บททั้งหมดของ The Worthless Ex-Wife's Revenge : บทที่ 71 - บทที่ 80

SerenaI woke to the gentle, melodious sound of a violin drifting up from downstairs.My eyes fluttered open, and I immediately noticed the empty space beside me.Ethan wasn't in bed.The violin music continued—soft, beautiful, playing what sounded like a classical piece I couldn't quite place.Confused, I sat up and glanced at the clock.7:00 AM.Why was there violin music in our house at seven in the morning?I got out of bed, grabbed Ethan's robe from the chair, and wrapped it around myself.The music grew louder as I walked toward the stairs, accompanied now by what sounded like... singing?I descended the stairs slowly, my curiosity building with each step.When I reached the bottom and turned toward the living room, I froze.The entire space had been transformed.White and gold balloons floated everywhere. Rose petals created a path across the floor. Elegant floral arrangements sat on every surface. String lights twinkled like stars, even in the morning light.And in the center

MarcusI sat in my car outside the real estate office, staring at the check in my hands.$3.2 million.That's all I got for the vacation house in the Hamptons.The house my grandfather built. The house where I spent every summer as a child.Now, it's gone.Sold to some tech billionaire who probably wouldn't even use it half the year.And the money? It was nothing.It's like a drop in the ocean compared to what we owed.$450 million.The number haunted me. It appeared in my dreams. It was the first thing I thought about when I woke up and the last thing on my mind before I fell asleep.How was I supposed to come up with $450 million in three weeks?I have already sold the Hamptons house. The ski lodge in Aspen was on the market, but the realtor said it could take months to find a buyer.Months we didn't have.I have sold my collection of vintage watches—another $800,000.My mother had sold most of her jewelry—$2 million.Victoria had sold her designer handbag collection—a pathetic $150

Serena The few days to the wedding was a whirlwind of activity. The wedding planner, Madame Dubois, arrived from Paris the day after Ethan's proposal or re-proposal, I suppose. She was an elegant woman in her fifties with impeccable taste and a no-nonsense attitude. "We have one week," she said briskly, looking at her tablet. "Normally, I require at least six months for a wedding of this caliber. But Mr. Ashford assures me that money is not a problem, so we will make it work." And make it work, she did. Within two days, she had: Booked the Ashford Estate gardens for the ceremony Ordered ten thousand white roses, peonies, and orchids. Hired a fifty-piece orchestra. Arranged for a Michelin three-star chef to cater the reception. Sent out five hundred invitations (with rush delivery). Ordered custom crystal chandeliers for the reception tent. The list went on and on. My head was spinning trying to keep track of everything. But Ethan was by my side through all

Marcus The following days were a blur of desperate phone calls, rejected loan applications, and mounting panic. I tried everything. I contacted every wealthy person I knew, begging for loans, investments, anything. They all said no. Some were polite about it. Others hung up the moment they heard my name. The Wellington name had become toxic. I tried to sell more properties, but nothing was moving fast enough. I reached out to business associates, promising future returns on investments. They laughed. What is the future? Wellington Holdings belonged to Serena now, and I had no prospects. At the end of the day, I was desperate enough to do something I never thought I would do. I went to Ashford Industries. To ask Ethan Ashford for help. ............. The building was just as intimidating as I remembered. All glass and steel, reaching into the sky like a monument to power and success. Everything I used to have. Everything I lost. I walked into the lobb

MarcusThe reception was held in an even larger tent adjacent to the ceremony space.If I thought the wedding was extravagant, the reception was on another level entirely.Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting soft, romantic light over everything. The tables were draped in ivory silk, each centerpiece a towering arrangement of white roses, peonies, and orchids. Gold flatware gleamed at each place setting. Crystal glasses sparkled.It looked like something out of a royal wedding.At the center of it all was a raised platform where Serena and Ethan sat at their own private table, elevated above everyone else like the king and queen they clearly were.We were seated toward the back—another subtle reminder of our fallen status."This is obscene," my mother muttered, though her eyes were taking in every detail with barely concealed envy. "Absolutely obscene. Who needs this much extravagance for a wedding?""Someone who can afford it," I said quietly.Victoria said nothing. She