I don’t want him back: Divorcing the Billionaire のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 51 - チャプター 60

Veronica’s POV. The silence felt wrong. Everything about the stillness of the moment felt totally wrong It was not peaceful. But the mind that wrapped around you after a long day at work, making you safe.No. This silence pressed against my ears, sharp and alert, as if it was forcing itself down my throat, holding my breath.I sat on the edge of the couch, my hands folded tightly in my lap, counting the seconds between sounds.The hum of the refrigerator, the faint tick of the clock on the wall. A passing car outside.Every noise made my shoulders tense.I told myself I was being ridiculous. Jason wasn't here. He didn't know where I was. I had left. I had signed papers. I had rebuilt pieces of myself brick by brick after he tore them down.But something inside me wouldn't listen. My heart didn't seem to remember any of that. It beat too fast, too hard and like it was preparing for something my mind refused to acknowledge.Rhea’s message was replayed in my head without permission. Pl

Veronica’s POV. The leak…The story broke out at about 7:12 am.I know the time because my phone didn't stop vibrating.Because the light through the curtains had barely shifted from grey to pale gold, because for one suspended second I thought the sound was part of a dream… something distant and meaningless.Then it didn't stop.Messages stacked on top of each other before I could open any of them. Missed calls. Unknown numbers. Notifications from apps I hadn't opened in weeks.Four was already awake. He sat at the small kitchen table with his laptop, his posture rigid in a way that told me he had been there longer than he wanted me to know.“It's out.” He said quietly.The word settled into my chest like a dropped glass. I didn't ask what he meant.I crossed the room slowly, each step deliberate, as if moving too fast might make it real. He turned the laptop toward me without a word.There it was.Jason's face filled the screen– calm and composed, photographed in flattery. The head

Four's POV The drama from yesterday was over and now, the artist's mirror flashed a figure in the corner.The rearview corner. I was halfway out of the door when it spoke.Vee was the only other person who lived with me so it had to be her. She called my name loudly.“Four!”Her call was not calm or composed. She sounded urgent.I paused, hand on the handle as I turned, just enough to see her reaction fully in the mirror. She wasn't behind me anymore, she was at the barricade.The little space between the kitchen and the living room, the very one she popped her head out of most time when she needed to ask me a question.That one.With the curtains drawn back slightly and half her upper body staring in my direction just enough for her to look at me, she smiled.“Hey!”“Yes?”She had one hand resting protectively on her stomach, the other bracing the wood. “You're out already.”“Yeah.”“Be careful.” She yelled her last sentence.It wasn't dramatic or theatrical, just a real concern th

Veronica’s POV. The morning sunlight fell across the apartment like a spotlight, but I didn't notice it.My fingers were busy, typing out emails, confirming suppliers, recalculating timelines. The absence of sound except for the clock or the keyboard felt almost scary.No text. No messages. No lingering ghosts of yesterday's chaos. Only work.The truck hasn't arrived. The custom-dyed fabrics for the winter line were gone.CPS stopped twenty minutes from the warehouse. It wasn't just inconvenient… it was catastrophic if I let it be. I set my jaw, inhaled and pushed the pain aside.There was no time for ‘What ifs.’ only solutions.I made three calls in ten minutes. The first supplier confirmed departure. The second supplier confirmed arrival plans.The third… Well, he was already scraping alternate routes and storage options.By the time the coffee machine whirred its readiness, I had a tentative reroute set and a backup transporter waiting.My fingers hovered over the phone screen for

Veronica’s POV.The house smelled like Rosemary and polished wood. It always did when my mother was nervous.She never admitted to nerves. She called it standards but when standards increased so did the aroma of herbs, lemon oil and something simmering gently on the stove even if no one planned to eat it.Tonight, the dining table was covered in fabric swatches instead of food. Ivory silk, deep emerald satin. I was still undecided about it.My launch was three weeks away. Three weeks.For months it has felt distant… a fixed star on the horizon. Now it was racing towards me with sharp brilliant urgency.My father adjusted his glasses and leaned over one of the invitation drafts squinting at the front.“This script is too thin.” He declared. “Half the city is over fifty. They won't read this without squinting.”I sighed. “It's modern, Dad.”“Yes, but it's impractical.”My mother laughed softly from the other end of the table, smoothing out a creased napkin. “Your father believes eleganc