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Paying Old Debts
Last Updated:
2025-02-02 20:17:45
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Divorced My CEO Husband, He Came Begging Cracks I
Fiona"Tell them to pull the story." My voice carries the precise tone that usually makes people scramble to obey. Alessandro from Vogue has always been putty in my hands—a carefully timed lunch invitation here, an exclusive there. "This is ridiculous. Maya Russo stealing designs? Please. We both know better."But Alessandro's voice comes back cool, professional. "Actually, Fiona, the evidence is quite compelling. Perhaps you'd like to comment on—"I end the call, fingers trembling slightly on my Hermès phone case. Three other fashion editors have already declined my calls. Since when do they decline my calls?My heels strike precise rhythms down the corridor to Daniel's office. This will all blow over. A few strategic moves and everything will realign. Like adjusting a couture dress—small, careful alterations until it fits perfectly.His new secretary—Emma? Emily?—rises as I approach. "Mr. Russo is—"I sweep past her. "Busy. Of course. But he'll see me."He always sees me.The leather
Last Updated : 2025-02-03Divorced My CEO Husband, He Came Begging Cracks II
FionaThe days blur like watercolors on silk—expensive, but losing definition. I track time through Daniel's responses: how many rings before he answers (three, then five, then straight to voicemail), how many minutes before he replies to my texts (eighteen, forty-two, three hours). Numbers don't lie. I've always known this, counting calories, followers, carats. Now I count seconds between his kisses.Wednesday morning finds me in the private salon at Bergdorf's, buried in a fortress of shopping bags. Elena, my personal shopper for the past three years, hovers nearby, less eager than usual. Even she's seen the headlines."The new Valentino collection just arrived," she offers, but her eyes keep darting to her phone. Probably reading about Maya's latest triumph. "Though perhaps something more... conservative?"I ignore the implied judgment. "Show me everything."Each piece is a calculated move: Valentino dress (for the charity gala), Jimmy Choo stilettos (half an inch higher than usual—
Last Updated : 2025-02-05Divorced My CEO Husband, He Came Begging Cracks III
FionaThe Metropolitan Museum's marble steps glitter with New York's elite. Three hours of preparation: a session with my makeup artist (who took four tries to return my call), my hairstylist (suddenly "booked" until I doubled her rate), and the Carolina Herrera gown in midnight blue (his favorite color). Harry Winston diamonds catch light like captured stars. I've swept my hair up, exposing the vulnerable curve of my neck—the old tricks. The ones that used to work.I scroll through I*******m one last time before entering. Maya's latest post: a behind-the-scenes look at her new collection. Thirty thousand likes in an hour. I delete the scathing comment I'd drafted. Not tonight. Tonight, I'm above it all."You look stunning," Daniel murmurs, but his eyes scan the crowd over my shoulder. His hand rests at my waist, warm through silk, but somehow distant. Like touching through glass. The photographers who used to swarm us now focus their lenses elsewhere.Laurent & Cie executives cluster
Last Updated : 2025-02-05Divorced My CEO Husband, He Came Begging Shadows I
FionaMorning light creeps across Italian marble, turning my home office into a museum of memories. Everything precisely where it should be—Asprey crystal paperweight catching the sun, Montblanc pens arranged by size, last season's lookbooks stacked by color on my Armani Casa desk. A perfect tableau of success.Except for the scattered contents of my Hermès laptop bag now defiling the Persian rug.I've been here since dawn, after another sleepless night replaying every moment of the gala. My Carolina Herrera gown lies discarded on the chaise, diamonds returned to their vault. No point in armor when there's no one to impress."Find anything interesting?"I startle, nearly spilling my third espresso. Maria, my housekeeper of five years, stands in the doorway. When did she get so quiet? Or have I become less observant?"Just organizing." The lie falls flat. Papers surround me like autumn leaves—board meeting minutes, event photos, email printouts. Five years of carefully documented succe
Last Updated : 2025-02-10Divorced My CEO Husband, He Came Begging Shadows II
FionaLa Grenouille's private dining room smells of white lilies and old money. I watched the staff rearrange the flowers three times from my car—they used to know my preferred arrangement by heart. Now they're following someone else's instructions.I time my entrance precisely—fifteen minutes late, just enough to establish dominance without seeming rude. The maître d' hesitates before pulling out my chair. He used to leap at the chance.Catherine Laurent's shoulders tense slightly as I approach. Her Chanel suit is pristine but slightly dated—last season's cut. She never used to make such mistakes. Good."Fiona, darling." Her air kisses land too close to my ear. Chanel No. 5, but not quite masking something else. Daniel's cologne. "I was surprised to get your invitation.""Were you?" I signal the sommelier. He hesitates, glancing at Catherine before pouring my usual Puligny-Montrachet. Even the staff know something's shifted. "I thought we were overdue for a proper catch-up."Catherin
Last Updated : 2025-02-10Divorced My CEO Husband, He Came Begging Shadows III
FionaLaurent & Cie's lobby gleams with old-world sophistication. Not a fingerprint on the brass doors, not a scuff on the marble. I count security cameras while pretending to check my lipstick—four visible, probably more hidden. My Louboutins click precise rhythms across the floor."I have an appointment with Catherine Laurent." The lie flows smooth as silk. The security guard's eyes flick to his screen, then back to me. No recognition. That's new."ID, please."I slide my driver's license across the counter, watching his face. He's young, probably new. Doesn't know I used to have permanent clearance."Ms. Kingston." A voice cuts through the silence. Jean-Paul, Laurent's head of security. His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "I'm afraid Mrs. Laurent is unavailable.""Is she?" I match his tone, professional to professional. "That's odd. We just had lunch."Movement catches my eye—Catherine herself, crossing the atrium. Our gazes meet. For a moment, something like panic flashes across her
Last Updated : 2025-02-11Divorced My CEO Husband, He Came Begging Desperate Measures
FionaFive-fifteen. Daniel's Peloton whirs to life in his home gym, precise as a German train. I count his footsteps across Italian marble, the quiet click of the gym door. For a man so careful with his schedule, he never noticed I memorized every minute.His office still smells of last night's scotch. No cleaning staff today—I made sure of that. The morning light hasn't reached his desk yet, but I know its contents by heart. Mont Blanc pen holder, left side. Patek Philippe box for his evening watch, centered. Everything measured in millimeters of perfection.The safe clicks open with his mother's birthday—he never was creative with passwords. Inside: folders organized by quarter, each tab perfectly aligned. Too perfect. My fingers find a slight gap behind them, where the metal's warmer. A false back.I check my watch. Five-twenty-three. He'll be on his second sprint interval.The hidden compartment yields a single folder, unmarked. My phone's camera shutter sounds too loud in the dar
Last Updated : 2025-02-11Divorced My CEO Husband, He Came Begging Desperate Measures II
FionaThe Fashion Week venue thrums with pre-show energy. I've changed three times—finally settling on Valentino, because armor should be perfect. My hands still smell of hospital antiseptic beneath Chanel No. 5."Five minutes to the investor presentation." Emma materializes like a well-trained ghost, clipboard in hand. My Cartier pen glints at her throat, transformed into a necklace. Creative. "They're particularly interested in the authentication process."The venue's transformed into a maze of white panels and strategic lighting. Through gaps in the temporary walls, I catch glimpses: Daniel with Laurent's CEO, Catherine's perfectly tailored silhouette, manila envelopes passing between manicured hands."I'll handle the investors." I step forward, but Emma shifts, a subtle block."Mr. Russo suggested I take this one." She checks her phone. "Perhaps you'd like to rest before—""Move."She doesn't. When did servants learn to disobey?The investor group has already gathered around Maya'
Last Updated : 2025-02-13
Latest chapter
Divorced My CEO Husband, He Came Begging Desperate Measures II
FionaThe Fashion Week venue thrums with pre-show energy. I've changed three times—finally settling on Valentino, because armor should be perfect. My hands still smell of hospital antiseptic beneath Chanel No. 5."Five minutes to the investor presentation." Emma materializes like a well-trained ghost, clipboard in hand. My Cartier pen glints at her throat, transformed into a necklace. Creative. "They're particularly interested in the authentication process."The venue's transformed into a maze of white panels and strategic lighting. Through gaps in the temporary walls, I catch glimpses: Daniel with Laurent's CEO, Catherine's perfectly tailored silhouette, manila envelopes passing between manicured hands."I'll handle the investors." I step forward, but Emma shifts, a subtle block."Mr. Russo suggested I take this one." She checks her phone. "Perhaps you'd like to rest before—""Move."She doesn't. When did servants learn to disobey?The investor group has already gathered around Maya'
Divorced My CEO Husband, He Came Begging Desperate Measures
FionaFive-fifteen. Daniel's Peloton whirs to life in his home gym, precise as a German train. I count his footsteps across Italian marble, the quiet click of the gym door. For a man so careful with his schedule, he never noticed I memorized every minute.His office still smells of last night's scotch. No cleaning staff today—I made sure of that. The morning light hasn't reached his desk yet, but I know its contents by heart. Mont Blanc pen holder, left side. Patek Philippe box for his evening watch, centered. Everything measured in millimeters of perfection.The safe clicks open with his mother's birthday—he never was creative with passwords. Inside: folders organized by quarter, each tab perfectly aligned. Too perfect. My fingers find a slight gap behind them, where the metal's warmer. A false back.I check my watch. Five-twenty-three. He'll be on his second sprint interval.The hidden compartment yields a single folder, unmarked. My phone's camera shutter sounds too loud in the dar
Divorced My CEO Husband, He Came Begging Shadows III
FionaLaurent & Cie's lobby gleams with old-world sophistication. Not a fingerprint on the brass doors, not a scuff on the marble. I count security cameras while pretending to check my lipstick—four visible, probably more hidden. My Louboutins click precise rhythms across the floor."I have an appointment with Catherine Laurent." The lie flows smooth as silk. The security guard's eyes flick to his screen, then back to me. No recognition. That's new."ID, please."I slide my driver's license across the counter, watching his face. He's young, probably new. Doesn't know I used to have permanent clearance."Ms. Kingston." A voice cuts through the silence. Jean-Paul, Laurent's head of security. His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "I'm afraid Mrs. Laurent is unavailable.""Is she?" I match his tone, professional to professional. "That's odd. We just had lunch."Movement catches my eye—Catherine herself, crossing the atrium. Our gazes meet. For a moment, something like panic flashes across her
Divorced My CEO Husband, He Came Begging Shadows II
FionaLa Grenouille's private dining room smells of white lilies and old money. I watched the staff rearrange the flowers three times from my car—they used to know my preferred arrangement by heart. Now they're following someone else's instructions.I time my entrance precisely—fifteen minutes late, just enough to establish dominance without seeming rude. The maître d' hesitates before pulling out my chair. He used to leap at the chance.Catherine Laurent's shoulders tense slightly as I approach. Her Chanel suit is pristine but slightly dated—last season's cut. She never used to make such mistakes. Good."Fiona, darling." Her air kisses land too close to my ear. Chanel No. 5, but not quite masking something else. Daniel's cologne. "I was surprised to get your invitation.""Were you?" I signal the sommelier. He hesitates, glancing at Catherine before pouring my usual Puligny-Montrachet. Even the staff know something's shifted. "I thought we were overdue for a proper catch-up."Catherin
Divorced My CEO Husband, He Came Begging Shadows I
FionaMorning light creeps across Italian marble, turning my home office into a museum of memories. Everything precisely where it should be—Asprey crystal paperweight catching the sun, Montblanc pens arranged by size, last season's lookbooks stacked by color on my Armani Casa desk. A perfect tableau of success.Except for the scattered contents of my Hermès laptop bag now defiling the Persian rug.I've been here since dawn, after another sleepless night replaying every moment of the gala. My Carolina Herrera gown lies discarded on the chaise, diamonds returned to their vault. No point in armor when there's no one to impress."Find anything interesting?"I startle, nearly spilling my third espresso. Maria, my housekeeper of five years, stands in the doorway. When did she get so quiet? Or have I become less observant?"Just organizing." The lie falls flat. Papers surround me like autumn leaves—board meeting minutes, event photos, email printouts. Five years of carefully documented succe
Divorced My CEO Husband, He Came Begging Cracks III
FionaThe Metropolitan Museum's marble steps glitter with New York's elite. Three hours of preparation: a session with my makeup artist (who took four tries to return my call), my hairstylist (suddenly "booked" until I doubled her rate), and the Carolina Herrera gown in midnight blue (his favorite color). Harry Winston diamonds catch light like captured stars. I've swept my hair up, exposing the vulnerable curve of my neck—the old tricks. The ones that used to work.I scroll through I*******m one last time before entering. Maya's latest post: a behind-the-scenes look at her new collection. Thirty thousand likes in an hour. I delete the scathing comment I'd drafted. Not tonight. Tonight, I'm above it all."You look stunning," Daniel murmurs, but his eyes scan the crowd over my shoulder. His hand rests at my waist, warm through silk, but somehow distant. Like touching through glass. The photographers who used to swarm us now focus their lenses elsewhere.Laurent & Cie executives cluster
Divorced My CEO Husband, He Came Begging Cracks II
FionaThe days blur like watercolors on silk—expensive, but losing definition. I track time through Daniel's responses: how many rings before he answers (three, then five, then straight to voicemail), how many minutes before he replies to my texts (eighteen, forty-two, three hours). Numbers don't lie. I've always known this, counting calories, followers, carats. Now I count seconds between his kisses.Wednesday morning finds me in the private salon at Bergdorf's, buried in a fortress of shopping bags. Elena, my personal shopper for the past three years, hovers nearby, less eager than usual. Even she's seen the headlines."The new Valentino collection just arrived," she offers, but her eyes keep darting to her phone. Probably reading about Maya's latest triumph. "Though perhaps something more... conservative?"I ignore the implied judgment. "Show me everything."Each piece is a calculated move: Valentino dress (for the charity gala), Jimmy Choo stilettos (half an inch higher than usual—
Divorced My CEO Husband, He Came Begging Cracks I
Fiona"Tell them to pull the story." My voice carries the precise tone that usually makes people scramble to obey. Alessandro from Vogue has always been putty in my hands—a carefully timed lunch invitation here, an exclusive there. "This is ridiculous. Maya Russo stealing designs? Please. We both know better."But Alessandro's voice comes back cool, professional. "Actually, Fiona, the evidence is quite compelling. Perhaps you'd like to comment on—"I end the call, fingers trembling slightly on my Hermès phone case. Three other fashion editors have already declined my calls. Since when do they decline my calls?My heels strike precise rhythms down the corridor to Daniel's office. This will all blow over. A few strategic moves and everything will realign. Like adjusting a couture dress—small, careful alterations until it fits perfectly.His new secretary—Emma? Emily?—rises as I approach. "Mr. Russo is—"I sweep past her. "Busy. Of course. But he'll see me."He always sees me.The leather
Divorced My CEO Husband, He Came Begging Paying Old Debts
Maya's POVThe Thorne Designs building felt different at night. Empty halls, security lights casting shadows across marble floors. My footsteps echoed as I made my way to the executive floor, files clutched to my chest like armor.Sophie waited in the conference room, her Chanel suit exchanged for jeans and an oversized sweater. It made her look younger, more real. Less like the polished enemy I remembered."You brought everything?" I set the files on the table. Years of documentation - every design Daniel had stolen, every contract he'd manipulated. "Your turn."She pulled out her laptop. "Remember that USB drive someone sent Alex? The one with hospital footage?"My fingers stilled on the papers. "How do you know about that?""Because I'm the one who sent it." She typed quickly, pulled up a video. "And that's not all I have."The footage was clearer than what Alex had shown me. Different angle. Same scene - Daniel with Fiona's doctor. But this time, I could hear the conversation.*"
