All Chapters of My Ex Husband Chose My Sister: Now he wants me back Too Late: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

MILLYI stayed in the guest room for almost a full day. I didn’t decide to. It just happened, the way grief sometimes happened, one hour bleeding into the next until I looked up and realized the light outside had changed twice without me noticing. I didn’t cry the whole time. Mostly I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, running the same handful of memories over and over like they might rearrange themselves into something that made sense.Declan didn’t push his way in. He knocked once, early on, and when I didn’t answer he didn’t try again. But food kept appearing outside the door anyway, plates I mostly ignored, and every time I finally opened it to bring one in, I’d catch a glimpse of him somewhere close by, not hovering, just near, like he needed to know I was still in the apartment even if he wasn’t going to force his way into the room.Around evening, I finally ate something. A few bites of soup went cold on the tray. I sat cross-legged on the guest bed and let my mind do th

ISAACYou were supposed to keep her hidden. Not destroy her.My father’s voice wouldn’t leave me alone. It followed me into board meetings, into the shower, into the four hours of sleep I managed most nights before giving up entirely and staring at the ceiling instead.I started going through the old archive room at Brooke Industries after everyone else had gone home. Basement level, climate controlled, boxes of paperwork nobody had touched in decades because nobody had a reason to. I had a reason now.The security guard let me in without question the third night in a row.“Late one again, Mr. Brooke?”“Something like that.”He didn’t ask what I was looking for. I wasn’t entirely sure myself, not at first. I just knew the answer was buried somewhere in this room, in filing cabinets that hadn’t been touched since before I was old enough to understand what my father actually did for a living.I found the folder on the fourth night, wedged behind twenty years of unrelated shipping contra

MILLYI pushed through the crowd before I could think better of it, ignoring a man who tried to catch my attention about the campaign numbers, ignoring the low hum of conversation pressing in from every direction. I caught sight of the woman’s pale blue dress disappearing through a side door near the terrace and followed without hesitation.She was standing near the railing outside when I found her, alone, staring out at the city like she’d been waiting for me to come after her.“You knew I would follow you,” I said.“I hoped you would.” She turned to face me fully, and up close I could see her hands trembling slightly around the stem of her wine glass. “I wasn’t sure I should say anything at all. Then I saw your face across that room and I couldn’t stop myself.”“Who are you?”“Clara Bennett.” She set the glass down on the railing, like she needed both hands free for what came next. “I was a journalist. A long time ago now. I worked alongside Evelyn Ward for almost six years before

KARAI kept the documents in the bottom drawer of my nightstand, wrapped inside an old scarf, like hiding them in fabric might make them less true.I read them almost every night anyway. Not because I wanted to. Because I couldn’t stop.Regarding Millicent, do not disclose.My father’s handwriting. I knew it the second I saw it, the same careful, controlled script he used to sign checks and scold report cards, and somehow that made it worse than if a stranger had written it. He’d known. My whole life, he’d known, and he’d let me grow up believing Milly was exactly what I was, ordinary, unremarkable, born into the same family under the same rules.She hadn’t been. She’d been something else entirely, and everyone had known it except me.I started going through the rest of the boxes I’d pulled the envelope from, late at night, alone, Isaac either gone or too drunk by then to notice I wasn’t in bed beside him. Old files. Correspondence. A ledger my mother had kept decades ago, meticulou

DECLAN The fire had gone out completely by the time I realized how long we’d been sitting there, her shoulder still against mine, the tide pulling in slow and steady somewhere beyond the dark. “Tell me about him,” Milly said quietly. “Richard. Not the version everyone else sees. The real one.” I hadn’t talked about my childhood in years. Not really. Not the parts that mattered. “He used to test me,” I said finally. “Not exams. Not school. Things designed to see whether I’d break.” I stared out at the water instead of at her. “When I was nine, he had my dog taken away. Told me later it was to see if I’d cry in front of him. He said crying meant weakness, and weakness meant I wasn’t ready to inherit anything.” Milly went very still beside me. “You were nine.” “I didn’t cry.” My voice came out flatter than I intended. “I learned that lesson for the first time. After that I stopped giving him anything to test.” “That’s not strength, Declan. That’s a child learning to survive some