Semua Bab Too Late to Win Back The Ex-Wife: Bab 71 - Bab 80

Claire's POV:The drive back to my apartment was punctuated by a series of violent, unexpected sneezes.Lin glanced at me from the driver's seat, a small smile playing on his lips. "Someone must be talking about you."I was trying to focus on the Emerald Greens sketches on my tablet, but the sneezing fit made concentration impossible. I gave up, closing the case. "Talking ill of me, more likely." Nathan's furious face flashed in my mind. I let out a short, dry laugh. "Hopefully, the court will put an end to all the chatter soon."Lin pulled up to my building. He helped carry the absurdly expensive shopping bags to my door—a silent, surreal testament to the day's madness—then left with a polite nod.I was just arranging the boxes inside, a task that felt both surreal and vaguely sinful, when a knock sounded at the door.Lin must have forgotten something, I thought, hurrying back. I swung the door open, a teasing comment already on my lips. "You were in such a rush, you wouldn't even st

The third POV:The air smelled of old wood and anxiety. Claire sat beside her lawyer, a pragmatic woman named Theresa, her back straight, her palms damp.The initial arguments were a dry recitation of a dead marriage. Theresa presented a timeline: Claire's exit from the workforce, Nathan's rising star, their vanishing presence as a couple, his evasive answers about his wife in interviews.Nathan's lawyer, a man with the polished gleam of expensive cynicism, objected. "My client was protecting his wife's privacy. Shielding her from the public eye is an act of care, not estrangement. The plaintiff's perceptions are subjective, likely influenced by external… narratives. Women can be highly suggestible."Theresa didn't flinch. She entered the medical records. A stack of them. "Exhibits B through G. Documentation of the minor child Benjamin Sterling's medical visits—from routine vaccinations to an emergency appendectomy. The defendant's signature is absent from every consent form. His pres

The third's POV:Nathan Sterling remained silent. He neither endorsed nor condemned Robert Cohen's stark warning about the legal peril of leaking to the press. His non-answer hung in the consultation room's stale air—a tacit permission for a dangerous idea to breathe.Isabella, seizing the shift, let a delicate sob escape. "Nathan… you're under too much pressure. Don't hold it all in."His gaze fell to her neck, where the angry red marks from his grip stood out against her skin. A flicker of something—guilt, or mere recognition of overstep—crossed his face. "Does it hurt?" he asked, his voice low, abruptly pivoting from talk of felonies to this intimate bruise.The question was its own answer. He would not explicitly agree, but he would not shut it down."It's nothing," Isabella whispered, touching the marks, her eyes downcast. "I'm fine. I just worry about you. Don't… push yourself too hard." She leaned closer, her voice a conspiratorial murmur. "This is just procedure. If it's too m

Nathan's POV:The city blurred past the Bentley's windows, a gray smear of light and shadow. I drove on autopilot. The office—my fortress, my proof of control—held no appeal. My hands turned the wheel almost against my will, guiding the car through the familiar gates, up the private drive. To the penthouse. *Our* penthouse. The word felt like a lie even in my own head.I pushed the heavy door open. And a sound stopped me cold. The faint, domestic clatter of dishes from the kitchen.My heart did a stupid, traitorous thing—a hard, hopeful lurch that stole my breath.*Claire.*The thought was a lightning strike, blinding and desperate. She came back. She heard about the appeal, she's had second thoughts, she's in the kitchen, she's—"Daddy!"The voice, high and petulant, shattered the fantasy before it could even fully form. The pieces fell, cutting me up on the inside. Benjamin skidded into the foyer, followed by the housekeeper's nervous face peering from the kitchen archway. "Mr. Ster

Claire's POV:A deep breath steadied me, but a faint, stubborn ache lingered behind my eyes. Benjamin… there was a time he was such a sweet boy. Bright-eyed, curious. Maybe my parenting hadn't been perfect. Maybe, in trying to be the anchor in a chaotic home, I'd pulled the ropes too tight. If a private school was what Nathan chose, if it somehow served Benjamin better… so be it.I couldn't dwell. He'd made his choice, in his own five-year-old way. Some bonds weren't meant to be forced. The thought was a quiet sorrow, a familiar ghost I'd learned to live with.I collected Leo, his cheerful energy a welcome antidote. He'd filled out, his cheeks rosy, and when he grinned, two perfect dimples appeared. He clambered into the car, settling between Carter and me with a theatrical sigh."Mommy is so biased," he announced, his tone implying a great, worldly wisdom.I blinked, pulled from my thoughts. "What?"He propped his chin on a chubby hand, dark eyes sparkling with mischief. "She brings