All Chapters of The Wealthy Divorcee: Chapter 161 - Chapter 170

192 Chapters

The Triangle’s First Spark

The rotors cut through dawn like a verdict.Jenna woke to motion.Not the violent, tearing movement of the jungle—but something steadier, mechanical. A vibration that thrummed through her bones and pulled her back from darkness inch by inch. Her eyelids fluttered open to blinding white, then blue, then the hard metallic gray of a rescue helicopter’s interior.For a moment, she didn’t know where she was.Then memory rushed back in a flood so sharp it stole her breath—drums, fire, blood, Rex’s arms locking around her like iron, the jungle screaming as if alive. She sucked in air and winced.Pain bloomed across her sho

Return to the Boardroom

The first thing Jenna remembered after the island was the smell of antiseptic.It clung to everything—her skin, her hair, the air she breathed—so different from salt, smoke, blood, and rot. The hospital ceiling above her was blinding white, too clean, too quiet. For a long moment, she lay still, half-expecting to hear drums or the hiss of the jungle answering her breath.Instead, she heard voices.Low. Familiar. Breaking.“Easy,” a nurse murmured as Jenna stirred. “You’re safe. You’re back.”Back.The word settled slowly.Her father stood at the foot of the bed, hands gripping the railing as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. Gino paced near the window, his usually sharp composure fractured, while Kelvin stood frozen beside him, eyes rimmed red, jaw clenched hard enough to ache.Melvin hovered closer, fingers twitching like he wanted to reach for her but was afraid she might vanish if he did.“You scared us,” Gino said, voice rough. “Do you have any idea what you put us th

CEO Reinstated

The applause outside the boardroom had not yet faded when Jenna closed the door behind her.Glass muted the noise of the world—reporters shouting her name, shareholders scrambling for statements, analysts already rewriting forecasts—but inside, the air was sharp with something far more dangerous than celebration.Resistance.Jenna retook the head seat, this time alone.The chair had remained empty for months, a symbolic void that committees and interim executives had carefully circled without ever truly filling. Now, as she settled into it, the room seemed to tighten around her presence. Some directors straightened unconsciously. Others stiffened, eyes flickering with calculation, resentment, or fear.Rex was not there.That absence was deliberate.As a former spouse and CEO of a separate corporate empire, Rex had no legal standing within Anderson Holdings. No matter how much blood he had spilled to bring her back alive, the boardroom remained governed by charters, optics, and legacy.

The Staff Divide

The building felt different now.Jenna sensed it the moment the elevator doors slid open onto the executive floor of J&J Headquarters.The hum of voices did not stop when she stepped out.They dipped.Not in reverence—but in calculation.She walked forward anyway, her heels steady against the marble that had once felt familiar but now felt like contested ground. Glass walls reflected fragments of her image: sharper eyes, a leaner face, and a posture hardened by hunger, cages, and bone-deep fear. The woman returning to this place was not the woman who had vanished months ago.And the company knew it.Clusters of employees stood divided along invisible lines. Some straightened when they saw her, expressions bright with something close to loyalty—relief, even. Others pretended to be absorbed in their tablets or whispered behind their hands, but froze a second too late.The divide was already alive.Jenna kept her gaze forward.This is what a civil war looks like, she thought.———Luke wa

The Confrontation

The corridor outside the secure office was silent in a way that felt unnatural, as if the building itself were holding its breath. Jenna stood just beyond the reinforced glass door, fingers resting lightly against the biometric scanner. The faint blue light pulsed beneath her skin, reading her pulse, her heat, her identity. A soft click followed, and the door slid open. Inside, the air smelled faintly of metal and antiseptic. The man sat restrained in a steel chair bolted to the floor, wrists cuffed behind him, ankles chained. A strip of dried blood darkened the corner of his mouth where security had been less gentle than protocol suggested. His eyes lifted when Jenna entered, sharp and calculating despite the bruises blooming across his face. Veronica’s shadow. Jenna closed the door behind her. Luke remained outside with security. Steeve stood just inside the room, arms crossed, eyes never leaving the prisoner. The glass walls reflected them all—hunter, hunted, and the woman st

Rumors & Red Carpets

The sirens outside J&J Headquarters had barely faded when the hunger arrived.Not the kind that gnawed at the body.The kind that devoured truth.By morning, the city wanted answers.———News vans lined the boulevard like predators at a watering hole, their satellite dishes tilted skyward, their lenses trained on the glass doors that reflected a thousand distorted versions of reality. Reporters murmured, producers barked orders, social media counters spun so fast they blurred. The headline had already been written before Jenna Anderson agreed to speak:THE LOST HEIRESS RETURNS.ALIVE.Inside the building, the atmosphere tightened with every passing minute.Jenna stood before the mirror in a private suite two floors above the lobby. The stylists had done their work quietly, respectfully, as if aware that this was not vanity but armor. Her hair was pulled back into a sleek, uncompromising knot. The ma

Rebuilding Trust

The applause from the press conference lingered in the city long after Jenna Anderson left the red carpet behind.It followed her into the elevator, echoed in the hum of cables as she ascended, then dissolved into a heavy silence once the doors slid shut. The glass walls reflected her image back at her—composed, distant, unyielding. A woman rebuilt from wreckage, now armored in authority.Yet beneath the surface, fractures still ached. By the following morning, Jenna returned to J&J Headquarters not as a spectacle, but as a surgeon.The lobby felt different.Employees who once avoided eye contact now straightened when she passed. Some bowed their heads slightly. Others watched her with nake

The Penthouse Intruder

The alarm did not scream.It roared.Red light flooded Jenna’s penthouse in sharp, pulsing waves, turning marble into blood-colored stone and glass into fractured mirrors. The silence that had wrapped the apartment moments earlier shattered into chaos as automated shutters slammed down over panoramic windows, sealing the city out.Jenna didn’t freeze.Her body reacted before her thoughts could catch up.She pivoted away from the hallway mirror, heart hammering, breath measured. Somewhere behind her, footsteps scraped against glass. Not rushed. Controlled. Whoever had broken in wasn’t panicking.

The Spanish Expansion Plan

The security outside the boardroom had doubled overnight.Armed guards stood at every corridor intersection, earpieces gleaming, eyes alert. Bulletproof glass had been discreetly installed behind the art panels. Even the air felt heavier, charged with vigilance and fear that no one dared speak aloud.The assassination attempt still clung to J&J headquarters like a ghost.Jenna walked through the corridor without slowing.Her heels struck marble in a steady, unyielding rhythm. Scars traced faint silver lines along her wrists and collarbone, no longer hidden beneath silk. She wore them openly now—not as weapons, not as shields, but as truth.Inside the boardroom, the directors fell silent the moment she entered.She took her seat at the head of the table.“Let’s begin.”The screen lit up with a map of Europe.Spain glowed in corporate blue.A murmur rippled around the table.One director cleared his throat. “Given… recent events, perhaps this is not the ideal time to revisit the Iberian

David Branson’s Grand Arrival

The shockwave from David Branson's arrival did not begin at the doors.It started in the silence.The kind of silence that creeps into a room when power shifts—quiet, heavy, unavoidable.Jenna felt it before she saw him.She stood near the long windows of the executive conference hall, Manhattan stretched beneath her like a living circuit board of ambition and hunger. Luke was beside her, tablet clutched tight, murmuring last-minute updates about press containment and security routing. Steeve lingered several steps back, arms crossed, eyes never stopping their sweep of exits and reflections.Then the room changed.Jenna turned.David Branson entered without announcement.No herald. No flourish.Yet every spine straightened.He no longer looked like the man forged by jungle and blood.He was clean-shaven now, with dark hair precisely trimmed, his suit tailored to perfection in deep charcoal that spoke quietly of old money and refined taste. His posture carried something unmistakable—an

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