All Chapters of Divorced My CEO Husband, He Came Begging: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Maya's POVThe familiarity of Grandfather's study hit me - same leather chairs, same crystal decanters catching afternoon light. The room smelled of old money and older secrets. He stood by the fireplace, watching me over his scotch."You look tired," he said, as if we were discussing the weather."The reviews will do that.""Ah yes. Unfortunate business." He swirled his drink. "Though perhaps inevitable, given recent choices.""Recent choices?" I stayed by the door. "Like leaving my husband?""Like burning bridges you can't rebuild." He set his glass down with deliberate care. "Did you think there wouldn't be consequences?""To what? My career? My reputation?" Each word carried years of quiet rage. "Or Daniel's precious control?""Maya-""His shares." My voice came steady. "They're tied to our marriage, aren't they? That's what this is really about."Grandfather's silence stretched like a wire between us."Sit down," he said finally."No." I stepped closer, the carpet swallowing my s

Maya's POVSt. Anne's at night was all fluorescent lights and squeaking linoleum. I'd walked these halls so many times in the past month, I could navigate them blindfolded. Third floor. Right at the nurses' station. Room 342.The machines beeped a familiar rhythm, but something was wrong. Mami Lulu's breathing sounded different - shallower, maybe. Or just tired."Maya." Her voice was barely a whisper. "Mi amor.""I'm here." I took her hand, careful of the IV lines. "What happened?""Mrs. Rodriguez experienced some complications." Dr. Patterson stood in the doorway, his white coat wrinkled from a long shift. "The current treatment isn't having the effect we'd hoped.""Options?"He hesitated, glancing at his clipboard. "There's a new protocol. Experimental, but promising. However...""The cost." My throat felt tight. "How much?"He named a figure that made my knees weak."That won't be a problem."I didn't need to turn around. Daniel's voice carried from the doorway, smooth as aged scot

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

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

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