My Coldhearted Ex demands a Remarriage

Her question hung in the air like a thundercloud.

A friend? High-priced scripts?

Elizabeth felt a pang of humiliation twist in her chest.

After everything, had he really sunk so low?

The implication hung heavy in the air.

If James Group needed scripts, they could hire anyone.

Why involve her?

Elijah frowned, shaking his head.

“No.

Why do you keep dragging Sandra into this?”

Elizabeth’s laugh was sharp and icy.

“If it’s not her, then who is it? I’ve never heard of any friend of yours needing scripts.”

Elijah’s eyes darted away, his usual composure slipping.

He had fabricated the story on the spot and now couldn’t conjure a single plausible name.

Elizabeth’s conviction solidified.

It was Sandra who wanted the scripts from the beginning.

“Elijah, you’ve gone too far!” she erupted.

His suppressed anger matched hers.

Tugging at his collar, he responded coldly, “What do you want? You demand respect for your career, and I’m providing resources.

Yet you blame me? Even if it were for Sandra, wouldn’t it be better than those third-rate companies? Sandra wouldn’t be picky.

Are you just itching for a fight, or do you really think I won’t divorce you?”

Elizabeth’s temper erupted like a volcano.

“Then do it—divorce me right now!” she shouted, storming toward the door.

But a pang of frustration stopped her in her tracks.

Turning back, her voice cracked with anger.

“Resources? You’ve stolen my roles and handed them to her, and now you want me to bow down and be her servant? Dream on! I’d rather let my scripts rot than hand them over to that hypocrite.

I won’t let my heroines be butchered and mocked by the audience!”

She spun on her heel, but before she could leave, Oliver stepped in to block her way, his face a picture of calm.

“Ms.

Sandra, Mr.

James didn’t mean it that way.”

Willow, struggling to suppress her amusement, added with feigned sweetness, “Ms.

Sandra, won’t you have some late-night supper before heading out?”

Elijah’s expression darkened, his temper barely contained.

“Let her go!” he barked.

Elizabeth didn’t wait.

She shoved past Oliver and stormed out, her fury propelling her forward.

At the gate, she spotted Elijah’s sleek Maybach parked smugly in the driveway.

A wicked impulse seized her.

With all the pent-up rage in her body, she kicked the car door, hard.

The alarm screamed in protest, and a noticeable dent marred the pristine surface.

Elizabeth didn’t linger to admire her handiwork.

Feeling a flicker of satisfaction, she disappeared into the night, her heart a storm of emotions.