All Chapters of Dumped ,Because His Her Is Back : Chapter 131 - Chapter 137

Liam’s POV)The evening had settled into that strange, bluish quiet where streetlights hummed before fully waking. Liam walked with his hands in his pockets, hood pulled up, the cold gnawing at the edges of his concentration. He’d been restless for hours the kind of restlessness that didn’t feel emotional, but instinctive. Like something in the air had shifted without permission.He’d left his apartment earlier than planned, pacing through narrow side roads instead of the main street, avoiding the familiar paths. Too many eyes had been on him in recent weeks journalists, gossip vultures, people who thought they knew his story. But this wasn’t that kind of attention.This felt… targeted.Liam turned a corner, his breath puffing white in the cold. A soft rumble followed a beat later. He glanced back, casual on the surface, but his pulse ticked up a notch.The SUV again.Same matte-black finish.Same tinted windows.Same slow crawling pace.He’d noticed it three times in the last two day

Amara’s POVAmara had always trusted the night.It was the one place where her thoughts softened, where the city dimmed enough for her mind to breathe. She walked home from her studio, fingertips still stained with cobalt blue and burnt sienna, her bag heavy with unfinished sketches. The evening was cool, the sky low, the air humming with the quiet promise of rain.She didn’t know she was being watched.She didn’t know the night she trusted had already been rewritten.Her steps were slow, unhurried. She had lingered in her studio longer than usual trying to outrun the itching discomfort she could not name. The gossip storm had died down a little, but something in her gut insisted the silence was a lie. Too neat. Too convenient. Too intentional.She brushed the thought aside.Tonight was supposed to be good. She had just finished the concept sketch for the centerpiece of her upcoming exhibit a blend of shadow and gold, grief and rebirth. She was finally creating again.She didn’t hear

Night folds around the city like a fist tightening slowly, inch by inch, and nobody feels that pressure more acutely than Amara though she doesn’t yet know why. She simply feels… watched. Observed. Tugged by a presence she can’t name, like the air itself has a pulse now, tapping rhythmically at the back of her skull.Her art exhibit has been open for two hours, and by all accounts, it’s a success. People are crowding, murmuring, taking pictures, pretending to understand what each painting means while she stands near the far wall, pretending she doesn’t notice the cameras, the whispers, the subtle thread of gossip that always seems to slither wherever she goes now. The hall is warm. Too warm. The lights feel brighter than usual, and each spotlight seems to pierce like a needle rather than glow.But what unsettles her isn’t the praise, or the critics, or the flashes of phones.It’s the way her newest piece the one she painted during her most chaotic nights keeps drawing people who don

They called it an interrogation, but the room felt more like a confession chamber disguised with fluorescent lights and metal walls. The manipulator now stripped of the armor of anonymity, reputation, and rehearsed charm sat with their hands cuffed to the table. For months, they’d hidden in shadows, twisting narratives, releasing letters at the wrong time, pulling gossip like puppet strings, and setting both Liam and Amara on collision courses built entirely on half-truth, silence, and emotional exhaustion. Now, with evidence compiled, Jordan’s testimony, and the recovered files Liam never got the chance to deliver, there was nowhere left to hide. Their voice, once confident and mocking, was oddly quiet as the detective read aloud the compiled timeline of every sabotage, every intercepted message, every deliberate misdirection. The words didn’t echo; the shame sat heavy in the space like smoke.Liam watched through the one-way glass. He didn’t want revenge. He didn’t want apologies. H