All Chapters of After The Divorce: Ex-Husband Regrets And Begs Me: Chapter 161 - Chapter 170

MAXWELL'S POV:The bullet tears through Kier's shoulder and he screams.His whole body jerks sideways, spine twisting, knees buckling. The knife flies from his grip and clatters across the concrete floor, spinning once, twice, three times before it stops. Kier's mouth hangs open, his eyes wide, his face the color of old milk. Blood pours between his fingers where he clamps his hand over the wound, hot and dark, dripping onto the floor in fat, wet splashes.I keep my arm straight. My finger stays on the trigger. My gaze stays locked on the spot where the bullet entered, right below his collarbone, exactly where I aimed.He stumbles backward, his boots scraping against the concrete. His head whips toward me, and for one heartbeat, his eyes meet mine. There is nothing in them. No rage. No cunning. Just a raw, empty shock, the look of a man who walked into a room certain he was the predator and just realized he was prey the whole time."Drop the knife," I say.The knife is already on the

LYSANDER'S POV:The sunlight hits us the second we step out of the bunker.Celestine flinches, throwing her arm up over her eyes, the light too bright after so many days in the dark. Her fingers curl around my sleeve, gripping tight, anchoring herself to me.The sun is rising over the mountains. The fog that clung to the valley all night has burned away, and I can see everything. The fields. The forests. The winding road that leads down the mountain. The world stretching out forever.Celestine lowers her arm slowly. Her eyes are watering, squinting against the light, but she does not look away. She stares at the sunrise like she is seeing it for the first time."There is blood on my hands," she says.I look down. Her fingers are stained red, dried blood caked under her nails, in the creases of her palms, along the lines of her wrists. Kier's blood. From when she grabbed at him, pushed at him, fought him."Come here," I say.I take her hands in mine. I lift them to my mouth and I kiss

CELESTINE'S POV:"I am already sick of you."He kisses me. It is gentle at first, barely a brush of his lips against mine, as if he is afraid I might break. But I pull him closer, my hand fisting in his shirt, and the kiss deepens. He tastes just like coffee and tears and something else, something that is just him.I am alive. I am here. I am his.**LYSANDER'S POV:**She falls asleep on my chest.Her hair is spread across my shoulder, dark and tangled. Her breath is warm through the thin fabric of my shirt. Her hand is curled against my heart, her fingers slack, her palm flat against my ribs.I watch her breathe. I count each inhale, each exhale, each small movement of her chest. The doctors said she is fine, that the baby is fine, that she just needs rest and fluids and time. But I do not trust doctors. I do not trust anyone. I only trust her.Her neck is bruised. Purple and yellow and green, the marks of Kier's fingers where he grabbed her, where he held the knife. There is a th

KIER'S POV:The courtroom smells like old wood and nervous sweat and the cheap cologne of the bailiff who stands beside me, his hand on my arm with his grip tight enough to leave bruises.I am wearing an orange jumpsuit. They took my suit. They took my watch. They took my belt and my shoelaces and everything else that might help me hurt myself or someone else. I am Kier Thornwell, once one of the most powerful men in London, and I am standing in a courtroom in an orange jumpsuit like a common criminal.The judge is an old woman with gray hair and small eyes that miss nothing. She looks at me the way you might look at a roach that crawled across your kitchen floor. With disgust. With contempt. With the quiet certainty that she will be rid of me soon.My lawyer quit three weeks ago. I fired him. He wanted me to plead insanity, to tell the court that I was not responsible for my actions, that something inside me had snapped and that I was a victim of my own broken mind.I am not insane.

CELESTINE'S POV: Camille walks out of the courthouse a free woman. The sun is bright after the dim fluorescent lights of the courtroom. She blinks against it, raising a hand to shield her eyes. Reporters swarm around her, shouting questions, thrusting microphones into her face. She does not answer. She just walks. Lysander arranged for a car. It is waiting at the curb, black and the windows tinted. A driver holds the door open for her. She pauses at the bottom of the steps and looks back at the courthouse. I am standing in the doorway, watching her. Lysander is beside me, his hand on my back. Camille's eyes meet mine. For a moment, neither of us speaks. Then she nods, just once, a small acknowledgment of everything that has happened, everything we have survived, everything we have lost. She gets into the car and the door closes and she drives away. I do not know if I will ever see her again. I do not know if I want to. ****** Her mother is waiting in the gallery when we go ba