All Chapters of Divorce Suits Me Better: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

(Felix’s POV)I found the innkeeper first, which should have been a warning sign all on its own, because nothing good in my life has ever started with me being awake before everyone else.She was setting out bread in the kitchen, and Luna was already sitting on the counter next to a bowl of butter like she owned the place.“Your friend,” the woman said, nodding toward the window, toward the little wooden building down by the water. “The tall one. He slept in the boathouse.”I laughed before I even had all the facts, because that’s usually when the good stuff comes out.“Luca? Slept in the boathouse? On purpose?”“He told me to give his room to the other one.” She wiped her hands on her apron and shrugged, like this happened every night of her working life. “Monsieur Cooper. He said it very quietly. Very serious.”I stopped laughing.Not all at once. The laugh died in my throat a piece at a time while my brain caught up with the rest of it.Luca had a room. Luca gave up his room. Luca’

(Alexis’s POV)I woke up to wet sheets and for one stupid, stupid second I thought I’d wet the bed like a child, and then the cramps hit and I understood.“MARA!”Nothing.I screamed it again, ripping the blanket back, and there was so much red on the white sheet that my brain refused it for a second, just refused to process what I was looking at.She came through the door with her robe half-tied and hair still pinned in its wrap. The color dropped out of her face the second she saw the sheets, and her hand flew up and pressed hard over her own mouth.“Oh my God. Oh my God!”She crossed the room and pressed a hand flat on my shoulder, holding me down before I’d even tried to move.“Okay—okay, get up, slow, I’m getting the car, don’t stand up fast—”Her hand was shaking against my shoulder. Hers, not mine.I don’t remember getting down the stairs. I remember the banister under my palm and a cramp so hard it folded me forward at the waist, Mara’s arm catching me before my knees gave out

(Nate’s POV)The first call lasted nine seconds.I got as far as “Nathaniel Cooper, Cooper Indust—” before the line went dead. I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at the screen. Call ended. Nine seconds. The man hadn’t even let me finish my own name.Reed was sitting across the desk with the list between us. Four names. Four chances. He uncapped his pen and drew a line through the first one without looking at me.“Next,” he said.“He hung up on me, Reed.”“I heard.” He tapped the pen against the second name. “Greystone Capital. You want me to set it up?”“I’ll do it myself.”The second one was worse, because they actually sent someone.I drove forty minutes to a glass building in Midtown and sat in a conference room with water I didn’t drink and a view I didn’t look at, and after twelve minutes a kid walked in. Twenty-five, maybe twenty-six, a junior associate in a suit that still had the tag crease across the shoulder.He sat down across from me and opened a folder and clo

(Sabrina’s POV)Eric had his sleeves rolled to his elbows and his phone face-down on the kitchen table.That was how I knew it was serious.“Nate Cooper’s office contacted Tyler this morning,” he said. “He’s requesting a meeting with Holdings.”Charlie was at the stove, stirring something he’d stopped paying attention to. Tyler sat at the far end with a legal pad, his pen already moving. Felix leaned against the fridge with his arms crossed. Adrian stood in the doorway with his hands in his pockets.“Cortlandt Yards has been idle for weeks,” Eric continued. “His lender is circling. The board gave him thirty days to find a capital partner or they vote him out.” He looked around the table. “He couldn’t find one. Nobody would touch him. So now he’s coming to us.”“Good,” Tyler said crisply, without looking up from his pad. “Let it collapse. We buy the wreckage for pennies, absorb the asset, scrape his name off the sign.”“That’s my position too,” Eric said.“I already have the paperwork

(Nate’s POV)Two days later, Felix Atwood walked into my office.No appointment. No call ahead.He came through the front doors in a navy suit, his hair styled back from his face, and he walked past my receptionist without slowing down.She stood up behind her desk and called after him, “Sir, you can’t just—SIR—” He didn’t even turn his head.“Felix,” I said.He didn’t sit down. He walked into the center of my office and turned around slowly, taking in the room. The view. The framed photograph of Cortlandt Yards on the wall behind my desk. The awards on the shelf. My father’s desk, which I’d inherited and never replaced.He took his time with it. He looked at my bookshelf, running a finger along the spines, pausing on one, tilting his head to read the title, putting it back. He walked to the window and stood with his hands in his pockets, looking down at the city.“Nice view,” he said thoughtfully. “Shame about the lighting, though. Very depressing.”“What do you want, Felix?”He turn