All Chapters of Divorce and Revenge: Marrying My Ex's Enemy: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Stephanie‘s POVI spend the next several days thinking about this.Could I really fall in love with Henry?By Tuesday, the thought has so thoroughly rooted itself in my mind that I can’t think about anything else.Then, Henry allowed me to use one of the rooms as my studio. To say thanks, I asked if I could paint him.The space is perfect—spacious, filled with natural light, and stocked with everything an interior designer and artist could wish for. It’s more than I ever dreamed of, and yet, I haven’t touched a single brush today.Instead, I pace, my stomach twisted with nerves.I shouldn’t be nervous. I’m a professional. I’ve painted countless pieces, designed entire interiors for high-profile clients, and yet, the idea of painting Henry feels… different.Too intimate.Too personal.I have no idea why Henry agreed to this."Stephanie," Henry's voice cuts through my thoughts, smooth and easy. "You're overthinking."I look up to see him leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watc

Stephanie‘s POVA week later, Henry pulls up to the curb, the sleek car humming softly as it idles. I glance out the window, and my breath catches. The building he’s chosen for our studio is stunning—a mix of classic architecture with modern renovations. The large glass windows gleam in the afternoon sun, framed by stone pillars that exude sophistication.“It’s beautiful,” I say, unable to hide the awe in my voice. “You chose this?”Henry smirks as he steps out of the car. “Did you expect anything less?”I follow him, my heels clicking against the pavement as we approach the front entrance. “Honestly, I expected you to be more... practical,” I tease. “This feels indulgent.”He raises an eyebrow, holding the door open for me. “If you’re going to build the best interior design studio in the industry, you need a workspace that reflects that ambition. Practicality doesn’t inspire clients.”I nod, stepping inside. The interior is just as impressive. High ceilings, open spaces, and natural

Vince‘s POVThe office feels colder these days. Not physically—no, the temperature is the same—but there’s a void that lingers, making everything sharper, harsher. Stephanie’s absence hangs over the company like a shadow, and no matter how much I try to ignore it, the consequences are glaring.Darci has taken over Stephanie’s responsibilities, but things have not gone as smoothly as I’d hoped. Orders have fallen through, projects delayed, and long-term clients—ones Stephanie had nurtured with care and finesse—are slipping away. Darci insists she’s doing her best, but her best is nowhere near enough."Sir, I just got off the phone with McAllister & Co. They’re pulling out of the deal," my assistant says nervously, standing in the doorway with a tablet clutched to her chest.I rub my temples, irritation rising. "Another one. What was the excuse this time?""They said the new team wasn’t meeting their expectations." She hesitates, shifting uncomfortably. "They mentioned… they mentioned

Stephanie‘s POVThe scent of freshly brewed coffee lingers in the air as I take a seat across from Henry at the kitchen table. He’s already dressed sharply, as always, his tailored shirt pressed to perfection. I’m still in my comfortable sweater and leggings, feeling starkly underdressed next to him.“Stephanie,” Henry says, breaking the companionable silence. His tone is measured, almost too casual, which immediately sets me on edge. “We need to talk.”I set down my mug, the warmth of the ceramic doing little to quell the sudden flutter of nerves in my stomach. “That sounds ominous,” I say lightly, though I’m bracing myself for whatever he’s about to drop on me.“It’s not bad,” he reassures, though his expression remains unreadable. “My grandfather is back in town.”I blink, momentarily thrown. Henry’s family has been a mystery to me, an enigma he rarely discusses. “Okay…?”“He wants to meet us,” Henry continues, his gaze fixed on me. “Specifically, he wants to meet you.”The mug ne

Stephanie‘s POVHenry’s family sitting room is a picture of understated opulence, all muted golds and creamy whites with polished wood accents. The tea service on the table gleams under the soft light, but the atmosphere in the room is icy, and no amount of sophistication can mask the tension threading through the air.I sit primly on the edge of a plush armchair, hands folded neatly over my lap to keep from fidgeting. Across from me, Henry’s mother, an elegant woman with flawless makeup and an aura of practiced authority, holds her teacup like a weapon. Her piercing gaze flickers over me, dissecting every detail of my appearance. Beside her, Henry’s father, with his stern face and a sharpness in his posture that screams military discipline, watches me like I’m a suspect in an interrogation.Henry had excused himself a few minutes earlier to meet his grandfather in the study, leaving me alone with his family. I had prepared for this moment, told myself to stay calm, but nothing coul