All Chapters of Beg no more married to his enemy : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Chapter 11: Elena’s POV​The black sedan cut through the heavy city traffic, the neon signs of the downtown district blurring against the rain-slicked side windows.​I sat in the passenger seat, my knees pressed together, staring down at my hands. My knuckles were pale from how tightly I was gripping my tablet. My mind was racing through every line of my mother’s original session logs, every master timestamp, every legal filing. My chest felt so tight I could barely draw a deep breath.​For seven years, every time I spoke up against Damian, he flipped the script. He was a master at turning my valid anger into hysterical drama, making me feel like I was crazy for defending my own work. Doing it in private was terrifying enough. Doing it live on the air to half a million listeners made my stomach churn.​Carter kept both hands on the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. He didn't turn on the radio, and he didn't offer unsolicited advice. He just drove fast and clean.​"You

Chapter 13: Elena’s POV​The white flash of the camera hit my eyes, burning a bright, ugly spot into my vision.​"Did you dump Damian the second Carter offered you a corporate line?" The reporter pushed the microphone closer, almost knocking over my water glass. "Are you using Whitmore Legacy Holdings as a cover for a private corporate payout?"​My heart was beating wildly against my ribs, but I didn't hide my face. I didn't cringe, and I didn't scream. I sat bolt upright in the leather booth, fixing the reporter with a cold, unblinking glare. Years of keeping my mouth shut around Damian’s high-society friends had taught me one hard rule: the second you panic on camera, they win.​Carter was already on his feet. He stepped between the lens and my face, his massive frame blocking the light entirely. He didn't touch the reporter, but his presence was so dark and imposing that the photographer involuntarily took a step back.​"Put the camera down," Carter said. His voice wasn't raised, b

Chapter 15: Damian’s POV​I stood in the doorway of Studio B, looking at my ex-wife.​Elena was leaning against the console, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Her hair was slightly damp from the rain outside, her coat pulled tight around her shoulders. She looked exhausted, her face pale under the fluorescent studio lights, but her eyes were still burning with that stubborn, infuriating defiance she had been carrying around since the day she walked out on me.​I hated that look.​I hated that she hadn't come crawling back to my house after I froze her personal accounts. I hated that she had gone straight to live radio to embarrass me in front of my board of directors. I hated her for the night of the studio fire years ago—when the smoke was thick and I was trapped under the fallen light rig, screaming her name, and she ran out the side exit to save her mother’s master tapes instead of staying to pull me out. I had carried the faint burn scars on my shoulder ever since, but t

Chapter 17: Elena’s POV​My head was still turned to the side, my left cheek burning hot from the strike. The sharp, bitter taste of blood filled my mouth where my inner lip had caught against my tooth.​I didn't cry. I didn't reach up to cup my face, and I didn't stumble back.​I turned my head slowly, pulled my spine up straight, and looked Aunt Lydia dead in the eye.​"Is that all you came here to do?" I asked, my voice low, flat, and completely steady.​Aunt Lydia’s hand was still hovering in the air, her fingers trembling slightly. Her face was flushed, her eyes wide with a deep, toxic rage that had clearly been festering for a long time.​Before she could raise her arm again, Carter stepped into the space between us. He didn't touch her, but his massive frame completely cut off her path to me. His face was stone cold, his jaw set tight as he looked down at her.​"You have five seconds to walk out that door, ma'am," Carter said. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a dangerous,

Chapter 19: Elena’s POV​The morning news was playing on the wall-mounted television in Carter’s kitchen, but the sound was muted.​I didn't need the volume on to know what Aunt Lydia was saying. The banner across the bottom of the screen was clear enough: EXCLUSIVE: EX-WIFE’S FAMILY BREAKS SILENCE ON WHITMORE ESTATE.​On the screen, Aunt Lydia sat in a brightly lit studio, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a tissue while the host nodded along with a pained expression. Right below her face, the producers had put up a graphic of the signed affidavit Damian’s legal team had leaked to the press at five o'clock this morning.​"You don't have to watch that," Carter said, stepping into the kitchen and setting a fresh mug of black coffee on the counter near my hand.​"I'm not watching her," I said, keeping my voice flat. "I'm watching the document."​"Our legal team already cross-referenced the filing timestamp," Carter said, leaning his hands against the marble counter beside me. "Dam