All Chapters of Ex-Husband's Irrevocable Mistake: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

The room smelled faintly of medication and flowers that had begun to wilt despite daily care. Sunlight filtered weakly through half-drawn blinds, casting pale lines across the bed where Amira lay.She looked smaller than Eva remembered, almost shrunken into the white sheets, her skin drawn tight over her cheekbones, lips cracked and dry. Tubes traced quiet paths around her body, machines humming softly like restrained breaths.This was not the woman who once walked into rooms with her chin lifted, voice sharp with entitlement. This was not the woman who wore confidence like armor and cruelty like perfume.When the door opened, Amira’s eyes shifted slowly toward the sound. Recognition flickered, followed by something like amusement. A weak laugh escaped her throat, rough and broken.“So…” she rasped, voice thin as paper. “You came.”Eva closed the door behind her gently. She stood just inside the room for a moment, taking everything in, the medical equipment, the stillness, the undenia

Morning crept in quietly, the kind of morning that looked innocent enough to deceive anyone willing to believe it. Sunlight filtered through the thin curtains of the bedroom, touching the edges of the neatly made bed, resting briefly on Eva’s face before she stirred.She opened her eyes slowly, not startled, not rushed, yet there was a tightness in her chest she couldn’t explain. It felt like waking from a dream whose details were gone but whose weight remained.She lay there for a moment, listening.The apartment was too quiet.Usually, Emerson moved around early in the mornings, soft footsteps, the faint clink of a mug against the counter, the low hum of the kettle. Today, everything seemed delayed, like the day itself was holding its breath.Eva turned on her side and found him standing by the window, fully dressed, phone in hand, his brows drawn together in a way she had come to recognize too well.“Morning,” she said, her voice gentle, testing the air between them.He turned imme

The news did not break like thunder.It arrived slowly, almost politely, slipping into the city like early morning harmattan fog—thick, cold, unavoidable.By mid-morning, it was everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Not the kind of news that made sirens scream or crowds gather, but the kind that sat heavy on people’s chests once they read it.AMIRA FINLEY CONFIRMED DEAD AT 4:12 A.M.The headline appeared on blogs first. Then business news pages picked it up. Then gossip sites twisted it. By afternoon, it had filtered into every corner of social media.Reactions came in waves, conflicting and uncomfortable.Some posts were filled with sympathy.‘So young. May her soul rest in peace.’‘Life is truly unpredictable.’Others were colder.‘Karma is real.’‘If only people knew the full story.’A few were cruelly celebratory, thinly disguised as moral lessons.‘You reap what you sow.’And then there were those who said nothing at all, choosing silence over opinion, as if even typing her na

Eva returned to work the way some people returned to prayer, not because it erased pain, but because it gave pain somewhere to sit without destroying everything else.The Mills Corporation headquarters buzzed with its usual controlled urgency the morning she walked in. Polished floors reflected ceiling lights. Staff greeted her with respectful nods.Nothing had changed here. That steadiness was exactly why she came.If she stayed home, her mind would wander.If she stayed idle, memories would become loud.So she chose movement. Purpose. Structure.Her heels clicked against the marble floor as she walked into the executive wing, posture straight, expression composed. To anyone watching, Eva Mills looked like a woman fully in control of her life.Only she knew how much discipline it took to hold that line.Inside her office, the glass walls let in soft morning light. The city stretched beyond the windows—alive, indifferent, moving forward without apology. She paused briefly, placing her

Amira Finley was buried in a silence that did not feel like peace.The funeral was private, almost painfully so. No press. No flashing cameras. No public spectacle. Only a small gathering of people who had either loved her, feared her, or been tangled in her life in ways they would never fully explain.The cemetery sat at the edge of the city, far enough away that traffic noise did not intrude. Tall trees swayed gently in the soft afternoon breeze, their leaves whispering above the neat rows of gravestones.The sky was pale, neither sunny nor gloomy, as if even the weather could not decide how it felt about the woman being laid to rest.A modest white casket rested near the open grave, surrounded by flowers that spoke louder than the mourners themselves. Lilies. Roses. Orchids. Each bouquet carried its own quiet story.One of them had no name attached.Eva had arranged it early that morning through a private service. She chose simple white flowers, nothing extravagant, nothing that wo