All Chapters of News Flash, Ex-husband, I'm Alive!: Chapter 11 - Chapter 19

The silence of the study was a heavy, suffocating thing. Valentina remained on the floor, her back pressed against the cold mahogany door, listening to the frantic drumbeat of her own heart. The scent of the room, old leather, dried roses, and the lingering, metallic tang of her own terror seemed to press in on her.Kennedy Hale is running.The thought should have brought her comfort, but instead, it felt like a cold blade sliding between her ribs. If Kennedy was liquidating assets, if he was preparing to vanish, he would take the truth with him. Or worse, he would realize that the ghost haunting the Kingston estate wasn’t a hallucination, but a living, breathing threat that needed to be silenced permanently this time.She looked again at the photograph of Misha Kingston on the desk. The woman’s cold, triumphant gaze seemed to mock her. You think you can play this game? the image seemed to ask. You think you can survive in a world where even the air costs a fortune?Valentina stood up

The silence in the office was no longer the heavy, stagnant air of a corporate suite. It was the charged, crackling atmosphere that preceded a lightning strike. Ian’s hand was still tangled in the hair at the nape of Valentina’s neck, his thumb tracing the sensitive line of her jaw. He looked at her with an intensity that felt as though he were trying to peel back the ivory fabric of her suit and the stubborn layers of her soul. "You want to be his warden," Ian murmured, his voice a low vibration that thrummed against her skin. "You want to turn my accounting department into your personal gulag. Do you have any idea what that looks like to the board? To the SEC? To the man who currently holds your life in a 365-day contract?"Valentina didn't flinch. She leaned into him, the heat of his body a dangerous comfort against the cold glass of the desk. "I think it looks like efficiency, Ian. I think it looks like a husband trusting his wife to protect the family coffers from a man who is

The moon was a sliver of bone in the New York sky, casting long, skeletal shadows across the manicured grounds of the Hale villa. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and the heavy, cloying perfume of night-blooming jasmine, a scent that would, within the hour, be replaced by something far more foul.Kennedy and Lilith stood in the farthest corner of the garden, near the weeping willow where the earth was still slightly sunken. They were both dressed in obsidian black from head to toe, their silhouettes blurring into the darkness. Kennedy’s hands were shaking so violently that the shovel in his grip rattled against the stones. "Start digging," Lilith commanded, her voice a cold, sharp whip. Her cheek was swollen where he had struck her, the bruise a dark plum color in the moonlight, but she didn't seem to feel it. Her focus was singular, absolute."This is madness," Kennedy hissed, though he shoved the blade of the shovel into the dirt. "If anyone sees us doing this in our

The air in the hallway didn’t just grow cold; it vanished. Kennedy stood frozen, a deer caught in the high-beams of a semi-truck. His false bravado didn’t just deflate, it evaporated. Small beads of sweat began to pop out along his hairline, glistening under the fluorescent office lights. One second passed. Two. Three. By the fifth second, a thick droplet rolled down his temple, carving a path through his expensive foundation.Ian didn't just walk; he stalked. He moved with a predatory grace that made the marble floor seem to tremble. He stopped inches from Kennedy, looming over him like an ancient, vengeful god."You look like you’re having trouble breathing, Hale," Ian said, his voice a low, terrifying rumble. "Is it the air in my building? Or is it the realization that you just spoke to my wife as if she were a common street walker?""I... Mr Kingston, I didn't mean…" Kennedy’s voice was a pathetic squeak."I don't care what you meant," Ian interrupted, his eyes flashing with a vi

The key fumbled in Kennedy’s shaking hand, scraping against the lock of his luxury apartment with a metallic screech that set his teeth on edge. When the door finally clicked open, he didn't walk in so much as he tumbled, his legs giving out the moment he crossed the threshold.He lay on the foyer rug for a long minute, the stench of industrial-grade bleach and ammonia clinging to his skin like a second, poisonous layer of sweat.His designer suit, the one that had cost him a month’s salary, was stained with gray water and grime from the floors of sixty-two different restrooms when he could not bear the bleach smell of the cleaner’s uniform. He had five hundred and eighty-eight left to go."Martha?" he croaked, his voice raw from the fumes. "Martha, get me a drink. I need... I need a bath. Now!"Silence met his demand. The sprawling penthouse, usually humming with the quiet efficiency of his domestic staff, was as still as a tomb.Kennedy dragged himself up, leaning heavily against th