My Coldhearted Ex demands a Remarriage by Eva Blackwood

Chapter 453:

Her hand went limp, and her phone slipped from her fingers, falling onto the marble floor. The screen shattered in a web of cracks.

Why? Why was Carrie so lucky?

Kristopher sat on the couch for a good half-hour, his face reflecting his hesitation. Eventually, he got up and headed toward the bedroom. When he reached for the door handle, he felt it wouldn’t budge. It took him a second to realize that Carrie had locked it from the inside. But since all the locks in the house were synced to his fingerprint, her small act of defiance wasn’t enough to stop him.

Just as he was about to press his finger to the lock sensor, his phone started ringing. He pulled out his phone and saw Lise’s name flashing on the screen. He lowered his hand and walked down the staircase before answering the call.

burst through the line, frantic and shaky. “Mr. Norris! It’s Lise—she had

At Bayview Villa…

faint noise made Carrie look up from her phone. She walked to the window, catching a glimpse of Kristopher’s car pulling out of the driveway. She stood there and watched the sleek black vehicle vanish into the night, merging with the shadows. A chill crept through her chest, leaving her feeling uneasy. No matter how much she tried to push the thought away, reality wouldn’t let her. Leaving at this hour could only mean one thing: Kristopher was

barbecue and a case of beer. The moment Carrie unlocked the door, Camille pushed the barbecue into her hands and marched inside with the

not celebrate with your favorite barbecue? Drama like this? Top-tier entertainment.

smiled faintly. This barbecue wasn’t just food—it was nostalgia. It came from a tiny street vendor, famous for its unbeatable flavors. No delivery apps, no flashy promotions—just a crowd of loyal regulars who kept its reputation alive. She realized how long it had been

bit of the heaviness in her heart lift. She shut the door and trailed after Camille. Camille, true to form, kicked her shoes off without a care, leaving them wherever they

had decided it should serve as an everyday carpet. Carrie’s mind did the math in seconds: cleaning that rug alone would set them back over a thousand dollars. Then again, whether the damage was a faint smudge or a full-blown disaster, it hardly seemed to matter anymore. Deciding it wasn’t worth stressing over, she grabbed the barbecue and

skewer of chicken wings, and wiped her greasy fingers carelessly on the priceless rug. Carrie threw