Divorce to Destiny: Reclaiming My CEO Husband by Anney GW

Chapter 406

My CEO 409

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409 Friends Are Overrated

(Jayden)

The three-hour flight goes by in a blur. I suspect I slept through most of it, lost in a drunken haze, but I can't be sure. My head is pounding, a steady, merciless throb that matches the ache in my chest.

The alcohol dulled the fire, but it's like trying to put out a forest blaze with a glass of water. It's only made the edges of my grief sharper, more cutting.

The jet touches down in London, and I force myself upright, stumbling slightly as I exit. My vision swims, and I grab my briefcase just to have something solid to hold onto.

The fight with Lance replays in my mind, every punch, every accusation. And Winona's face-her eyes wide with shock, then hurt. The memory crushes me like a boulder, heavy and unrelenting.

Viktor is waiting. Of course he is. He's leaning against a sleek black SUV, arms crossed, his expression as impassive as ever. His eyes narrow as he watches me stagger down the steps of the jet.

car with that same unshakeable authority he always carries, moving toward

does he always know? How does everyone always know everything about me before I

his voice smooth and unruffled. But his eyes? They're sharper than broken glass,

"More like a goddamn train wreck." My voice is hoarse, the words slurring just enough

stumble sideways. Viktor is there

drinking," he says, though it's

I nearly topple over again. "I'm fine, Viktor. Just... get

me upright. "I heard about the fight," he says, his voice neutral,

back to life. "Yeah? Well, who gives a fuck?" The words spill out, reckless and ugly. "Maybe you had sex

a moment, Viktor's face flickers with something-disappointment, maybe-but

to the bait. He just leads me to the car, his silence infuriatingly calm.

My mind won't stop spinning. Winona. Lance. Phillip. The photos. It's all looping in my head, a horror film

garage of our London building." You need rest, Jayden," he says, his voice steady. "You're not in any state to

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argue. I feel like I'm coming apart at the seams. The alcohol is wearing off, leaving behind only raw, aching pain. Viktor helps me out

inside, and the staff nod politely, probably too used to seeing powerful men fall apart. The thought makes me sick. I'm supposed to

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