After the Divorce: Crushed on My Lawyer Ex-wife

#86 “How do you know my grandfather?”

Sophia scrutinized the man with a keen eye, her gaze taking in every detail. He was cloaked in a long black coat, and a hat cast a shadow over half of his face. Nothing about his appearance rang familiar, and an unsettling feeling gnawed at her.

A furrowed brow accentuated her suspicion as she inquired, “How do you know my grandfather?”

The man’s reply was curt, offering no explanation. “That’s not important now. He wanted me to meet you and give you a message.”

Sophia didn’t appreciate his evasive response; it only heightened her wariness. “Then tell me the message,” she shot back sharply. Unfazed by her skepticism, he continued, “Not here. We need to go to a more secluded place to…”

Sophia cut him off abruptly. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

A cold, enigmatic smile played upon the man’s lips. He produced a piece of paper and a pen from his pocket, hastily scribbling down something.

believe me, Miss Johnson,” he sneered. “To confirm my words, check the address on this sheet. It’s where your grandfather resided in London three years ago. And when

skepticism turning into curiosity. Before departing, the man issued a parting message. “I’ll be waiting

the piece of paper, staring at the address with a sense of foreboding. It was a

stranger’s note had instilled in her. After a quick taxi ride back to her hotel, she found herself unable to enjoy the rest of the day. The mysterious address on

clutched in her hand, she ordered a room service of coffee and muffins. These creature comforts would keep her alert and focused

and initiated her search. She Googled the address, inputting the street name given by the stranger. Her eyes scanned through various results, bringing up pictures of the most ordinary apartment building she had ever seen. There was nothing remarkable about it,

knew that the address alone wouldn’t suffice; she needed more information to connect the dots. Her next

her focus and decided to access the website of London’s town planning. It was a meticulous process, navigating through bureaucratic databases, property records, and municipal resources. She was aware that the answers to her

meticulous efforts began to yield results. It didn’t take long for her to confirm the existence of an old man named Christopher Johnson connected to the address she had been provided.

she drafted a text message and sent it to the phone number he had provided, arranging to meet at the front of the apartment building the next

received the stranger’s concise response: “Wait for me there.” A smile of satisfaction

front of the address, waiting for the stranger. She looked

brisk and purposeful. His arrival disrupted the silence that

of time, exhaling the stories they held within. Sophia’s eyes scanned the dark room, its once vibrant colors now faded, and cobwebs clung to forgotten corners. The place felt frozen in an era long past, isolated and neglected by the world

more than he let on. She began her search, each step echoing through the deserted place. Sophia moved carefully, checking every room, every piece of furniture, and every potential hiding place for

the intrusion, as Sophia meticulously examined the spaces, her fingers tracing patterns in the dust.