All Chapters of Marrying My Ex for Revenge: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

The last time I saw Adrian Kane, I was in a wedding dress and he was running away from me. Now he's standing in my office. "I know I—" He stops. Starts again. "I need your help." His voice is steady, but I catch the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers tap against his charcoal slacks. I don't look up from the quantum encryption contracts scattered across my desk. The Yamamoto deal alone will net Sinclair Technologies forty million. It won't leave me at the altar. "Help." I let the word sit there. "Interesting choice." "Elena. Please." The way he says my name—soft, desperate—makes my chest twist. I built walls specifically to keep that tone from reaching me. Spent five years constructing them brick by brick. But his voice still finds the cracks. When I finally look at him, my pen stops mid-signature. It's been five years since I saw him and my breath still catches. He's still devastating—those ice-blue eyes, sharp jawline, broad shoulders in a Tom Ford suit. But th

The letter arrives at 11 PM, delivered by Adrian's driver like some Victorian courtship ritual.I stare at the cream-colored envelope on my marble counter while Daniel Morrison pours wine in my living room.Dinner at Le Bernardin was perfect—the kind of night that would look good in photographs.The soft jazz, the quiet clink of wine glasses, the way Daniel listened when I spoke, never interrupting.He was charming, attentive, everything a rational woman should want.And yet, beneath the surface of polite laughter and dessert wine, a hollow ache reminds me how long it’s been since a conversation felt dangerous.Real. Like something that could shatter me if I wasn’t careful.When he asked to come up for a nightcap, I said yes.I let Adrian's driver report back and remind him that I'm not waiting around."Everything alright?" Daniel appears in the doorway, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up.He's handsome in an understated way—sandy hair, kind eyes, the sort of face that makes patients tru

Cinnamon. I smell it the moment Marlene sets the cup on her desk. Oat milk latte, extra shot, cinnamon dust on top.Elena’s exact order from five years ago. The one I memorized after our third date when she mentioned—just once, in passing—that most baristas get it wrong."She's in meetings all morning," Marlene says before I can ask. Her tone is gentle. Pitying, maybe. "Then calls with Tokyo. Then a site visit."It's day four of this routine. I’ve been showing up at Sinclair Technologies at 7:47 AM with coffee she might not drink. "I'll just leave it, then."Marlene takes the cup but doesn't move toward Elena's office. Instead, she studies me for a while before speaking. "Mr. Kane, can I ask you something?""Of course.""Why coffee?""I'm sorry?""Why not flowers? Or jewelry? Some grand gestures men like you usually make when you're trying to win someone back."I consider the question. Down the hallway, Elena's frosted glass door stays shut. Her name etched in emerald letters. She's i

Sofia is already dissecting her croissant when I slide into the booth at Balthazar."You're thirteen minutes late." She doesn't look up from her surgical butter application. "New record.""Ava wanted pancakes. Mrs. Patel was running behind." I flag down a waiter. "Eggs Benedict. Extra hollandaise. And whatever she's drinking.""Champagne. It's eleven AM on a Sunday, and I earned it." Sofia takes a long sip, leaving a lipstick print on crystal. "Fired three people yesterday. One cried. One threatened to sue. One asked if I was single.""Which one did you feel bad about?""The crier. He had student loans and a cat named Mr. Whiskers. Showed me photos." She tears off a piece of croissant. "The lawsuit guy can rot. And the single one had terrible shoes. Brown with a navy suit. Unforgivable."I almost smile. This is us—Sunday mornings, ridiculous gossip. We've been doing this since Columbia, when brunch meant diner coffee and stolen bagels from the student center."How's Daniel?" she asks,

Marcus Kane waits in the lobby of Sinclair Technologies like he owns the building.He doesn't. I do.Steel beams, glass panels, and lines of code running through the servers twenty floors up—they’re all mine.Built from nothing but ambition and spite and the burning need to prove that Adrian Kane destroying me was the best thing that ever happened to my career."Ms. Sinclair." He stands as I approach, buttoning his suit jacket in one smooth motion. Tom Ford. Probably the same tailor as Adrian. "Thank you for seeing me.""I didn't agree to see you. I agreed not to have security remove you." I gesture toward the elevators. "You only have five minutes."We ride up in silence.He studies his reflection in the polished steel doors—Victor's face, but sharper and hungrier.Where Adrian's edges have been worn smooth by guilt and therapy, Marcus's have only sharpened with resentment.I didn't offer him a seat. He takes one anyway. Crosses his legs. Makes himself comfortable in my space."I'll b