All Chapters of Marrying My Ex for Revenge: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

He sits across from my desk like he's negotiating a merger instead of asking for help.Good suit—charcoal. His wife's influence, probably. Posture that screams boardroom even though his hands betray him. Fingers drumming once against his thigh before he catches himself and stops.I let the silence stretch. Watch him try to figure out his opening."Thank you for seeing me."Professional. Measured. Exactly what I expected."You said time-sensitive. So we're on the clock." I lean back in my chair. "What do you want, Marcus?""Information. On Owen Reeves.""Why would you think I have that?"

Sofia arrives at Federal Plaza exactly four minutes early—enough to look punctual without seeming anxious.I'm already at the entrance. Waiting.She spots me. Doesn't slow down. Just adjusts her bag and heads for security like we didn't coordinate this down to the minute."You're early," she says when she reaches me."So are you.""Lawyers are always early." She pulls out her ID. "Let me do the talking. If you try to take over . . .""Understood."We clear security separately. Meet again at the elevators where a bored guard points us toward the twelfth floor.

The buzzer cuts through Coltrane—mid-saxophone run, notes dying as I hit pause.Greg's voice crackles through the intercom. "We need to talk about my final report."I don't answer immediately. Just stare at the speaker like it might offer better options than the one standing in my lobby."Adrian. You there?""Come up."I unlock the door. Leave it cracked. Return to the windows where Manhattan spreads below—lights coming on as dusk bleeds into evening.The day's been shit from the opening bell. Projections that don't project anything good. Department heads circling my office with the particular nervousness that means they're updating résumés while pretending to care about next quarter.Three hours of meetings where I said the right things in the right order while my mind stayed stuck on Robert's envelope burning a hole in my desk drawer.My assistant caught me at noon. Voice careful, professionally neutral. "Ms. Sinclair was here earlier. Looking for you. I told her you were in meetings

Gravel crunches under tires when Adrian turns into the driveway.Ava presses her face against the window. "It's big."Not penthouse big. Different big. Sprawling big. The kind that comes with actual land instead of vertical dominance. Brick and ivy and windows that glow warm against evening settling into dusk.A house. Not an apartment. Not a building with a lobby and elevators and neighbors you never meet. A home.Adrian kills the engine. His hand finds mine on the console. Squeeze once. Reassurance or solidarity—I can't tell which."They're going to love you," he says quietly."You don't know that."

Adrian arrives at ten to six.I watch him through the peephole before opening the door. He stands in the hallway with Thai food bags in one hand, the other running through his hair—that nervous gesture he does when he's working through something he hasn't said yet.The documents sit in my bag. Ava's drawing sits on the counter, waiting.I open the door."You're early.""Traffic was light." But his eyes don't match the casual words. Something coiled tight behind them. Something waiting.He steps inside. Sets the food on the counter. His hand finds my waist automatically—pulls me close, kisses my temple. The gesture is familiar now. Routine in the best way.But his heartbeat drums too fast against my cheek. His cologne wraps around me—cedar and coffee and something underneath that's just him. I want to stay here. Pressed against his chest. Ignoring whatever's building behind his eyes.I pull back instead.