Divorce and Regret: Chasing My Famous Lawyer Ex-Wife のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 81 - チャプター 90

Nathan’s POVThe news anchor’s voice droned through the quiet office, every word slicing through the stillness like a verdict.“Maison Vivra under investigation for counterfeit materials…”I leaned back in my chair, eyes fixed on the glowing screen. The skyline beyond my floor-to-ceiling windows glittered faintly against the early dawn — a city waking up to chaos I could already feel closing in.I muted the TV, but the words refused to leave my head. Counterfeit materials.No, it couldn’t be that bad. This was probably a misunderstanding — some overzealous journalist twisting data, or a competitor feeding poison to the press. Vivian was reckless, yes, but she wasn’t stupid. She’d never risk her empire over cheap shortcuts.At least, that’s what I wanted to believe.I exhaled, pinching the bridge of my nose. The partnership between Graveswell and Maison Vivra wasn’t supposed to be messy. It had been a clean, strategic play — a calculated exchange of advantage.And yet… something in my

Natalie’s POVThe office was too quiet for a Wednesday morning.Most people were in meetings or glued to the ongoing Maison Vivra updates, but my corner of York International felt like a crime scene—one where I was the only detective left standing.Numbers stared back at me from the dual monitors. Shipment codes. Supplier IDs. Payment ledgers that looked too clean, too perfectly balanced.And there it was again—the email.No sender name. No signature. Just the ledger. The first time I’d read it, I’d assumed it was junk or some ex-employee trying to stir trouble. But curiosity had its own gravitational pull, and I’d fallen straight into orbit.I’d spent the past two hours cross-referencing ProcureEx with York’s supplier database. Most entries came up blank. But one—just one—had pinged a match.ProcureEx was listed as a third-tier intermediary for Maison Vivra’s fabric shipments. On paper, the company didn’t exist. In practice, it was moving millions of dollars’ worth of material throu

Brandon’s POVVivian chose The Marlowe — the kind of restaurant that thrived on appearances. Crystal glasses, quiet jazz, waiters who knew how to vanish before they overheard anything worth printing. Typical.She was already there when I arrived, lounging in the booth like she owned the skyline. “Brandon,” she purred, rising to kiss the air near my cheek. “You’ve been avoiding me.”“Busy cleaning up after other people’s messes,” I said evenly, sliding into the seat across from her.Her smile didn’t falter, but I saw the slight stiffening in her shoulders. “Ah, the Maison Vivra hysteria. You know how the media loves to turn nothing into scandal.”“Nothing?” I leaned back, studying her. “The investigation board doesn’t launch a probe for fun.”Vivian waved her hand, perfectly manicured fingers slicing through the air. “A misunderstanding with a Thai supplier. Competitors feeding rumors to the press. It’s being handled.”Handled. I hated that word. It always meant someone was lying.The

Emma’s POVI sat across from Mr. Tan, the company rep for Ardent Group’s luxury incentive trip, reviewing the final itinerary for the Maldives.He was polite enough — the quiet, efficient type who probably ironed his socks and never showed up late for a meeting.“Everything looks excellent, Ms. Emma,” he said, tapping a finger on the resort page. “The board’s very pleased with the proposal you’d presented to me during our last meeting.”“Glad to hear it,” I replied, offering a practiced smile. “We take pride in making sure your company’s top performers feel like royalty. All that’s left is the signature and deposit release.”He nodded. “Yes, about that.” He checked his watch. “My boss will handle the signing personally. He’s quite hands-on with this new division. He should be here any minute.”Perfect. Another executive who thinks ‘hands-on’ means ‘hovering.’Still, I straightened in my seat, rehearsing the kind of neutral professionalism I saved for high-maintenance clients.“Of cour

Brandon’s POVI barely slept.Every time I shut my eyes, I saw her — the curve of her mouth when she smiled politely, the way her eyes softened when she forgot to keep them guarded. And then, damn it, the image of those flowers on her desk.Matthew’s flowers.I told myself I didn’t care. She was free to have dinner, breakfast, or a three-day getaway with him if she wanted. But the thought gnawed at me anyway. And I hated it. And of course, these thoughts were mixed in with all the other problems I needed to worry about. So yeah, that meant I couldn’t get enough sleep. By six, I gave up on pretending I could focus on sleep. By seven, I was already driving through half-awake traffic, caffeine and irritation my only fuel.The moment I stepped into my office, the screens mounted on the wall flashed red tickers. I didn’t need sound to know it was bad.“York International and Graveswell Holdings allegedly linked to Maison Vivra’s counterfeit material scandal…”My hand froze on the remote