Todos los capítulos de Dear Ex, You Missed a Fashion Icon: Capítulo 31 - Capítulo 40

TRISTAN The office was quiet, but my head was in a war zone. Every time I closed my eyes, I remembered Marissa, and last night at the lobby. The truth she revealed and the urgency to make it up to her overwhelmed me. Then I knew where to start. Asher Brown. No matter what, even if it’s the last thing I do, I’d gain Marissa’s forgiveness. I found him in the breakroom, staring out the window at the skyline. I didn’t come at him like a CEO. I came at him like a man who was drowning in his own mistakes. "Asher," I said, my voice rough. He turned, his expression guarded but not hostile. The swelling on his lip had gone down, but the sight of it still made my stomach turn. "I’m sorry," I said, and for once, the words didn't feel like a corporate script. "Involving Richard... it was the most idiotic, small-minded thing I’ve ever done. I was a fool." Asher looked at me for a long beat, then let out a short, dry laugh. "A fool? That’s putting it lightly, Tristan. But honestly?"

MARISSA I watched the light in Tristan’s eyes flicker. The silence between us was a physical weight, one I measured out in heartbeats. I let it stretch until his shoulders began to sag, until the mask of the confident CEO began to crumble into the face of a man who realized he was about to lose for the final time. "Do you really think," I asked, my voice low and dangerously smooth, "that you can just walk up to me, after ten years of silence and a night like the one we just had, and ask me for a date? Do you truly believe it's that easy, Tristan?" Tristan’s throat moved as he swallowed hard. He looked at the floor, his face pale. "I... I know it’s too much. I shouldn't have… I'm sorry, Marissa. I'm overstepping. I'll just—" "It's fine." My emotions switched like flip. He stopped mid-sentence, his head snapping up. "What?" "It’s fine, Tristan," I said, my voice warming just a fraction—enough to be felt, but not enough to be real. I let the corners of my mouth lift into the f

MARISSA The next day, the office lobby felt like a pressure cooker of whispers. As I walked through the glass revolving doors at 10:00 AM, the atmosphere didn't just shift; it shattered. I could hear the frantic murmurs from the reception desk to the elevators. "Did you see the video? He looked like he’d been slapped by a ghost," one intern hissed. "I heard she was actually unrecognizable when they were married. Like, hundreds of pounds heavier. No wonder he dumped her," another replied, her voice dripping with the kind of cruelty only the insecure can muster. "Are you kidding?" a senior designer countered. "He treated her like trash and she just took back her throne. Tina is probably in the bathroom having a meltdown right now. She’s irrelevant." That was it. Exactly what I wanted to instigate by entering the office this late. I was sure last night had caused a buzz in the fashion world. And walking in this late, looking all non chalant, it meant more gossiping and humiliati

MARISSA"Who is he to me?" I repeated, setting my coffee cup down with a deliberate, metallic click. "He is none of your business, Tristan. Whatever history I have with Dante Virelli belongs to me. It doesn't belong in this office, and it certainly doesn't belong to you.""None of my business?" Tristan roared, his voice cracking as he slammed his palm against my desk. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the quiet room. "I am your husband, Marissa! I was the one who—""Ex-husband," I corrected sharply.The word landed like a surgical blade, precise and devastating. Tristan flinched as if I had actually struck him. He stood there, frozen, his hand still resting on the mahogany. I watched him internalize it—the prefix 'ex'—feeling it erase the decade of history he thought he still owned. It wasn't just a legal status; it was a total annihilation of his claim over me."You’re acting like a spoiled child, Tristan," I said, my voice dropping to a condescending silk. "You’re throwing a tan

MARISSAI walked out of the boardroom with my head held high, the rhythmic click of my heels on the polished marble sounding like a countdown Tristan wasn't prepared for. Behind me, I could practically feel the heat radiating from him—a cocktail of wounded pride and suffocating jealousy. He didn't have to say a word; the way his breath hitched when Dante leaned toward me told me everything I needed to know.I didn't look back. I didn't need to. I had spent years being the one who watched him walk away; now, I was the one setting the pace.Dante placed a proprietary hand on the small of my back, guiding me toward the secluded terrace that overlooked the fashion district. The gesture was smooth, practiced, and intentionally visible to every board member lingering in the hall."You certainly know how to make an entrance, Dante," I said once the heavy glass doors muffled the chaos of the office. I leaned against the stone railing, the cool morning air catching the stray strands of my h