บททั้งหมดของ The Billionaire's Ex-wife Is a Brilliant Lawyer: บทที่ 61 - บทที่ 70

*Alex's POV* The morning sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but I barely noticed it. I sat slumped in my leather chair, staring out at the city sprawling beneath me. Cars moved through the streets in orderly lines. People hurried along sidewalks. Life continued with its usual rhythm, indifferent to the fact that mine seemed to be unraveling one headline at a time. My phone buzzed again, another notification. I ignored it for a few seconds. I then reached for it anyway. The headline filled the screen. Billionaire CEO Humiliated: Divorce Drama and Scandalous Affairs Unfold. A muscle tightened in my jaw, and slowly, I lowered the phone onto the desk. My hands were steady enough to pass for calm, but tension had settled beneath my skin so deeply that even breathing felt like work. Every article told a different version of the same story; some painted me as a fool, while others turned my marriage into entertainment. A few attempted sympathy, which som

*Bella's POV*The house smelled of fresh paint and new beginnings. Sunlight spilled through half-open blinds, turning dust motes into flecks of gold suspended in the air. The rooms were bare. There was no furniture yet, no curtains framing the windows, only echoes and the sound of my children’s laughter bouncing off the walls. I stood in the middle of the living room, my hands still clutching the folder that held the lease agreement. My heart refused to settle into a steady rhythm. It was as though part of me had not yet caught up to what had happened, not something granted through obligation or pity. Mine. The children darted through the hallway and disappeared into different rooms, their voices tumbling over one another. “This one’s mine!” “No, that’s the biggest one!” “Mom, come see the view!” A smile found its way onto my face, small and trembling around the edges. Clara appeared beside me, carrying two takeaway coffees. Her curls were twisted into a loose bun, and there

*Alex's POV*The meeting room was too quiet, the kind of silence that scraped against my nerves and settled in the hollow spaces between thought and breath. It pressed in from every direction, heavy and sharp, as if the room itself had been waiting for me to break first.Papers lay scattered across the polished table, contracts half-open, coffee cups abandoned mid-sip, the remnants of a night that had stretched far longer than it should have. I sat at the head of the table with my sleeves rolled and my tie loosened, the fabric no longer carrying any meaning beyond the fact that I had forgotten to care how I looked.My eyes burned from another sleepless night, the kind that doesn’t arrive suddenly but accumulates slowly until even blinking feels like effort. My jaw carried the weight of clenched hours, tension lodged so deeply it had become part of my expression.“Mr. King,” one of the lawyers said carefully, his voice breaking the stillness with too much caution, “I’ll be honest with

*Alex's POV*I didn’t remember ordering the drinks, only the way they kept arriving in front of me, one after another, cold and precise, sliding across the polished wood like quiet accusations I didn’t have the strength to refuse.The bar was dim in a way that softened nothing. Amber light clung to the edges of bottles, to the rims of glasses, to the slow movement of strangers who didn’t know my name and would not care if they did. I sat in the far corner booth, shoulders angled inward without meaning to be, like a man trying to fold himself small enough to disappear.My tie had long since loosened. My shirt collar pressed against my throat in a way that felt suddenly intolerable. My hair had given up any claim to order hours ago. I could feel it in the way people glanced past me instead of through me, as though I had already become background noise.I rubbed both hands down my face and felt them tremble halfway through.That small betrayal startled me more than anything else.How had

*Bella's POV* The house was unusually quiet. Evening light spilled through the curtains in long, gold lines, brushing softly over the living room floor—over scattered crayons, Lily’s abandoned princess book, Noah’s half-built Lego plane, Evie’s tiny socks kicked under the couch. Caleb’s schoolbag leaned against the wall, unzipped, papers poking out like restless thoughts. I stood in the middle of it all with damp palms and an unsteady heart. I had rehearsed this conversation a dozen times on the drive home. None of the versions had felt right. How do you tell four small, sensitive hearts that life is about to change again? How do you explain that their mother—the person they reached for when they were frightened, excited, sick, or simply lonely—might not always be as available as she had been? A shaky breath escaped me before I called softly, “Kids? Come here, please.” Four sets of footsteps answered. Caleb appeared first, taller than the others now, carrying himself w