All Chapters of Dear Ex, See you never: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

Millicent's POVThe tabloid hits the newsstands on a Wednesday morning. I'm in the kitchen with Mike when Damon storms in, his face pale with fury, a folded newspaper clutched in his hand. He slaps it down on the island, and the headline screams up at us in bold black letters:"DAMON HALE'S MARRIAGE A SHAM, CONTRACT BRIDE PAID TO PERFORM"My blood runs cold.The kitchen, which moments ago felt warm and safe, suddenly feels like a crime scene. Mike's coffee cup freezes halfway to his lips. I can hear my own heartbeat, loud and irregular, pounding against my ribs.I pick up the paper with trembling hands and read the article, my heart pounding faster with every word."Sources close to the family confirm that Millicent Hale was paid to marry billionaire Damon Hale as part of a business arrangement. The 'marriage' was contractual from the start, with the former Mrs. Vel receiving substantial financial compensation in exchange for her role as the public-facing Mrs. Hale..."The article goe

Millicent's POVMoira Queen's recorder sits between us like a small black bomb. We're in the garden again, same setup as before, but everything feels different this time. The first interview was a, controlled and rehearsed performance, designed to project a specific image but this one is excavation. Moira wants to dig and I've agreed to let her.The morning air carries the scent of Mike's roses, their blooms heavy with dew. A bird calls somewhere in the hedges, oblivious to the weight of what's about to happen. I smooth my hands over my dress, the green one, the one that's become my armor, and try to slow my heartbeat."Let's start with the arrangement," she says, her voice is gentle but her eyes are sharp. "The tabloid claimed your marriage to Damon Hale was purely transactional. That you were paid to play a role. What's your response to that?"I take a breath. This is the moment I've been preparing for, the tightrope I have to walk on. One wrong word, one slip of honesty in the wro

Damon's POVThree days after my mother's death, I remember the letter she gave it to me months ago, pressed into my hands during one of her lucid moments. "For after," she'd said, her voice thin but certain. "When I'm gone. Not before."I'd put it in my desk drawer and tried to forget it existed. Every time I looked at that drawer, I felt the weight of what was coming, my mother's death, made real by the envelope waiting to be opened. I'd open the drawer to get paperclips or stamps, and there it would be: cream-colored envelope, her handwriting across the front, a future I wasn't ready to face.Now it's after.I sit in my study with the envelope in my hands, unable to make myself open it.The house is quiet. Millicent is with Josh in the nursery, giving me some space while Mike is in his wing, waiting for me to be ready, knowing I'll come to him when I am. The funeral arrangements are mostly complete, Elena has handled the logistics with her usual quiet efficiency, and tomorrow the

Mike's POVThree weeks after Vivian's funeral, I start to disappear, not literally though because I'm still here, still living in the mansion, still sharing a bed with Damon and Millicent, still playing with Josh, tending the garden and going through the motions of a life that's supposed to be mine.But piece by piece, I'm pulling away. It starts small. I skip breakfast, claiming I'm not hungry. The truth is that sitting at the table, watching Damon scroll through condolence emails while Millicent feeds Josh his oatmeal, makes something in my chest tighten unbearably, they look like a normal family. A real family. And I'm just... there. Present but not really part of the picture and so I stay in my wing when they're in the main house, I go to bed early, feigning tiredness, lying awake in the dark while they think I'm asleep. I count the hours, sometimes, count the minutes until I can pretend unconsciousness, until I don't have to perform being okay anymore but Damon doesn't notice.

Millicent's POVWe make a calendar. I know It sounds unromantic, clinical, even, but that's exactly what we need. After the crisis, after the 2 AM conversation, the tears and the lovemaking that felt like healing, we sit down with our phones and build a schedule.We're in the kitchen, coffee cups scattered across the table, the morning light streaming through windows that look out on Mike's garden. It feels strangely formal, like a business meeting, but also necessary. Love without structure is just chaos with good intentions.Friday nights: Mike and me. Damon handles Josh's bedtime, gives us the evening alone. We cook together, or watch movies Mike loves that Damon finds boring, or just talk for hours about nothing and everything. It's time that's ours, not mediated through our shared connection to Damon.Tuesday evenings: Damon and Mike. I take Josh to the park, or visit the studio, or have dinner with Elena from the bakery. They have the mansion to themselves, reclaiming the intima