All Chapters of The Billionaire's Forgotten Ex-wife : Chapter 141 - Chapter 150

[Arella]"No way."Sasha’s eyes widen, all her usual mischief gone in an instant, replaced with something rare—genuine disbelief."Yes way." Bridget grins, the corners of her lips twitching with amusement. "I’d rather run this company alone than have a VP who isn’t you. And I was always going to make it official right here anyways," She gives a playful wink, tilting her head slightly, her golden-blonde curls catching the dim overhead lighting of the restaurant. "You know, officially use this method to fire our city’s youngest president."A sharp snort escapes me before I turn to Sasha, who is still sitting there, blinking like we'd just told her the sky is green."Are… are you sure?" she stammers, her brows furrowing as her dark eyes flick between Bridget and me. "I don’t think I’ll be as great as Ella, though. Why don’t we—"Before she can start doubting herself, I reach across the table and place my hand over hers, squeezing gently. The warmth of her skin is slightly clammy, and I k

[Arella]The hallway is eerily quiet, save for the occasional shuffle of nurses and the soft beeping of machines behind closed doors. The sterile scent of antiseptic clings to the air, sharp and medicinal, making my stomach churn slightly. God, I hate hospitals. The too-white walls, the artificial brightness, the way time seems to stretch unbearably long here. It all makes my skin itch."Right this way, Mrs. Sawyer," a familiar nurse from my last visit says, gesturing toward Ava's ward. I follow, though my legs feel heavier than they should. My palms are clammy, an unexpected nervousness creeping up my spine. Why do I feel like this? I’m here to take my younger sister home. This should be a relief. A victory. But something about today feels... different. Unsettling in a way I can’t quite put my finger on.The doctor’s words from just minutes ago still echo in my head, playing on an endless loop."Your sister is a fighter. I’ve never seen anyone with so much zeal to pull off MDD recove

[Arella]Panting, Deric Smith straightens, dragging a hand through his already disheveled hair—like some tragic movie hero—before flashing a smile that makes my stomach churn.Seeing his smile, I nearly gag.Disgust churns violently in my belly, a slow, festering heat curling at the pit of my stomach like a beast waking from its slumber. The sheer audacity of this man is beyond unbelievable."I came to see you," he says, as if those words are supposed to mean something.As if they hold weight.As if I’d ever believe a damn thing that leaves his mouth.My skin crawls."Are you stalking me?" I bite out, venom lacing every syllable.He falters. Just for a fraction of a second. It’s quick—barely noticeable—but I catch it. The subtle twitch in his jaw. The way his fingers flex at his sides before he forces himself to relax.But then, like the cockroach he is, he recovers.That grin returns.And he takes a step forward.My fingers rise instantly, a silent warning. A barrier. An order."Don'

[Lincoln]Italians were hot-blooded.Normally, that was a damn fine trait in business—passion, persistence, a little well-placed ruthlessness—but when you were on the receiving end of that fire?Yeah. Not so much.And in this case?That unfortunate target was me.A million dollars’ worth of industrial products under the Sawyer Group, burnt down to nothing but rubble, ashes, and the lingering stench of deliberate destruction.And no, despite the forensic team’s oh-so-helpful assessment, this wasn’t some accidental wildfire attack.It was arson.Plain and simple.I could fucking smell it all the way down to my gut, that deep, instinctive knowing that told me this wasn’t just business—it was personal.And the worst part?This wasn’t even about the money.Sure, I could pull out more cash, replace the damaged goods, rebuild the property, patch up whatever superficial losses came out of this. That wasn’t the issue.The real problem?The trust had been broken.And once that’s gone, once you

[Vivian]I don’t even wait for his response. My body moves on autopilot, frantic energy charging my limbs as I throw on my clothes, barely aware of the rustling behind me, of the shifting mattress, of the thick, fat hands that suddenly wrap around my waist from behind.A breath—hot and heavy—fans against my ear, sticky against my skin."Isn’t it too early to leave me all alone, my sweet?"Revulsion slams into me so hard I have to bite down on my tongue to keep from visibly recoiling. My stomach clenches, bile creeping up my throat, my lungs tight as if the very air has turned toxic.Don’t shudder. Don’t flinch. Don’t let him see how much you want to claw your way out of your own skin.Swallowing the disgust threatening to choke me, I force a slow smile, my lips curling into something soft, something pleasing. My lashes flutter as I turn in his grip, tilting my head just enough to feign a pout."You know I would love to stay, Mr. Thompson," I croon, my voice dripping in syrupy sweetnes