Todos os capítulos de Disappeared After Divorce: Came Back For Revenge: Capítulo 41 - Capítulo 50

​The grand mahogany table at the center of the executive boardroom remained completely bare, devoid of the usual scattered documents, steaming cups of dark coffee, or glowing tablet screens that typically signaled a high-stakes gathering. The scheduled board meeting had been dead on arrival, dissolved into thin air before the first official minute could even be recorded. A sudden, seismic shift in the company hierarchy rendered the entire assembly moot, forcing an immediate postponement. Mr. Laocheng never walked through those heavy double doors. Instead, the person who occupied his reserved leather chair was the very woman who had quietly bought out every single one of his shares, Lora.​When the announcement of the canceled proceedings finally sank in, the other board members gathered their leather portfolios and slipped out into the corridor with hushed, anxious whispers. Soon, the expansive room thinned out until only four people remained grounded in the suffocating space. I sat a

A cold morning breeze rustled through the lush foliage of the private garden, carrying with it the damp smell of dew and distant earth.​I sat alone on a wrought-iron chair, my fingers curling around a wide porcelain mug. Steam curled off the dark liquid, dissipating into the pale chill of early dawn. Down to the bottom, the liquid remained as black as night, unmarred by sugar or cream. Across the table, the seat Samantha had occupied just an hour prior was pushed back at an awkward angle. Her glass of water sat untouched, condensation trickling down its sides like sweat.​I lifted the mug, letting the bitter heat sear my tongue, but my eyes stayed fixed on the empty chair. Samantha was gone. She was always gone long before the morning fully broke, leaving behind only the ghost of slammed doors and harsh, swallowed words, never leaving a note, never leaving a destination. I swallowed the coffee, feeling a familiar tightness form in the back of my throat. The pattern was becoming an ex

The persistent chill of the air conditioning blew across my neck, yet warmth lingered against my chest where Niall’s arms had wrapped around me moments ago. A sudden wave of self-consciousness rushed through my veins, prickling my skin and flushing heat into my cheeks. I pressed my palms flat against his white long sleeve, creating a small boundary between us, and slowly eased back. My heels clicked against the carpet as I retrieved my personal space, swallowing down the sudden knot in my throat. Despite the embarrassment fluttering behind my ribs, my shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch, lighter than they had felt in weeks.​The heavy aroma of fresh blossoms filled the narrow space between us. Niall held out a sprawling arrangement of pale hydrangeas, deep crimson roses, and sprigs of eucalyptus tied with an ivory silk ribbon. The petals were velvety, dusted with tiny droplets of water that reflected the dim overhead lighting, clearly pulled from an upscale boutique rather than a

The steady, rhythmic hum of the engine reverberated through the floorboards as my driver navigated the winding morning traffic toward the La Lora building. Positioned quietly in the plush leather back seat, I tapped the glass screen of my tablet, the harsh white light illuminating the dark cabin. Bold black typography stared back at me, framing an official statement released only an hour ago. Madame Hemswood had taken to the airwaves, wrapping herself in the mantle of an aggrieved matriarch responding to the evidence search surrounding my father’s death. With meticulously selected words, she told the press that I was launching baseless, unhinged accusations against her and her son Carson.​A sharp heat flooded my chest, radiating down through my fingertips. The glass casing groaned under the sudden pressure of my grip, the frame bending so violently I had to force my hands to fold the device shut before the screen shattered into a hundred jagged pieces.​Scum. They were nothing more t

A fitted slate velvet dress hugged every contour of my body, its plunging neckline revealing the pale dip of my sternum. Each step down the mirrored corridor of Hemswood Lux generated a sharp, rhythmic click. My six inch glass heels struck the polished marble like a deliberate, ticking metronome. Over my shoulder, the heavy gold chain of my Chanel bag swayed in quiet rhythm with my stride.​Whispers trickled through the open plan cubicles.​"Is that Miss Lora?" a junior analyst muttered, leaning over her desk.​"She looks incredible, doesn't she?" her colleague replied, dropping her voice to an urgent murmur. "What a complete loss for Mr. Hemswood. Imagine having a woman like that and tossing her aside."​Three years ago, I knew precisely how little I meant to Carson. He had discarded me like unwanted rubbish. My only crime back then was offering him my absolute love, my unquestioning trust, and my total devotion. Now, the anger between us burned hotter, refined into something cold an