My coldhearted ex demands a remarriage

Chapter 709:

The sudden question caught Camille off guard. She fumbled for an answer, blurting out, “I saw him with some police officers and a doctor…”

Halfway through her sentence, she stopped abruptly, realizing she had revealed too much.

Carrie’s voice softened. “You were worried about him, weren’t you? That’s why you followed him.”

Camille’s silence stretched between them, heavy and telling. Finally, she let out a soft hum of acknowledgment. “Yeah.”

“What is your plan, Camille?” Carrie asked gently.

“What do you mean?” Camille replied, feigning confusion.

“You know what I mean,” Carrie said. “Your relationship with Albin. You haven’t let go, have you? You still have feelings for him. And honestly, the issues between you two haven’t escalated to the point of no return. Maybe it’s time for a real conversation.”

Camille’s voice trembled slightly, but she quickly masked it with a sharp and decisive tone.

She said, “My mind is focused on work right now. That’s all. I only went out today to check on the company and happened to run into him. And I’ve thought it through, Carrie. I don’t need a boyfriend, much less a husband.

A casual relationship—someone who can meet my physical needs—is more than enough. I don’t have the energy to mold my life to fit someone else’s or endure the spectacle of two families negotiating over my value as if I were some kind of commodity.”

“Yes,” she admitted with a wry smile, “I still care about Albin. I’ll always care. But it’s like admiring a painting in a gallery. It’s beautiful to look at, but that doesn’t mean you have to own it. Once you own it, you’re responsible for preserving it, maintaining it, watching it slowly lose its luster over time. Even an elementary school student knows that sometimes it’s better to walk away.”

“People have the ability to think rationally, to make decisions. There’s no need to sit through a bad movie all the way to the end, knowing it won’t get better,” she finished in a much quieter tone.

Nestled not far from the Morrison estate stood a historic mansion.

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Once a royal residence and now cloaked in mystery, it was owned by an anonymous wealthy individual.

High walls surrounded the property, reinforced with state-of-the-art security. The main gate rarely opened, and only security personnel were ever seen coming and going.

The upper class of Isonridge had long been curious about its owner. Despite attempts to investigate, the identity of the wealthy buyer remained elusive. Speculation swirled—perhaps a retired overseas tycoon, or even someone connected to old money.

This evening, however, Kristopher’s car slipped through the side gate unnoticed, pulling into the expansive driveway.

As he stepped out of the car, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen. Albin. On the other end, Albin’s voice trembled slightly. “Kristopher, I’ve found out the truth. Lise… her heart—it isn’t Lisa’s.”

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