When My Ex Begged Forgiveness, I Was Buying His Company Chapter 08
Three years later, London’s winters dragged on with endless gray drizzle. I sat inside a riverside Thames café, watching strangers hurry past the rain–streaked
windows, a mug of steaming black tea warming my palms, mist softening the world beyond the glass.
“Felicity, the final M&A paperwork for the acquisition has been finalized for your signature.” The man across from me slid a thick stack of legal documents forward across the wooden table.
His name was Richard York, Executive Director of a premier European investment consortium–and my business partner for these past three years.
He wore a flawlessly tailored wool suit, warm, thoughtful eyes hidden behind thin gold–rimmed spectacles.
“Thank you for all your hard work.” I turned to the final page and signed my name with a steady,
unhurried hand.
Over these three years, I’d immersed myself
relentlessly in global finance and corporate strategy.
Drawing on the hidden residual capital left behind by the Chandler family, I’d forged an ironclad foothold
within Europe’s capital markets. Meanwhile, every core European division of Howard Group had suffered surgically precise, devastating losses at my hands.
“There’s an elite charity gala being hosted in New York
next week,” Richard said, sipping his coffee.
“We’ve received formal invitations, and Ethan Howard
will be in attendance as well.” He paused briefly, studying my expression for any flicker of emotion.
My hand holding the fountain pen never faltered as I closed the leather folder calmly. “We’ll stick to the planned itinerary. It’s long past time I returned.”
I gazed out at the fine silver rain drifting down, my heart utterly empty, no flicker of old feeling stirring within me.
That catastrophic hemorrhage had nearly stolen my life–and drained every ounce of love I’d once held for Ethan completely dry.
Now, to me, he was nothing more than a corporate rival slated for acquisition.
Thousands of miles away, the grand living room of
Hillside Mansion sat swallowed in darkness–a mirror to the man unraveling within it.
No lights burned inside Hillside Mansion’s living room. He’d grown gaunt, his once perfectly tailored shirts hanging loose and shapeless off his frame.
Dozens of empty liquor bottles littered the floor at his feet. Clutched tight in his palm sat the water–damaged
voice recorder I’d lost three years prior.
My intelligence report noted he’d hired multiple
digital restoration specialists. But the device’s internal
circuitry had been destroyed beyond repair. Pressing
its buttons yielded nothing but a brittle hiss of dead static.
“Sir, it’s time for your sleeping pills,” the butler
approached, holding a glass of water and sedatives, his voice thick with pity.
Ethan hadn’t slept through a single night in three
years. He’d mobilized every contact, every resource in
his power to hunt for me–yet I’d vanished without a single trace.
“Get out of my sight.” Ethan’s eyes stayed shut, his voice hoarse and raw.
The butler sighed, set the medication on the side table, and retreated silently.
His cell phone vibrated atop the marble coffee table;
his assistant’s name flashed across the screen.
“Sir, the finalized guest list for next week’s charity
gala has arrived. The anonymous mastermind behind
the European investment conglomerate will be present.”
Ethan listened numbly, registering no reaction at all.
“Sir,” the assistant hesitated, “I’ve just seen a
photograph of the group’s lead executive. She looks
strikingly like Mrs. Howard.‘
Ethan shot upright in his chair in an instant.
The voice recorder slipped from his grasp, clattering heavily onto the hardwood floor.