บททั้งหมดของ DIVORCED Back To Claim What’s Mine : บทที่ 71 - บทที่ 80

Silas stumbled back into the bedroom of the east wing like a man who had been hollowed out from the inside. His breathing was shallow, his lips trembling, and the tears of absolute, crushing humiliation were streaming freely down his wrinkled cheeks. He didn't even have the strength to close the heavy oak door; he simply collapsed onto the chaise lounge, his hands covering his face as his shoulders shook with violent, ragged sobs. He was crying like a baby, his chest heaving with the realization that his own flesh and blood had stripped him of every last shred of dignity in front of the people hired to wash his floors.Beatrice had been standing by the window, watching the rain beat against the glass, but she had heard the screaming from the dining room. She had watched through the crack in the door as Lydia raged like a rabid animal, her eyes wide, her speech slurred but vicious.And in that moment, Beatrice realized the terrifying truth: Lydia was completely out of her mind on drugs

The morning sun cut through the towering glass spires of Manhattan, casting long, geometric shadows across the polished white marble of Elara’s private office. It was a bright, deceptively calm morning, but inside the high rise suite, the atmosphere was thick with the electric tension of the final countdown. Only 6 days remained until the grand gala at the Grand Metropolitan.Elara sat at her desk, her fingers tracing the edge of a porcelain mug, her eyes staring blankly at the legal documents scattered before her. Though her corporate victory was practically sealed on paper, a cold, persistent dread had taken root in the pit of her stomach. Tyler stood near the window, his phone pressed to his ear, his low, authoritative voice murmuring instructions to his lead security analyst.The quiet room was broken by a soft knock on the double glass doors. Sarah stepped inside, carrying a heavy, oversized envelope made of textured black parchment, sealed with a thick drop of gol

The shadows inside Elena’s Chelsea apartment had deepened by the time the heavy lock on the door click-clacked open. Elena jumped, her heart leaping into her throat as the door swung inward. Standing in the dim threshold was Lydia Vane.Lydia looked like a beautiful, decaying ghost. Her eyes were bloodshot, dilated to the edge of the iris, and her skin possessed a pale, porcelain translucence that screamed of chemical intervention. She had taken another cocktail of high-end sedatives and stimulants to keep her moving, and the result was a twitchy, sharp mania. Her fingers were clenching and unclenching at her sides, her chest heaving underneath her designer trench coat.Before Elena could even utter a word of greeting, Lydia stepped inside, slammed the door shut, and locked it. In a flash of pure, drug fueled adrenaline, Lydia lunged forward. She grabbed Elena by the collar of her oversized sweater, her manicured nails digging deep into the fabric, and shoved her backwa

The tires of the yellow cab screeched against the wet asphalt as Lydia practically threw a wad of crumbled hundred-dollar bills at the driver. She didn't wait for her change. She bolted through the service entrance of the Vane estate, her breath coming in ragged, painful gasps that burned her lungs. The rain had ruined the sleek ponytail she had carefully tied, and her designer trench coat was damp, sticking to her skin like a cold, heavy second layer.She ran up the back stairs of the east wing, completely bypassing the formal dining room where the broken silver from her father’s humiliation still lay. She reached the master suite, her hands shaking so violently she could barely turn the brass key in the lock.Inside, she tore off her wet clothes, throwing the damp trench coat and the silk scarf into the very back of her closet, burying them beneath a pile of heavy winter furs. She grabbed a fresh, silk nightgown, pulling it over her head, and crawled onto the massive, king-sized bed

Elara POV In the high-rise sanctuary of the new conglomerate’s executive suite, the morning sun was warming the minimalist glass and chrome decor. The atmosphere here was a stark contrast to the absolute, suffocating terror currently gripping the Vane mansion. Here, the air smelled of expensive, freshly brewed coffee and the sweet, crisp scent of victory. Sarah stepped into Elara’s private office, a brilliant, cold smile playing on her lips. She didn't say a word at first; she simply walked over to the interactive wall display, tapped her tablet, and cast the real time financial market charts onto the massive screen. The vertical red drop of the Vane auxiliary family stock was frozen in time a flatline that sat at an absolute, unyielding zero. "It’s done," Sarah broke the news, her voice tight with a quiet, triumphant satisfaction. "Our offshore desks executed the short attack perfectly. The pre-market trading panic swept through their auxili