All Chapters of The Billionaire’s Last Clause : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Daniel’s POVI learn about the lost clients at eight-fifteen on a Wednesday morning.I searched where the Hartwell & Associates operates from. I read the address from my Laptop, the executive roster, the list of key personnel.And there it is. Third name down in the analyst division.Amelia Hart. Executive Assistant & Strategic Analyst.The words blur. My vision actually blurs for a second, my brain refusing to process what I’m seeing.Amelia works there. My ex-wife works at the firm that’s systematically dismantling my company.My door opens without warning. Lydia sweeps in, perfectly composed despite the early hour.“I heard about the lost accounts.” She sets her bag down, all business. “This is serious, Daniel. Hartwell isn’t just competing—they’re targeting us specifically.”“I know.” I don’t look up from my computer, still staring at Amelia’s name like it might rearrange itself into something that makes sense.“I just learnt Amelia, your ex wife works there, she there, she’s feed

Daniel’s POVThe traffic on Fifth Avenue is worse than usual when I see her.“Sir, if we take the bridge route…” My driver, George, starts from the front seat.“Wait.” The word comes out sharp. I lean forward, squinting through the tinted window. “Stop the car.”George—been with me for six years—eases into the right lane. “Everything alright, Mr. Sterling?”I don’t answer. Can’t answer. Because walking on the sidewalk, barely visible through the morning crowd, is Amelia.She’s thinner. That’s the first thing I notice. The coat I remember fitting her perfectly now hangs loose on her frame, sleeves too long, shoulders drowning in fabric. Her hair—she cut it. From the long waves that used to spill across my pillows to something just above her shoulders. She looks different. Smaller somehow, like she’s been carved down to something more essential.She’s carrying coffee in one hand, her other clutching a worn messenger bag that I don’t recognize. Everything about her screams of a life I’m

Amelia’s POVNathan steers me into a restaurant three blocks away. The kind of establishment I used to frequent as Daniel’s wife and can’t afford to even look at now.“Table for two,” Nathan tells the hostess. “Somewhere private.”She seats us in a corner booth, far from windows and other diners. Nathan orders coffee without asking if I want any, then fixes me with the kind of direct, patient gaze that probably makes opposing counsel crumble in depositions.“Start from the beginning.”I hesitated at first, then started.“They fired me.” The words still feel surreal. “Called it restructuring, but that’s corporate bullshit for ‘you didn’t play ball.’”“What did they want you to do?”“He wanted intelligence. Details about Daniel’s strategy, weaknesses in the deal structure, anything they could exploit. When I wouldn’t cooperate…” I gesture vaguely at myself. “Suddenly my position was ‘eliminated.’”“Son of a bitch.” Nathan leans back, anger simmering in his expression. Nathan looks at me

Daniel POVI signed the approval form without reading it.Nathan slides three more across my desk. "New hires for the analytics division. We need bodies before the Crane merger closes or we'll be underwater.""Fine." My pen moves automatically, signature after signature. Names blur together—credentials I don't process, faces I'll never remember.Lydia sweeps in without knocking, red dress clinging to every curve, diamond bracelet catching the light. She's holding two champagne flutes and wearing a smile that promises things I'm not sure I want."Nathan, darling, give us a moment." Her voice is honey and silk.Nathan's jaw tightens. "We were in the middle of…""Business can wait." She sets the glasses on my desk. "Daniel and I have something to celebrate.""The merger doesn't close for four more days.""Then consider this a pre-celebration." She doesn't look at him. "Close the door on your way out."Nathan glances at me. I nod, and he leaves, but the look he gives me says you're making

Daniel’s POVShe looks different.That’s my first thought when the elevator doors open and I see Amelia standing there, her back against the far wall like she’s trying to disappear into it.Her hair is shorter. Cut to her shoulders instead of the long waves I used to wind around my fingers. The same way I saw her in that traffic. Her suit is charcoal gray, professional, severe. Nothing like the soft dresses she used to wear. Those dresses that made her look like she’d stepped out of a garden—floral prints and flowing fabrics that caught the breeze when we walked through Central Park on Sundays.But her eyes. God, her eyes are exactly the same. Honey-hazel and devastating.“Amelia.” Her name falls out of my mouth before I can stop it.She stares at me like I’m a ghost. Like I’m something that shouldn’t exist. Her lips part slightly, and I watch her throat work as she swallows. The elevator doors start closing. My hand shoots out on instinct, stops them. I step inside before my brain ca