บททั้งหมดของ My Ex-husband Billion Dollar Mistakes : บทที่ 31 - บทที่ 40

(POV: Nichole)I walked beside Dr. Mensah, my hands trembling around a paper cup of tea I hadn't even tasted. I was still wearing Xavier’s jacket over my torn blouse; no one had offered me a change of clothes, and I was too exhausted to ask. My palms were pale from the pavement and my knees throbbed with every step, but the news that Raymond was stable was the only thing keeping me upright."His vitals have improved significantly," Dr. Mensah said, he said calmly. "The accident fractured two ribs and caused some internal bruising, but he’ll heal with rest. He’s unconscious but responsive. You can see him, but please, keep it brief.""Thank you," I whispered.We turned the corner toward room fourteen, and I frozeI saw Beatrice. She was there.She stood outside his door with her back to us and one hand pressed flat against the wall with her head bowed.Her shoulders shook with the effort of holding back the tears. She was still in her evening clothes, her bag tucked tightly under her

POV: XavierI have a conference meeting today.The conference room was located on the 42nd level of Harrington Tower , the place where none of the guys are of low class.Generally, power at this stage of the game is very subtle. It may reside in the elegance of one's clothes, the silence during a disagreement, or even the manner in which a person can announce terrible news yet keeping his hands still on the table. I had been in this room so many times during the last six years and always been on the good side of that silence.But not this time.Six people were sitting around the oval table when I entered. They were known as the Harrington Group, the representatives of the "old money, " upholding the rules and a kind of secret pact which was nowhere recorded in any public register but still controlled wealth over three continents to an extent which even governments could hardly keep track of. I had been given a seat at this table when I was only thirty, becoming the youngest member i

I got to the door and opening the door wide, I was at a loss for words as irritation strained my lungs. My guess was either Marcus or a tenacious journalist but what I saw surprised me…. It was Beatrice. Under the porch light she was standing, her face pale and eyes with red rims.Without waiting for my words, she pointed her finger at me. "I told you, " she whispered, barely containing her anger and weariness at the same time. "I warned you, Mr. Xavier. Don't even think about coming near my husband. Stay away from our lives, with your games and your greed you have done enough harm already." I was motionless, my hand still on the door handle."Beatrice, you are talking nonsense at this hour." "I am really making sense!" she shouted, getting louder. "You think you can just use people as if they were pieces on a chess board? You think after destroying a marriage you can just leave without any consequences?" She spat.Sounds of the bickering inside the house led Mira from the livi

POV: Mira I was driving way too fast. I could feel the steering wheel shaking in my hands and saw the street lights flashing by. I didn't slow down. Slowing down would mean that I have to think about what I have just seen.Xavier obsessed over a woman. He wasn't doing it for me but, over another woman.He would never be there for me. I told myself that I was angry. Because feeling angry was much easier than feeling hollow after watching two years of my life vanish in just thirty seconds.When I arrived at his hometown street, I had to calm myself down so that my hands wouldn't tremble. Besides, Xavier's mother would see right through me. So that I should not look like I was falling apart or appear as if I have been through a lot so that people will believe me, but not that I'm completely out of control. I looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes were red and my mascara was running down my face. I disheveled my collar and rubbed my cheek until it was red. I went over the details of m

POV: XavierThe imposing oak doors of the Harrington estate resembled prison gates as I pushed them open. The atmosphere inside was heavy with the perfume of costly lilies and the oppressive silence of a house that seemed to have already sealed my destiny. I hadn't even had the opportunity to remove my coat when a voice came from the study, a voice which was not my mother's, yet it had the same freezing authority. "You're late, Xavier." I stood still. I recognized that baritone voice. It was deep, resonant, and it had a German accent that normally I would only hear in our monthly video calls. I approached the study. Uncle Klaus was seated in my father's favorite wingback chair. He looked just like the last time I saw him in Berlin perfectly dressed, his silver hair combed back, and his eyes were able to see through everything. My mother, who was at the window, turned away from us, and looked at the rain hitting the glass. "Uncle Klaus, " I said, my voice strained. "I didn't thin