All Chapters of The Billionaire's Forgotten Ex-wife : Chapter 151 - Chapter 160

[Lincoln]The signboard in Arella’s hands is impossible to miss. Welcome Home, Hubby! The bold letters stretch obnoxiously across the board, playful and dramatic, a perfect reflection of the woman holding it. The bright yet crisp morning sun filters down, casting a golden glow around her dark hair, making her look almost ethereal. If I were a lesser man, I’d probably get lost in the way the light kisses her skin, but I am not a lesser man.A slow grin tugs at my lips as I step off the private jet, my boots hitting the pavement with an easy confidence. There’s an entire security detail flanking me, their presence a necessary but wholly uninteresting formality. My gaze barely flickers over them because, frankly, they don’t matter.Only one person does.Arella.She’s scanning the crowd, her head tilting slightly as she searches through the sea of black-suited men, her gaze flitting restlessly over the unnecessary muscle. And then—she finds me.The shift is immediate. Her eyes widen, her

[Lincoln]Dinner is served after the usual pleasantries, and for once, the atmosphere carries a quiet, almost deceptive warmth.For a fleeting moment, everything seems normal.But I should’ve known better.This isn’t the kind of family where warmth lasts. It’s more of a… brief flicker, a trick of the light, something you can almost believe in—until the inevitable cold slips back in, curling around your bones like an old, familiar ghost.It’s the kind of calm that always comes right before the storm.And I can feel it brewing.The tension simmers beneath the surface, thick and cloying, stretching itself thin across the air. It coils tighter and tighter, a silent undercurrent pulling us toward something ugly. My frown deepens when I catch the way Dad and Grandma have been exchanging silent glances all evening. Subtle—too subtle for most to notice.But I do notice.And so does Arella.Her brows pinch slightly, the movement barely perceptible, but then her fingers tighten—just briefly—aro

[Lincoln]“Excuse me?”The words barely make it out of my throat—more of a stunned croak than an actual question. It’s like all the air has been sucked out of this space, leaving behind an eerie void where logic ceases to exist. My brain struggles to process the absurdity of what I just heard, like someone yanked the floor out from under me, and now I’m free-falling into a pit of absolute insanity.A sharp ringing buzzes in my ears, drowning out everything else. But my father’s words? Oh, they don’t go anywhere. They replay in my mind, over and over, like a scratched record of a sick joke that isn’t even remotely funny.What the hell did he just say?I seethe, my chest tightening, my pulse hammering so hard against my skull it’s a miracle my head hasn’t split open. My fingers dig into the arms of my chair, tension coiling in my muscles like a loaded spring.“What the hell do you mean by she is my betrothed?”The words come out low and lethal, coated in barely restrained rage. A storm

[Arella]This tense silence in the dining room was suffocating, thick like a storm cloud ready to burst. The glint of the chandelier reflected off the polished mahogany table, casting sharp golden hues that did little to soften the tension crackling in the air. The scent of roasted lamb and spiced wine, once mouthwatering, now felt nauseating amidst the hostility that polluted the room."How dare you speak to the matriarch of this family like that?!" Aunt Trixy begins, her voice already high-pitched, ready to stir up even more trouble. "Do you even realiz—"Her words are silenced by the sharp, cutting glare from my mother-in-law."Look, Arella-" my father-in-law begins, his voice gruff, attempting to maintain some sense of control over the situation. But something in my gaze stops him dead in his tracks.The table falls eerily quiet.My eyes drift from Lincoln's grandmother to Clement Thompson, then to my father-in-law, taking my time, watching their expressions carefully. There’s

[Arella]Weeks have passed. It’s almost laughable how life just moves on, sweeping away the chaos like it never happened. The whole ordeal with the Thompsons feels like a distant nightmare—something surreal and vague.And yet… the unease remains.Clement has gone quiet, too quiet. Too clean, too perfect. And if life has taught me anything, it’s that silence like this isn’t peace. It’s the eerie calm before the storm, the kind that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.But the real cherry on top? Lincoln.My husband—the ever-capable, ever-in-control Lincoln—has been on edge. Stressed. Distracted. His eyes are shadowed, his movements tense, his hands constantly rubbing at his temples like he's battling some unseen war. And despite my best efforts, despite the poking, the prodding, the strategic wife-level interrogation, he won’t tell me a damn thing.Trust me, I’ve tried.Repeatedly.It’s like prying open a steel vault with a butter knife.“Are you even listening to me,