The Ex-Wife's Triumph novel Chapter 31

Two years later, Switzerland.

It was evening, and the sunset had dyed half the sky in hues of crimson and gold, a final gentle caress from the sun before it dipped below the horizon.

On the lawn of a sprawling estate, a toddler, barely over a year old, was stumbling around in play. His name was Seven, and close behind him followed his nanny, watchful and attentive.

When a black Cayenne slowly rolled into the driveway, Seven immediately stopped what he was doing. He wobbled excitedly toward the car.

Perhaps running too fast for his little legs, he stumbled and flopped onto the grass.

At this age, his gait was naturally unsteady. Growing up in a multilingual environment, his speech was a chaotic mix of fragmented words—sometimes German, sometimes English.

The nanny hurried to help him, but Seven had already pushed himself up from the lawn, brushing off his knees.

Just then, Lucy stepped out of the black Cayenne.

Dressed in a crisp white shirt and a fitted black pencil skirt, her hair was swept up into a casual bun. Her makeup was exquisite, radiating the capable aura of a career woman.

Even after becoming a mother, her figure remained slender and graceful, betraying no sign that she had ever given birth.

She watched the little boy running unsteadily toward her—clad in a light gray t-shirt and shorts, his bangs bouncing with every step. Seven opened his mouth, shouting in a slur, "M... Momma."

Lucy immediately stepped forward, crouched down, and pulled him into a tight embrace. "Little seven, did you eat your dinner properly today?" she asked softly.

Seven nodded vigorously, then suddenly popped out a word, "Yes..."

Lucy couldn't resist planting a kiss on his tender cheek. "My little Seven is so good!"

As she stood up, lifting him into her arms to head inside, she whispered a promise, "Mommy will make you homemade pasta tonight."

Who would have thought that Lucy, who once couldn't tell salt from sugar, would develop such culinary skills after Seven was born? She could now whip up all sorts of nutritious, delicious meals for him.

Whenever she had time, she loved cooking for him personally.

Seven was a picky eater, but he always gave her credit. He ate whatever she made with gusto.

Every time she watched him eat, Lucy would secretly rejoice, knowing her decision back then had been the right one.

Back inside, she handed Seven to the nanny and went straight to the kitchen.

Twenty minutes later, Lucy walked out with a steaming bowl of pasta. She settled Seven into his high chair.

The little boy sat there, looking up at her, struggling to squeeze out a word: "Thank..."

Lucy laughed at his serious expression and gently ruffled his hair. "Eat up."

***

The dead of night held Vista Gardens at the Capital in a deep, breathless silence.

Kingsley stood before the floor-to-ceiling window in his bathrobe.

Outside, lightning flashed and rain poured in sheets.

His phone screen suddenly lit up—a message from Joyce: [Kingsley, there's thunder. I'm scared!]

After more than a year of rehabilitation, Joyce had fully recovered and returned to the country. She was now studying at home to complete her degree.

Kingsley merely glanced at the message, possessing no desire to reply, as if he hadn't seen it at all.

"But I can't sleep during the day..." Joyce's voice dropped lower.

"Then read a book or study." Kingsley's response was dismissive.

Joyce paused on the other end, then probed tentatively, "Um, why don't you come over tonight? I'll cook for you."

"I have a business dinner tonight," Kingsley declined politely. "Get some rest, or go out for a walk."

Joyce gave a silent affirmative, and the call ended.

Kingsley tossed his phone aside. He picked up a file, but a knock sounded at the door.

Shane pushed the door open, placed a document on the desk, and reminded him, "Mr. Sherwood, the meeting is in ten minutes."

Kingsley flipped through the file without looking up. "Okay."

Shane complied and left.

Ten minutes later, Kingsley walked into the conference room on the dot and took the seat at the head of the table.

The room instantly fell silent. A moment later, the project manager stood up and distributed the proposal to everyone.

Kingsley glanced at the proposal for only a second before violently throwing it onto the table. He snapped, his voice icy, "We spent three hundred million securing that land, and you bring me this trash? If you can do the job, do it. If not, get the hell out of here!"

Everyone knew that the suburban plot in Eastborough had cost double the projected price due to interference from Jane's company. All those losses had to be recouped through the development of this land.

In the conference room, Kingsley's voice grew even more terrifying. "Next week! If you don't have a decent proposal by then, all of you can pack your bags!"

With that, he stood up and stormed out of the conference room, leaving behind a heavy silence and palpable tension.