—no, fourth—scotch clinging to the corners like the last pieces of a man who used to matter. Isabelle’s words kept circling in my head. “You could wait forever, and I still wouldn’t choose you.” I hadn’t wanted to believe her. Not the way she said it—calm, resolved, final. I had expected rage. Screaming. Maybe even tears. But she had just looked at me like I didn’t matter anymore. And that—that—was what destroyed me. I wasn’t used to this kind of rejection. I’d been betrayed. Cheated. Even left before. But Isabelle’s rejection was different. Because this time, I knew I deserved it. The penthouse was dark, lit only by the city lights bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I hadn’t bothered turning on the lights. What was the point? I reached for the bottle again. Poured another. The silence around me felt oppressive, the kind that didn’t just

Isabelle’s POV The moment Damion stepped out of my office, it felt like the air finally moved again. But instead of relief, all I felt was a deep, aching emptiness. He had stood there—raw, open, broken—and for a moment, just a fleeting moment, my heart had whispered a truth I’d buried long ago: “I still love him.” I hated it. I hated how just the sound of his voice sent my pulse racing. How even after everything he’d done, everything he’d taken, a part of me still ached for the man I once believed he was. And maybe that was the worst part—because I didn’t love the man standing before me now. I loved the version I thought he could be. And yet… today… for the first time in years… I saw that man again. Even if it was just a glimpse. I pressed a hand to my chest and closed my eyes. My heart didn’t feel like a fortress anymore. It felt like an open wound, stitched together with ambition and vengeance. I’d told myself I was doing all this for justice. For Nathan.

Isabelle’s POV I used to think silence meant peace. That stillness was a reward for surviving the noise. But now, I’ve learned that silence is where the weight settles. It’s where every word you never said starts to echo. Where all the masks you’ve worn crack, just slightly. And tonight, silence feels heavier than it’s ever been. The rain outside taps softly against the balcony doors, the city drowned in the hush that only comes with late hours and unresolved war. I sit on the edge of my armchair, a blanket draped over my shoulders like armor I didn’t realize I needed. I don’t move. I don’t speak. I just watch the shadows of the room shift as headlights pass by below. The files on Walter and Kaia are stacked neatly on the coffee table in front of me. Closed. Not because I’m finished. But because I needed to feel human again, even for just one evening. It’s been days since Damion walked back into my life. A storm, a whisper, a regret. And in all that time, I haven

Walter’s POV I’d been in this business long enough to know when something was off. When silence in the press wasn’t peace, it was calculation. And this morning, everything was off. The maid didn’t look me in the eye as she poured my coffee. My head of security hadn’t returned my call. And Kaia—who’d spent the past week clinging to every opportunity to remind me we were “on the same page”—hadn’t come downstairs once. I stirred my coffee slowly, trying to quiet the tension in my gut. My hand didn’t shake. Not visibly. But inside, something was twisting, turning, folding in on itself. The television was on low in the background. I wasn’t listening. Not until I heard my name. “—Walter Blackwood and Kaia Whitmore—under scrutiny in what could be one of the most high-profile financial scandals of the last decade. The leak—now verified by two independent sources—connects both parties to illegal offshore wire transfers, labor violations, and the misappropriation of charitable