All Chapters of Divorced My CEO Husband, He Came Begging: Chapter 91 - Chapter 99

I spent the rest of Sunday at Mami Lulu's bedside, reading to her unresponsive form from design magazines, describing the gala and its aftermath. The nurses said talking to unresponsive patients could help, that they might hear even if they couldn't respond. I chose to believe it, needing some connection to the woman who had truly raised me.Evening found me back at my apartment, reviewing the briefing materials Grandfather's assistant had sent over. Board member profiles, financial summaries, pending contracts—hundreds of pages of information I needed to absorb before Thursday.My phone buzzed with a text from Troy: Dinner? I have gossip about the industry fallout.I agreed, grateful for the break and the company. Troy arrived with Thai food and a bottle of wine, settling cross-legged on my couch as he unpacked containers."It's deliciously messy out there," he reported gleefully. "The industry is completely split. Old-guard designers are clutching their pearls over your 'violent out

That night in my apartment, unable to sleep again, I opened my laptop and did something I'd been avoiding—I searched for our old address in the mountains. The cabin wasn't technically ours; Mami Lulu had rented it for years from an elderly couple who'd never bothered to raise the price or ask questions about the woman raising a child in the remote location.To my shock, the property appeared in current real estate listings. FOR SALE: Rustic 2BR Mountain Cabin with Workshop. The photos showed a structure slightly more weathered than in my memories but essentially unchanged—the wooden porch, the stone chimney, the clearing surrounded by tall pines.The coincidence felt significant, almost supernatural. I'd been dreaming of the cabin for weeks, and now it was available, as if waiting for me to return.Witho

AlexI made it to my car before my composure cracked. Sitting behind the wheel, I slammed my palm against it hard enough to hurt, cursing under my breath. I'd handled that all wrong. Again.The look on Maya's face when I admitted hiring a PI—pure betrayal. Rage. Fear. All justified.I started the engine but didn't move, just sat there staring up at the lights of her apartment building. She'd tried to slap me. Again. I couldn't blame her."Not investigating you anymore." Christ. As if stopping was some kind of favor I'd done her. No wonder she'd exploded.The envelope of evidence sat on the passenger seat where I'd placed a second copy before heading up to her apartment. I'd known she might destroy the first one. Might not believe me. Might throw me out.I'd been right about all of it, and still managed to fuck up the execution completely.The dashboard clock read 8:47 PM. Not even nine, but I felt as if I'd aged a decade in the last forty minutes. I pulled away from the curb, forcing

I spent the next several hours continuing the cleaning I'd started yesterday—more sweeping, more scrubbing, removing sheets from the bedroom furniture I hadn't gotten to yet. After more fiddling with the water system, I finally located the main valve outside and, after several attempts, managed to get the old pipes to deliver rust-colored water that eventually ran clear. The electricity was another matter—apparently disconnected long ago—but I'd come prepared with battery-powered lanterns and the camping stove I'd used last night.By mid-afternoon, I was filthy, sweaty, and oddly satisfied. The bedroom was now reasonably clean to match the progress I'd made in the main room yesterday, the bathroom was functional if primitive, and I'd aired out more of the musty odor. My arms ached from scrubbing and carrying water, but the physical exhaustion felt good—clarifying, somehow.I dragged an old wooden chair onto the front porch and collapsed into it, watching as the sun began its descent t

I spent the afternoon gathering supplies, then worked through the night preparing pieces for the fair. I created six more complete jewelry sets, each built around those distinctive spiral beads. By dawn, I had enough inventory to fill a small display, if not a full booth.I arrived at the square precisely at eight, carrying a folding table I'd found in the cabin's shed and a wooden tray that displayed my pieces against dark velvet. A few other vendors were already setting up, arranging pottery or paintings or handwoven textiles. Eleanor pointed me to a corner spot beneath a massive oak tree, the dappled shade perfect for displaying jewelry without harsh glare."You have your own table. Good." Her tone was clipped, but not unfriendly. "Need anything else?""I'm all set, thanks."She nodded and moved on, but I noticed her watching me from time to time as I arranged my pieces. Something about her attention felt oddly specific, though I couldn't place why.I wondered if she recognized me.