Billionaire Boss? Nah, Just A Possessive Husband! のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 91 - チャプター 100

I drove home drunk, defeated, and bleeding.Every ache in my body was a fresh insult. I hadn’t expected that pampered bastard Lochlan to know how to throw a punch like that. The fucker had a mean right hook hiding under all that polished civility.My father was waiting in the study, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He didn’t look up from the financial reports spread across his desk. ‘It didn’t work, then.’I said nothing, heading straight for the decanter to pour myself a very large whisky.‘It’s time to cut your losses, Cary. Move on.’‘No,’ I snarled, the word ripping out of me.He finally deigned to look at me, his gaze sweeping over my bruised knuckles and split lip. ‘I’m beginning to think your mother is right. Not about Vanessa being a suitable wife, but about Hyacinth being entirely unsuitable.’‘You said nothing when I married her three years ago,’ I shot back, the whisky burning a path down my throat.‘That,’ he said, placing his glass down with a precise click, ‘was becau

The dining room was a fucking tableau of everything I despised.My father, Alaric Grant, and my mother, Tanya, were presiding over a cosy dinner with the beaming Abrams clan. Vanessa was practically grafted to my mother’s side, simpering and clinging.My mother was smiling, a tight, brittle stretch of her lips that didn’t reach her eyes. She looked like a marionette with its strings pulled too tight.Seeing them like that, I knew with cold certainty that Vanessa had something on her. There was no other explanation for why Tanya would tolerate the woman who had once landed her in a police cell.I just didn’t know what the hell it was.My father was deep in conversation with Armond Abrams, Vanessa’s brother. The patriarch, Tyler Abrams, was notably absent, which lent credence to the rumours about his failing health.It was the only reason Armond was stooping to this farce of a partnership.‘Where on earth is Cary? He’s still not answering his calls. He isn’t with that Hyacinth, is he? Th

‘Has Tanya Grant had a full frontal lobotomy?’ Portia snarled, flinging her briefcase onto a nearby armchair with enough force to make me wince.Her face was a thundercloud, a deep furrow of permanent offence etched between her brows.I handed her a drink I’d mixed, a potent concoction meant to match her mood. ‘My thoughts exactly,’ I said, the understatement of the century.I’d invited Portia to the penthouse for a small, pathetic attempt at a housewarming, but she hadn’t even glanced at the panoramic views or the obscenely expensive furniture. The Grant family’s latest circus was a far more compelling attraction.Portia crossed her arms, pacing a trench into my new rug. ‘She can issue a statement, so can we. The ammunition we have is more explosive than hers.’ She spun on her heel, fixing me with a look. ‘But if we go down this road, you and Cary will be burning the last bridge. There’ll be no going back from this.’I shrugged, a gesture designed to look far more cavalier than I felt

What I wouldn’t tell her was that the first time I’d discovered Lochlan’s clothes hanging neatly beside my own, I’d had a startlingly vivid fantasy involving those exact pyjamas and a rather different outcome.Some thoughts were best kept to oneself, lest they give your best friend ammunition for a lifetime of teasing.‘Drunk and randy,’ Portia confirmed, tossing the pyjamas back onto a shelf with a sigh. ‘Right, let’s go out. It’s Friday night. Time to hit the clubs, find you a post-divorce shag you’ve long needed, and find me a well-hung stud to make me forget about Lochlan’s unattainable schlong.’I muttered under my breath, ‘And my mother thought you might be gay.’‘What was that?’‘Nothing,’ I said brightly. ‘But sorry, honey, I can’t come with you. I’m driving out to Mousehole tonight.’‘Your grandma’s place? Why on earth?’‘I miss my gran,’ I said, and it was the simple truth. ‘And it’s the weekend, so I figured, why not? The sea air will do me good.’Portia sighed, a dramatic,

By midday, with the dubious assistance of an online cooking video playing on my phone, I had produced a semi-respectable spread: a slow-cooked beef bourguignon that smelled better than it looked, roasted potatoes with an alarming amount of garlic, and a simple green salad I’d assembled mostly for appearances.Dad and Uncle Sam returned from their trip, smelling of sea spray and triumph, with a cooler box full of glistening, freshly caught seafood that immediately made my efforts look rather pathetic.We sat down to eat, and once the plates were mostly cleared, I decided to address the elephant in the room.‘So,’ I began, aiming for a light, conversational tone, as if discussing the weather. ‘I’m getting a divorce. Barring any last-minute acts of God or stupidity from Cary, it should all be finalised soon. I’m the one who asked for it, and it’s what I want. So please, don’t sit there thinking I’m some poor, helpless victim. A marriage takes two people, and I was a willing participant wh