All Chapters of Back In The Arms Of My Billionaire Ex Husband : Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

Ashley sat alone in the living room, the lights dimmed low, the house unusually quiet. She kept glancing at her phone, waiting for Dante to walk through the door or at least send a text—I’m on my way, I’ll be late, anything.Nothing came.She exhaled slowly, hugging her arms around herself. The excitement of the past few days had faded into a strange restlessness she couldn’t explain.The front door opened.Ashley lifted her head. “Dante?”But the footsteps were hesitant and heavy. “Ashley…”Her heart skipped. She knew that voice.Tristian stepped into view. His face was pale, eyes rimmed red, his jaw tight like he was holding something back.“What’s wrong?” she asked immediately, standing up. “Why are you looking at me like that?”He didn’t answer right away. He took a step closer, then another, as if the words themselves were too heavy to carry across the room.“Ash…” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “It’s Dad.”Her stomach dropped. “What about him?” she whispered.Tristian

Julian didn’t speak for a long time.He sat across from Dante in the private room of the club, elbows on his knees, fingers interlocked so tightly his knuckles had gone pale. Whisper stood near the door, arms crossed, eyes alert, saying nothing.Dante had told him everything. About Red Hook, Mr. Quinn, the threats, Jonathan and also the proposal that still burned in his chest.Julian finally exhaled, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus” he muttered. “That man and his daughter” he shook his head slowly. “They were really bad eggs.”“That’s putting it lightly,” Dante said, his voice flat.Julian looked up at him, eyes sharp now. “And Ashley doesn’t know?”“No,” Dante replied immediately. “She can’t. Not now. Not ever, if I can help it.”Julian nodded, swallowing hard. “Then aside from you, Whisper, and me this stays buried.” Dante said “It has to,” “If she finds out who’s really behind this—what they wanted from her it’ll destroy her.”Julian stood, pulling Dante into a brief, tight

By the next morning, the news was everywhere.Dante Montclair was missing. The wedding was cancelled. The city’s most eligible bachelor had vanished a day before saying “I do.” Ashley’s name was dragged along with the story, tagged and mentioned endlessly as if she were part of the spectacle.Her phone wouldn’t stop vibrating.She didn’t bother checking it. She already knew what she would see — headlines, comments, strangers asking questions they had no right to ask. Pity mixed with mockery. Curiosity dressed up as concern. She let the phone buzz until it went silent.A short laugh slipped out of her, dry and bitter.She had really believed this time would be different.She had allowed herself to hope, to imagine a life where things finally worked out. A wedding. A future. Stability. Now it all felt stupid in hindsight. Dante was gone again, but this time he disappeared before they even got married.That hurt more than she expected.Ashley had always been the one people talked about

It had been a month since Dante disappeared.At first, the police had come every other day, asking the same questions, retracing the same steps, promising progress. Then the visits slowed. Calls stopped coming. Hope thinned until it felt like an unspoken agreement that Dante Montclair was no longer a priority.Aside from his abandoned car, found with its door left open, and the engagement ring recovered from the ground that night, there was nothing. Just one grainy CCTV footage of Dante driving out of the city at midnight, his face unreadable through the windshield.Ashley kept the ring locked away, wrapped carefully in silk, like something fragile and sacred. Some nights she took it out and stared at it for long minutes, wondering how a symbol of forever had turned into evidence.She had not stepped foot in the Montclair house since.The place felt cursed to her now. Every time she went there, something terrible happened. Memories clung to the walls, too loud, too painful. Loving Dan

Ashley closed the door behind her and leaned her back against it, her heart still racing.The music from the party was gone now, but the moment replayed in her head anyway.Asher’s closeness.The pause.The look in his eyes before he stepped back.She pressed her palm to her chest, breathing out slowly. That was too close.Not because she wanted it.But because she was tired. Lonely. Still breaking in quiet ways she never let anyone see.She kicked off her heels and barely made it two steps before her stomach twisted violently.“Oh God—”She rushed to the bathroom, barely lifting the toilet seat before everything came up.Her body shook as she threw up, tears stinging her eyes. Alcohol, emotions, exhaustion — it all mixed into one miserable moment.When it was over, she rested her forehead against the cool porcelain, breathing hard.“Never again,” she muttered weakly. “I’m never drinking that much again.”She flushed, rinsed her mouth, and looked at her reflection in the mirror.Her e