The Billion-Dollar Divorce (Ian and Chloe) novel Chapter 71

Chapter 71

Chapter 71

Chloe froze mid–spoonful when she saw Ian’s message.

Ian never did anything without a reason.

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Her lawyer had already handed all the divorce evidence to the court, and the trial was set for next week.

The only explanation she could think of: he’d taken a late–night flight to Tecnovia to protect his name–and the woman he cared about–hoping to convince her to drop the lawsuit.

After a long pause, Chloe set down her pie, turned off every light in the apartment, and retreated to her bedroom.

But just as she was about to climb into bed, her phone rang.

It was her female neighbor–a colleague from the hospital–calling to ask if she was home, and to say someone was waiting at her door.

Chloe sat on the edge of the bed for a minute, her mind racing. Then she stood up.

Everyone in this building worked at the hospital.

It was late, and she couldn’t risk disturbing her coworkers.

Besides, she hadn’t done anything wrong–and running wouldn’t fix anything.

Taking a deep breath, Chloe walked to the door and pulled it open. Ian’s intense gaze met hers immediately.

They stared at each other in silence, the moment stretching out between them.

The Chloe who used to be bubbly and clingy, lighting up with nonstop chatter whenever lan was near, now stood quiet just inside the doorway.

The Ian who used to be stoic and distant, cold and passive around her, now stood on her threshold–holding a cake.

They froze there: she just inside, he just outside.

Jan looked at her and said, “Happy birthday.”

Chloe’s gaze dropped to the cake.

Ian noticed and glanced down at it too.

Memories hit her like a punch: the sunlit beach, the cruise ship, the bouquets, the blueberry cake, and that Instagram post dripping with his love for someone else.

Her heart clenched, sharp and tight, and the color drained from her face.

13:29 Thu, Oct 2

Chapter 71

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Ian’s voice was soft, almost tentative. “It’s your favorite. Red velvet. I picked it up from that little patisserie in Kingsford–the one you always said was the best.”

Chloe pointed toward the doorway, her face blank. “Get that cake out of here.

Ian’s brow furrowed, but he took a step inside anyway.

That single step across her threshold snapped something inside her.

She rushed forward, grabbing for the box in his hands, her voice rising sharply. “I said take it away!”

Ian quickly set the cake down on the console table and shut the door behind him.

He caught her wrist, his grip firm, and forced her to meet his gaze.

“I caught a red–eye flying here on your birthday,” he said, his voice low but intense. “And this is the welcome I get?”

Chloe’s eyes locked onto the cake box, its cheerful string and elegant sticker taunting her. A raw, uncontrollable wave of emotion broke over her.

She lunged for it like something possessed, her hands trembling as she tried to seize it and fling it across the room. Ian caught her, wrapping his arms around her in a vise–like hug, pinning her arms to her sides as she struggled.

They were locked in a desperate, silent stalemate—a brutal tug–of–war with nowhere to go.

Chloe thrashed in Ian’s arms, her voice sharp with fury. “I don’t want you here for my birthday–not now, not ever! And I am definitely not eating that cake!”

Ian’s hand came up, his fingers gripping the nape of her neck, forcing her to look at him.

His tone was low and measured. “We’re husband and wife, Chloe. Not enemies. How long are you going to keep this war going?”

Tears welled in her red–rimmed eyes, but her glare was pure ice.

“The day you secretly baked that blueberry cake for your precious Andrea was the day you stopped being my husband. So don’t you dare fake it now.”

They stood close, her words hanging in the narrow space between them. Ian froze, the air catching in his chest.

Then, almost reflexively, he pulled her into a tight embrace.

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“Sign the divorce papers without a fight,” she stated, her tone frigid and unyielding, “and none of the evidence ever has to see the light of day.”

He returned, closing the door softly behind him. His voice was conciliatory. “It’s gone. Can we please just sit and talk?”

Chloe turned her head away, her profile cold and impassive. “There’s nothing to talk about. Get out.”

He didn’t move, his complicated gaze fixed on her.

He raised a hand to gently brush a strand of hair from her face, but she swatted his touch away with pure disdain.

In a sudden, possessive move, Ian grabbed her arm and pulled her tightly against his chest.

13:30 Thu, Oct 2

Chapter 71

She fought him, pushing and twisting, but he only held her tighter, absorbing her struggles without posting

As he did, the feel of her frame–noticeably thinner, almost fragile–struck him with a force that left his eyes raw with unconcealed pain.

His voice dropped, low and improbably gentle, a stark contrast to the strude

“Chloe, everyone has a history. Andrea, that boy.. they’re chapters from a past 1 closed long ago. You don’t have to keep tearing open wounds that have already healed.”

Trapped and furious, Chloe did the only thing she could. She sank her teeth into the hard mode of his shoulder.

Ian flinched, his grip loosening a fraction, but he still refused to release her.

Her knuckles, clenched desperately in the fine wool of his suit jacket, were bone–white

Trying her best to contain her fury, she snapped, “You betrayed me by taking care of Andrea and her son- that is your present. You vowed you’d look after them for the rest of your life–that is your future. Don’t you dare tell me I’m obsessed with your past,” she seethed, “when it’s you who has made them the center of your past, your present, and your future!”

The tension between them coiled, suffocating and tight.

Ian’s voice was strained with frustration. “Helping them doesn’t mean I’m letting go of our marriage. It doesn’t mean I’m giving up on you.”

He took a breath, trying to find the right words. “I know I handled things badly after she came back, but you’ve got it wrong–it’s not what you think between us.”

Chloe just looked at him, her expression going numb, her eyes hollow.

“You were the one who said it,” she stated, her voice flat and dead. “You wanted to marry Andrea. You don’t love me. So if that’s how you feel, just let me go.”

A storm gathered in Jan’s darkening gaze.

He stared at her, his voice low and deliberate. “Does love really mean that much to you?”