Semua Bab Divorced My CEO Husband, He Came Begging: Bab 61 - Bab 70

I arrived at Bistro Lucien twenty minutes early, a habit ingrained from years with Daniel who considered tardiness a personal insult. The lunch crowd hadn't materialized yet, giving me my pick of tables. I chose one by the window—good lighting, clear view of both entrances, easy exit if needed. Old survival instincts die hard."Just water for now," I told the waiter. "I'm waiting for someone."My fingers drummed nervously on the tablecloth as I checked my phone again. No messages from Sarah canceling. No threats from Daniel. No apologies from Alex. Just the time—11:42—and my racing thoughts.Three days had passed since the surprise meeting at Thorne. Three days of vacillating between excitement about Paris and paralyzing fear that it was all some elaborate trap. Three days of Olivia reassuring me that Lumière Gallery was legitimate, prestigious, and—most importantly—financially independent from Thorne Designs."Their connection is purely familial," she'd said, showing me articles and

"That's my ex," I said quietly. "The one I told you about."Sarah's expression hardened. "Want me to stay? I'm pretty good at telling men to fuck off."The offer was tempting, but I'd spent too long hiding behind others' protection. "I'll handle it," I said, gathering my purse. "But thanks.""At least take my number," Sarah insisted, scribbling on the back of another business card. "Call me if you need anything. And I mean anything."I tucked the card away, touched by her concern. "I'll be fine. And Sarah? Thank you for lunch. For everything.""We're not done," she assured me with a smile. "I'm in town for a week, and I intend to convince you about Paris before I leave."I stepped out of the car, straightening my shoulders as I prepared to face Daniel. Sarah waited, engine idling, making sure I reached the sidewalk safely before pulling away with a small wave.Daniel spotted me immediately, pushing off from his car with practiced nonchalance. His eyes flickered to Sarah's departing co

The empty apartment closed in around me, every surface a reminder of what Daniel had taken. My designs on the wall. My beaded lamp I'd rescued from the break-in. My life, still circumscribed by his influence even after I'd escaped.Fuck this. Fuck him. I wasn't going to just sit here and marinate in self-pity.I grabbed my laptop and settled grimly at the kitchen table. If Paris was off the table, I needed a regular job. Something stable, with a steady paycheck to cover rent and Mami Lulu's care.Four hours and seventeen applications later, I'd received three automated rejections, two "we'll keep your resume on file" responses, and a stunning silence from the rest. Even entry-level positions at second-tier design houses seemed beyond reach—Daniel's influence tainting my prospects with methodical precision.By early afternoon, claustrophobia drove me from the apartment. I needed to see Mami Lulu—the one person in my life untouched by Daniel's machinations, even if she barely remembered

The envelope from Sunset Valley Care Center sat unopened on my counter for two days, its official logo like a bright red warning sign. I didn't need to read it to know what it said—I was three months behind on payments, and their patience was wearing thin. The phone calls had made that clear enough.I finally tore it open while drinking my morning coffee, a luxury I couldn't really afford anymore but refused to give up. My last remaining fuck-you to financial reality.Final Notice: Payment Required Within 7 DaysThe letter outlined the consequences in polite, sanitized language that couldn't hide the brutal truth: pay up or we move your mother to a state facility. I'd visited one of those places when first arranging Mami Lulu's care. Overcrowded, understaffed, with that unmistakable smell of neglect barely masked by industrial disinfectant.I couldn't let that happen. Not to the woman who'd raised me, loved me, taught me everything that mattered.With shaking hands, I spread my bills

I lost track of time hunched over my sketches, the lamp casting a small circle of light in my otherwise dark apartment. My back ached from hours in the same position, but the designs for Vega Davidson were flowing better than anything I'd created in months. Free from Daniel's expectations and Alex's scrutiny, I was finding my voice again.The knock at my door nearly sent my coffee mug flying.I froze, pencil suspended mid-stroke. No one knocked at—I glanced at my phone—ten-thirty on a Tuesday. Olivia would have texted first. And Daniel... Daniel would have called to announce his arrival like the self-important asshole he was.The knock came again, more insistent."Maya? It's Alex. I know you're in there—the light's on."I set my pencil down with deliberate calm, despite the spike in my pulse. After our fight about the Paris opportunity yesterday, after I'd told him to stay out of my business, he had the nerve to show up at my door?"Go away, Alex," I called, not moving from my desk."