All Chapters of Marrying My Ex for Revenge: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

She grip her purse strap too tight. Her eyes search my face, looking for proof of something she's afraid to find."So." She whispers at my doorway. "Seventy-five million dollars.""Give or take.""That's a lot of money to throw away on principle.""If you still feel this is all about principle."She takes a step inside. "What else would you call making decisions about my company without consulting me?""Smart business." I lean against my desk, gripping the edge. "Whitmore was undervaluing your assets by thirty percent.""You should have called me first."

The West Village café sits two blocks from her office.I arrive fifteen minutes early, claim the corner table.At 2:12 PM, Elena pushes through the glass door.She's rehearsed this. The way she moves—shoulders squared, chin level, purse gripped against her ribs—speaks of mirror practice and careful scripts.Someone walking toward difficult honesty with pre-planned exits.She sits without meeting my eyes.The menu becomes her shield. Fingers trace its edge, creating sharp creases in the laminated corner."Your best friend showed up at the hospital Wednesday." I don't wait for her

I stand outside the Chelsea gallery at 6:50 PM, second-guessing everything.The gallery windows glow against the warm evening. Contemporary art installations visible through glass—shapes and colors that probably mean something to someone.I check my phone. No text from Daniel canceling. No text from Elena asking what I'm doing.Just my own heartbeat and the question I won't answer yet: is this a date?Daniel arrives at 6:58 PM.I spot him half a block away—the charcoal suit catches streetlights differently than the navy would. Sharper.He walks like someone who's made a decision. Not the careful, measured stride I've seen at the h

Wood creaks under my weight. Hudson River fog hangs low, turning the skyline into watercolor smudges. Robert Brennan hands me a paddle. "You're early." "Couldn't sleep." Nathan appears with two kayaks balanced on his shoulders—an image that still surprises me after three years of watching him do it. He sets them at the water's edge, checks the straps, runs his hand along each hull like he's blessing them. "Two hours," Nathan says, checking his watch. "Then you have that brunch meeting with the Singapore investors." "I cancelled it." His eyebrows lift. "Sir—" "Monday's coming whether I prepare or not." I grip the kayak, drag it toward the water. "Today I'm here." Nathan studies me for a fleeting moment. Then he nods once and retreats to my car parked along the access road. Close enough to be present. Far enough to disappear. Robert and I push off. The current catches us, pulls us north. Our paddles cut through dark water in a matched rhythm—a pattern we've built ov

Eight minutes standing at this entrance. Phone in hand. My last text to Adrian glowing: ‘Maybe . . . that’s where I should be.’ My thumb hovers over the screen. I could cancel. Send some excuse about work or literally anything that isn't the truth—that I'm terrified of walking through this entrance and facing him. St. Patrick's Cathedral looms across the street. The building bears witness to whether I'm brave enough to try again. I almost turn back. Then I see him. Adrian sits on a bench near the bronze plaque. He's in jeans and a worn jacket. No suit. No CEO armor. No carefully constructed version of himself designed to impress boards or win votes. Just him. The version of him I loved at Columbia. Before boards and wills and the weight of Victor's ghost crushing everything good between us. My heart stumbles over itself. I walk toward him. Gravel crunches under my heels—too loud in the quiet garden, announcing my arrival like a warning bell. He stands when he hears me. We