Lahat ng Kabanata ng Dear Ex, See you never: Kabanata 41 - Kabanata 50

Millicent's POVThe letter arrives very early on a Monday morning. Elena brings it to me at breakfast, her expression carefully neutral in that way that tells me she's already read the contents and knows how I'll react. Damon is absent due to some early meeting downtown, so I'm alone at the massive dining table when I tear open the envelope and feel my world tilt sideways."NOTICE OF RESUMED DEVELOPMENT ACTIVITY," the header reads. "Pursuant to the expiration of the temporary injunction granted on..."I don't need to read the rest. The legal language blurs together, but the meaning is clear: the thirty-day reprieve we fought so hard for is ending. Damon's lawyers have found workarounds, filed counter-motions, and greased whatever palms needed greasing.The demolition can resume within two weeks.Two weeks.The coffee in my stomach turns to acid. I push back from the table and grab my phone, already pulling up the group chat with the shop owners.Me: "Emergency meeting. Mrs. Hernandez

Millicent's POVThe studio feels different at night. During the day it's full of light and life, clients posing, cameras clicking, the ordinary magic of capturing moments.But after dark, with only the street lamps casting burnt orange shadows through the windows, it becomes something else. A sanctuar, a hiding place, and a reminder of who I was before Damon Hale complicated everything.I've been here for three nights now. Mike texted to check on me the first evening, then again the second morning. While Damon hasn't reached out at all, which tells me he's either giving me space or proving my point about his emotional limitations. Possibly both.Tonight I'm editing photos on my ancient laptop, trying to lose myself in the mundane work of color correction and cropping. Josh is at the mansion with Patricia, I couldn't bring him here, not with his health still fragile, not without the medical equipment the nursery provides. It's the only reason I haven't cut ties with that place complete

Millicent's POVI'm in the garden when I hear footsteps, Damon finds me. It's late afternoon, the golden hour, when the light slants through the rose bushes and turns everything soft and warm. I've been sitting on my usual bench for an hour, staring at nothing, trying to decide what to do next. The confrontation with Brian keeps replaying in my mind, not just the fear, but the helplessness. The realization that no matter how far I run, he can always find me.I hear footsteps on the gravel path and know it's Damon before I turn around. His footsteps are distinctive, careful, measured, deliberate, the walk of a man who never hurries because the world waits for him.He doesn't ask if he can sit. He just settles onto the bench beside me, leaving a careful six inches of space between us. For a long moment, neither of us speaks."Elena told me," he says finally."Told you what?""About Brian. About what happened at the studio." His voice is tight, controlled in a way that tells me he's wor

Millicent's POVI've been carrying the secret for two weeks now. It sits in my dresser drawer, hidden under scarves, a time bomb that ticks louder every day.I take it out at night sometimes, studying the man's face by lamplight, trying to see myself in his features, the shape of his jaw, the set of his eyes, the way he holds himself like someone who expects the world to bend around him.Kent Henry, my real father.The words still feel foreign, impossible. I've spent twenty years believing I knew who I was, the daughter of a man who left when I was six, the child of a woman who drank to forget. Now I'm the secret offspring of a billionaire, hidden away like something shameful, paid to stay invisible.I need to tell someone, the weight of it is crushing me.And so I choose Mike.Not Damon, not yet. Our truce is still fragile, built on apologies and tentative trust, adding another complication feels dangerous, like overloading a bridge that's only just started to hold weight. But Mike a

Millicent's POVThe Crane Winter Ball is everything the Morrison Gala was, amplified tenfold.The venue is Victor Crane's private estate, a sprawling mansion that makes Damon's look modest by comparison. Crystal chandeliers hang from ceilings painted with Renaissance-style murals, orchestras play on multiple levels, and staff members in white gloves circulate with champagne that probably costs more per glass than I used to spend on groceries in a month.And everywhere, people are watching.I feel their eyes on me as we enter, Damon's hand a steady pressure on my lower back. The whispers follow us like shadows, who is she, where did she come from, did you hear the rumors. I keep my chin up and my expression pleasant, channeling all those months of practice into a performance that feels less like acting and more like armor."Crane is by the ice sculpture," Damon murmurs as we move through the crowd. "He'll approach us eventually. When he does, be careful.""Careful how?""Victor is cal