All Chapters of He Wants Me More After Divorce: Chapter 201 - Chapter 210

Harrison’s POVShe pulled me down onto the bed and the phone call vanished.Not slowly. Not in pieces.One moment Helena Donovan’s voice still sat in my head—Claire’s name, the fake background noise—and the next it all dropped away as if someone had slammed a door.Darkness behind it. Silence.Estelle’s hands moved over my shirt, quick and warm. She worked the buttons open easily, steady as if she had done it a thousand times before.My belt caught.The prong snagged on the leather where it had bent from months of use. I yanked once. Nothing. I tried again, swearing under my breath.Estelle laughed quietly. The sound startled me.She leaned down and fixed it herself, fingers moving fast at my hip until the buckle slipped loose.“You’re fighting your own clothes,” she said lightly.I shook my head, breath uneven. “Apparently.”She was still smiling.Not crying. Not clinging. Just laughing.My eyes stung. I blinked hard and turned my head, trying to clear it before she noticed.She noti

Harrison’s POVClaire.Just the name.She set it into the quiet the way you lay a card face-up on a table and wait for someone to pick it up.“I know about the manufactured background, Mr. Emerson.”I didn’t move.“I say this factually, not with malice,” she continued in that same calm tone. “The Donovans possess genuine lineage. Centuries of it. Old money, old titles, the sort of history you can verify in parish registers and property deeds going back to the sixteenth century.”She smoothed an imaginary crease from the sleeve of her coat.“People with real backgrounds can always identify those who have constructed theirs. The finishing school that appears nowhere in any alumni directory. The family connections that vanish under the slightest scrutiny. The accent that shifts depending on the room.”I focused on a fixed point on the wall behind her head.“I never cared before,” Helena said simply. “Claire was useful. The social connection was mutually beneficial. Appearances served eve

Estelle’s POVAt the apartment, Chloe and Lucas kicked off their shoes and ran down the hallway before the door even finished closing.“Tablet!” Lucas shouted excitedly.“It’s already in my room,” Chloe called back smugly.I caught them halfway down the hall and handed them a bag of chips. Normally I would have stopped them right there—no snacks before dinner, not that close to five—but I let it go.“Share,” I said shortly.Lucas grabbed the bag. “I always share,” he insisted defensively.“You absolutely do not,” Chloe said immediately.Their argument drifted into Chloe’s room along with the slam of the door. A second later the tablet chimed and their voices rose again, something about a game, someone cheating, Lucas’s outraged shriek chased by Chloe’s loud, delighted cackling.Good.Occupied.I stood at the kitchen counter and called Harrison. He answered on the second ring.“Hey,” he said cautiously. “Thanks for getting Lucas. I appreciate—”“What happened this morning?” I asked dir

Harrison’s POVI sat in my car outside the building. The engine was off. Moisture crept across the windshield and gathered along the edges of the glass.Six minutes.I’d been staring at my phone for six minutes, thumb hovering over Estelle’s name while I rehearsed sentences and discarded every one of them.The practical version sounded hollow. The honest version sounded like begging.The version where I said everything—Helena, Claire, the manufactured background, the threat wrapped in cashmere and pearl earrings—didn’t have an ending I could live with yet.I called.She answered on the second ring.She didn’t say hello.She just waited.The silence felt worse than shouting. It meant she was already angry and deliberately giving me the floor, letting me walk straight into whatever came next.“Helena Donovan came to my flat this morning,” I said.Nothing.Somewhere behind her, Chloe’s voice drifted faintly through the phone. She was saying something about beetles.“She showed up at seve

Estelle’s POVI was at the clinic before seven.The reception desk was still empty. My footsteps sounded too loud on the tile as I walked to my office. Inside, I switched on the desk lamp and sat down.Lucas’s file waited in the center of the desk.I had transferred his care months ago to another specialist. Someone who didn’t know Lucas the way I did.He didn’t know Lucas flinched when tones climbed above four thousand hertz. He didn’t know the left hearing aid needed recalibration every six weeks because the vestibular aqueduct shifted the baseline.He didn’t know that if Lucas held the audiometer remote himself, the numbers steadied because he relaxed enough to trust the test.I picked up my phone and called the referral coordinator.She answered on the fourth ring, her voice rough with sleep. “Dr. Sinclair’s office. Megan speaking.”“Megan, it’s Estelle. I’m resuming Dr. Lucas Emerson’s care effective immediately. I need his file transferred back to my caseload before the end of t