All Chapters of The Goodbye he regretted : Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

Maureen’s dark lashes fluttered once, brushing against her cheeks before she lifted her gaze to meet Damien’s suffocating stare without a single tremor of hesitation. There was no fear left in her expression—not a single remnant of the quiet, obedient woman who had spent three years lowering her head, swallowing her tongue whenever he spoke to her with that sharp, dismissive edge. Only anger remained. Cold, controlled, and utterly unmistakable. For several agonizing seconds, heavy silence stretched between them in the dimly lit corridor. Throughout his life, Damien had stood toe-to-toe with ruthless corporate titans and underworld figures, never once flinching. Yet something about the pure, unadulterated coldness in Maureen’s eyes made a strange discomfort stir in his gut. The icy fury burning behind those striking features was so direct, so devoid of the warmth he had taken for granted for three long years, that an unbidden urge flashed through him to break eye contact first.

Maureen had no desire to spend another minute inside the hotel suite. The thought of lying awake beneath the cold ceiling, while every agonizing word from her confrontation with Damien replayed on loop, was entirely unbearable. Changing her destination on the spot, she directed the vehicle away from the venue and headed straight toward her personal residence. For several miles, Steven drove in complete silence. Through the rear view mirror, he kept stealing quiet, heavy glances at her. She looked utterly drained—her face unusually pale beneath the passing streetlights. Eventually, his protective concern easily overshadowed his hesitation. "Ms. Maureen," Steven began, his voice low and carefully pitched. "Does Damien Vance have any idea who you actually are?" Maureen slowly lifted her eyes, meeting his reflection in the glass. "You mean... does he know I'm the primary heiress of Ashford Group?" Steven gave a singular, firm nod. "No." The answer fell quietly between them

Sarah’s face instantly smoothed out as she dropped her mocking expression, though an internal frown creased her mind. Damien brushed past her, picking up a long black umbrella from the mahogany stand near the door. Why on earth is he going out there? Sarah thought bitterly, watching his tall back. How can a man as brilliant as Damien be so blind? It’s so obvious that Miss Moon is nothing but a dramatic, calculating snake! The heavy double doors swung open, the latch clicking sharply. Outside on the wet marble steps, Aurora was in the middle of forcing another burst of theatrical sobbing when she heard the lock turn. She looked up, her tear-streaked face lighting up the instant she saw Damien step into the light rain, opening the large umbrella above his head. In a fraction of a second, she dialed her performance up to maximum intensity. "Damien!" Aurora wailed, her voice quivering with tragic desperation as she let herself slump further onto the damp stone. Damien stepped down

The fall of moon Corporation was swift, violent, and absolute. News of jules high-profile arrest had sent shockwaves through the financial sector, triggering an immediate collapse of the company’s stock. Bank accounts were frozen, line-of-credit facilities were cancelled overnight, and regulatory inspectors swarmed their corporate offices. Across the city, moon Corporation's flagship retail outlets, luxury showrooms, and supply warehouses were systematically shuttered, their doors sealed with red judicial tape while bewildered staff were turned away at the gates. With jules languishing in a remand cell and Mr. moon hopelessly attempting to stall creditors, the family was staring into the abyss of total bankruptcy. Desperate to find a lifeline, Mrs. Gold bypassed her husband entirely and drove straight to the Vance estate to meet her elder sister, Diana. Inside the quiet, sunlit tea room of the Vance residence, Diana sat cross-legged on a plush velvet settee, sipping porcelain-bre

it was the D-day at the Grand Palais, where the most influential figures of Tidor society were convening for the annual high-society charity gala and auction. The grand driveway was a choked procession of armored town cars, vintage sedans, and bespoke luxury vehicles, each discharging titan CEOs, old-money matriarchs, and political elite onto a plush velvet carpet that stretched toward the soaring marble entryway. A stretched matte-black Limousine pulled smoothly to the curb at the main entrance. The uniformed valet rushed forward, sweeping the rear door open. Stepping out first was Diana Vance, radiating the practiced, magnetic poise of a woman who had spent her youth in front of movie cameras. Before she had maneuvered her way into high society, Diana had been a rising starlet on the big screen, using her striking, ethereal beauty and sharp calculation to charm Gerald Vance—Damien’s father—into making her his second wife. Decades later, her sharp features were still impeccably p