Dear Ex-wife, Marry Me novel Chapter 1814

For the man who had captured the Millers’ estate, if she seriously married him, it was an insult to the entire family.

"I get it, you hold a grudge tighter than a miser with his last dime. But what's done is done. That thing in the past, I messed up; didn’t handle it well. I should've made sure the compensation reached those who deserved it, not left them to struggle. Life's dealt its hand; let's not reshuffle the deck, okay?"

Abner was someone who always thought of the big picture, and after his wife was deceased, he alone raised his daughter and did it well, never getting married again.

Lips pressed, Carol remained silent, seething with a mix of disgust and rage as she thought of Felix, probably cozying up to Listina even at this late hour.

"Carol, are you listening to me?"

"I heard you, Dad."

Abner read her face like a book - one that clearly wasn't going to follow his storyline. He frowned, "All I want is for you to be okay when I'm out of this mess."

"Dad, I will be."

But she wondered if his health would hold out that long. Felix had the system rigged against them, blocking even the chance for medical parole. Her hand, hanging by her side, clenched into a fist.

Meanwhile, at the top floor of the Miller Group skyscraper, the lights in the CEO's office were still on. Felix, alone, was burning the midnight oil.

He'd cleared his desk of the next month's work, hoping to carve out more time for going back home early. But no matter how early he arrived home, Carol was never there. The thought tightened his grip on the paperwork.

An employee knocked at the time and entered to deliver more files, surprised to see him still there, "Mr. Brown, aren't you heading home? The building's empty."

"I'll stay here tonight."

"Take care of yourself, then."

The employee placed the new files down and left, only to gossip with a colleague in the lobby on the ground floor moments later.

"Mr. Brown's a machine. Still up there, working away. God, the man's too handsome for his own good - like a walking, talking work of art. Who's gonna be lucky enough to marry him?"

Her colleague shushed her, and scanning the surrounding to ensure no one was there, then whispered, "You're new here, so you probably haven't heard of something through grapevine, have you?”