All Chapters of Marrying the Tyrant: You Will Regret Killing Me, Ex-Husband!: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

Lily’s POV.The ballroom of the St. Regis was a total disaster area.Velvet drapes were piled on the floor, towering floral arrangements were blocking the walkways, and three different event planners were screaming into their phones.I stood in the middle of the ballroom, my arms crossed over my chest, staring up at the massive crystal chandelier. My mother’s posthumous birthday gala had to be perfect. No mistakes, no cheap decorations.I wanted everyone to know I was back, and I wanted them to see it in person."Move those white lilies three feet to the left," I ordered, pointing toward the main stage. "They're covering my mother's portrait. And fix that spotlight, it’s blinding.""Right away, Mrs. Rookwood," the head designer stammered, frantically waving his clipboard at two assistants who were struggling with a pedestal.I took a slow breath, smoothing down my blazer. The bruises on my face from the warehouse were mostly hidden under heavy concealer, but my skin still felt tender.

Lily’s POV.Sienna and Arnold opened the door that led to the private VIP holding room behind the grand ballroom. Diego entered, trailing behind me. He helped me to the bed, and then turned his back to me, massaging his temples and cursing under his breath. He was furious. That much was obvious.I got up the bed and went to meet him by the vanity, my hands trembling as I clutched the lapels of his jacket wrapped tightly around my shoulders. The wool was heavy, radiating his heat, completely swallowing my frame and hiding my gown and wounds.His knuckles were split open, smeared with a dark streak of Frank’s blood, and his own too. He hadn't said a single word since we stepped inside. He just stood there, his massive frame rigid, his chest still heaving with the remnants of his rage."Diego," I whispered, breaking the heavy silence.He didn't move. Slowly, he turned his head.The coldness in his eyes was completely gone, replaced in his dark, stormy eyes by a terror that made my brea

Lily’s POV.The phone lay face down on the wet pavement, its screen cracked. Richard’s voice was still faintly tinning out of the speaker before the call dropped dead.My chest heaved. The stench of burning wood and thick black soot burned the back of my throat. Around me, high-pressure water hoses thundered against the brick walls of what used to be my safe space, turning the street into a muddy, freezing river."Lily! Look at me."Diego’s hands gripped my shoulders, pulling me back from the police tape. His dark eyes were wide, scanning my face, checking for shock."Nate and Simon," I choked out, my teeth chattering so hard I could barely form the words. "They were inside. Diego, they were inside—""They're alive," a voice panted. I whipped around. Simon was stumbling out from behind a fire truck, his face streaked with black soot, his clothes singed at the sleeves. Paramedics were right behind him, wheeling a gurney.On the stretcher was Nate. His eyes were closed, his face deat

Lily’s POV.The safe house was too quiet.Upstate, hidden by a dense wall of tall pines and heavy fog, the modern glass cabin felt less like a fortress and more like a tomb. There was no bustle of city traffic, no distant sirens, no familiar clatter of coffee cups from the studio.Just the steady, monotonous patter of rain against the bulletproof glass.I sat at the minimalist kitchen island, a cold mug of black coffee clutched between my hands, staring at the glowing screen of the mounted television. On the display, the public retraction I had signed earlier that day played in a continuous loop on a financial news channel.“..Vance Global confirms that prior statements regarding asset mismanagement were unfounded, and Frank has been fully reinstated to his executive duties..."The anchor’s voice spoke smoothly, announcing my doom the same way he would the weather. I watched myself on the screen. My voice had been steady, my posture composed, my expression hollow. I had handed them a v

Lily’s POV. The emergency board meeting at Vance Global was scheduled for 8:00 AM.By 7:45 AM, the executive boardroom was packed. The heavy doors were shut tight, seeming like a corporate trap. At the head of the long table sat Richard Vance, wearing a bespoke charcoal suit that cost more than anything a man of his standing should be earning, had my mother been alive. His face was carefully schooled into an expression of grim, burdened leadership. But upon zooming into the live feed through one of the hacked cameras, I could see the dark circles that formed under his eyes.A small victorious smile formed on my lips as I watched. Behind him stood his loyalists—mostly older executives who owed their positions to decades of looking the other way.Richard checked his watch, a tight, self-satisfied smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Less than hours after “forcing Lily Rookwood into a humiliating public retraction”, he was moments away from delivering the killing blow. One sign