All Chapters of Marrying My Ex for Revenge: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

"Mommy, where's the dragon syrup?"The safe house pantry—stocked with generic everything—offers no cartoon dragon. Nothing with the mascot Ava insists makes pancakes taste better."We didn't bring it, baby.""But it's Friday." She stands in the kitchen doorway clutching Mr. Floppington, still in her unicorn pajamas. "Friday means dragon syrup."The shelves stare back. Maple. Store brand. No dragons anywhere.Mrs. Patel appears with a mixing bowl, already assessing the damage. "We'll make it work."But it won't work. Not really.Friday mornings have a rhythm—Ava measuring flour while I crack eggs, the living room TV playing her cartoon, pancakes shaped like animals that never quite look right but she loves them anyway.This kitchen smells like bleach and new paint. The griddle's still in the box. The spatula's the wrong size."Can we go to the park after?" Ava climbs onto the barstool, legs swinging."Not today.""Tomorrow?""We'll see."Her face crumples—not quite crying, but close. "I

Daniel's already at the entrance when I arrive—coffee in each hand, that half-smile he does when he's been waiting but won't admit it."Ten minutes late." He offers me the cup. "I was starting to think you'd bailed.""Traffic." The coffee's perfect temperature. Almond milk, no sugar, extra shot. He remembered. "And I don't bail.""Good to know."The farmers market sprawls ahead—stalls overflowing with produce, artisan bread, honey in jars shaped like bears. Saturday morning crowd already thick. Couples browsing together. Families with kids in strollers.We fall into step easily, his arm occasionally brushing mine as we navigate the crowd. Each contact brief—accidental or intentional, I can't tell anymore."How was your week?" Daniel asks."Depositions. Contract reviews. The usual legal drudgery." The coffee warms my hands. "Elena moved into the safe house on Thursday."His expression shifts—subtle tightening around his eyes. "How's she handling it?""As well as anyone would. Uprooting

Nine minutes until the board convenes.I can't get the camera angle right. My hands won't stop shaking.Adrian appears with coffee—black, no sugar. Sets it beside my notes without speaking. Then his fingers close over mine on the laptop, adjusting the angle with precision."Look at me, not the screen." I do. His eyes are steady in a way that makes my chest tight. "You've done this a hundred times.""Not while wondering if they're counting the seconds until I crack.""Then don't give them the satisfaction." His thumb traces across my knuckles. Once. "Show them what I already know.""What's that?"

The bookstore smells like it always has—old paper, lavender sachets tucked between shelves, the faint metallic tang of the ancient radiator that clanks every twelve minutes.Elena's already in our corner when I arrive. Second floor. Mystery section. The window seat we claimed sophomore year when we discovered this place and decided civilized people read mysteries in natural light.She's got coffee. Two cups. Mine's still steaming.I take it without speaking. Sip. Perfect. "Ten minutes late." Elena doesn't look up from the window. "Parallel parking a moving truck on Seventh?""You tracked me?""Your location's still shared from Thu

Robert Brennan's office smells like leather and old money—the kind that's been accumulating before I was born.Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Mahogany desk. Windows overlooking Central Park that make everything below look small and manageable.I've been here a hundred times. It's never felt this suffocating before."Coffee?" Robert doesn't wait for my answer. Just pours from the French press on the sideboard. Sets a cup in front of me with the precision of someone who's done this ritual for thirty years.He settles into his chair with that careful movement of a man whose back reminds him he's past sixty. Studies me over his own cup."You look like hell."