Chasing his Ex-Wife Back

Chapter 6

The rain pounds against the pavement as I stand on the edge of the street, my body drenched and trembling. My phone slips from my numb fingers, hitting the ground with a soft thud. The words from the hospital still echo in my mind: “Your mother has just passed away.”

A sob tears through my chest, raw and uncontrollable, blending with the relentless downpour. The world around me feels blurred and meaningless. First Damion, now this—how much more can I lose before there’s nothing left of me?

I drop to my knees, the cold water soaking through my clothes as my fingers fumble to pick up my phone. I clutch it tightly, my breaths shallow and panicked. Somewhere in the haze of my thoughts, a sliver of resolve flickers to life. I can’t fall apart here—not in front of Damion’s building, not with Kaia’s smug face probably watching from a window.

My mother wouldn’t have wanted me to crumble. I need to go to her—to say goodbye, even if it’s too late.

The cab ride to the hospital feels like an eternity, my heart pounding in rhythm with the wipers slashing against the windshield. When I finally step into the sterile halls, the familiar scent of antiseptic and faint despair hits me like a punch. I clutch my purse tighter, steeling myself for what’s to come.

A nurse leads me to my mother’s room, her expression kind but professional. As I step inside, my chest tightens. The room is unnaturally still, the machines silent. My mother lies there, her frail body wrapped in a blanket that seems too big for her now. Her face is peaceful, almost serene, and for a moment, I let myself believe she’s just sleeping.

I sink into the chair beside her, my hand trembling as I reach out to touch hers. Her skin is cold, the warmth of life gone. Tears stream down my face, unstoppable, as I lean forward and whisper, “I’m so sorry, Mom. I should’ve been here sooner. I should’ve—”

“I’m sorry,” I say through a sob, clutching her hand. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”

I stay like that for what feels like an eternity, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. Grief wraps itself around me, suffocating and relentless.

A knock on the door jolts me from my despair. I wipe at my tear-streaked face and turn toward the sound. A man in a sharp black suit stands in the doorway, his posture stiff but composed. His presence feels entirely out of place in this moment of loss, and suspicion flickers in my mind.

“Ms. Everett?” he asks, his tone polite but firm.

“Yes?” My voice is hoarse, barely audible.

He steps inside, closing the door softly behind him. “My name is Robert Hayes. I’m an attorney representing your late mother’s estate.”

“Her estate?” I echo, blinking in confusion. “There’s nothing to represent. She didn’t have an estate—she couldn’t even pay her hospital bills.”

Robert’s expression remains calm, though a hint of unease flickers in his eyes. “That’s not entirely true, Ms. Everett. Your mother held a substantial inheritance from your late father, valued at approximately ONE BILLION DOLLARS.”

The words land like a thunderclap, making my head spin. “What?” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “That’s impossible. She never said anything—why wouldn’t she use it for her treatment?”

Robert hesitates, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Your mother made the inheritance conditional, placing it in a trust. The funds were given to your husband, Mr. Ryder, to manage until such time as…” He pauses, his gaze shifting uncomfortably.

“Until what?” I demand, my voice rising with frustration.

“Until such time as your marriage to Mr. Ryder is legally dissolved.”

The room seems to tilt, and I grip the edge of the chair for support. “What are you talking about? Why would she do that?”

Robert’s expression softens, but his tone remains professional. “Your mother believed in the sanctity of marriage, Ms. Everett. She hoped the trust would incentivize Mr. Ryder to support and protect you, as your father would have wished. And to some extent, he did.”

My heart pounds, confusion giving way to anger. “What do you mean by ‘he did’?”

“Mr. Ryder has been utilizing portions of the trust to assist with expenses—both for you and your mother. From my understanding, the funds went toward medical bills, your shared home, and other living costs,” Robert explains carefully. “However, the trust is specific in how and when the remaining funds are distributed.”

I press my fingers to my temples, the pieces clicking into place with a sickening clarity. Damion—he’d been holding the bulk of the inheritance hostage, all while making himself appear like a savior. And now he expected me to be grateful?

Before I can say anything, another knock at the door startles us both. The door swings open, and my heart drops as Damion strides into the room. His presence is as commanding as ever, his tailored suit immaculate despite the late hour. His expression is cold, calculated—a stark contrast to the storm raging inside me.

“What are you doing here?” I demand, rising from the chair. My voice trembles with a mix of anger and disbelief.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Damion says smoothly, his eyes flicking to Robert before settling back on me. “But it seems we have unfinished business to discuss.”

Robert clears his throat, stepping forward. “Mr. Ryder, this is highly inappropriate. Ms. Everett has just lost her mother—”

“I’m not here for pleasantries,” Damion cuts him off, his tone sharp. He pulls a folder from his briefcase and places it on the table with a deliberate thud. “Isabelle, I need you to sign these documents.”

I glance at the folder, my stomach twisting. “What are they?”

“An amendment to the trust,” he says casually, as if we’re discussing the weather. “It will finalize the allocation of the inheritance—for our benefit.”

I freeze. “For ‘our’ benefit?” My voice rises. “Don’t you mean yours? You’re only here because you need my signature. This isn’t about me—it’s about you.”

Damion’s jaw tightens, his calm exterior slipping for just a moment. “Isabelle, don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be. I’ve been managing this money for years—handling your mother’s medical costs, maintaining the home we shared. I deserve compensation for my efforts.”

My stomach churns with disbelief. “Compensation? What are you even saying?”

Damion takes a step closer, his gaze cold and unflinching. “I want ninety percent of the inheritance.”

The air leaves my lungs, and I stare at him, stunned. “What?!”