My coldhearted ex demands a remarriage

Chapter 1070:

As though Kristopher were nothing more than scenery, Daxton slipped his arm around her shoulders and gently steered her toward the sidewalk.

The car rolled up just in time. He pulled the door open and stepped aside so she could climb in first.

Once she was settled, he followed her into the backseat and shut the door behind them. The window rolled down about a third of the way as Daxton glanced back.

Kristopher remained beneath the tree, unmoving, watching them leave. For just a second, their eyes locked—no words, no gestures. And then the car eased into traffic, breaking that line of sight.

When Daxton looked over again, he saw Carrie with her eyes shut, head tilted slightly toward the window.

He knew she hadn’t fallen asleep. But neither of them said a word about what had just happened. It was as if Kristopher had never been there at all.noveldrama

Kristopher stood still, his eyes following Daxton and Carrie’s car until it faded into the chaos of city traffic.

Only after the vehicle vanished did he shift his gaze to a well-dressed foreigner standing a short distance away.

This wasn’t a random bystander. The man belonged to an elite circle of trusted operatives Kristopher had quietly built across borders. Because of his amnesia, which made him wary of those around him, he currently relied on outside forces.

Closing the distance between them, the man addressed him in a low, professional tone. “Mr. Norris, the doctor’s arrived. He just wrapped up a meeting and is waiting in the office.”

To avoid unwanted attention, Kristopher had arranged the consultation at a standard hospital under the guise of a joint medical project, steering clear of his own facility altogether. Rather than sending for the doctor, he chose discretion. The expert had been carefully selected for his skill and neutrality.

Let your mind wander with gⱯlnσν𝒆𝓁s﹒𝓬𝓸𝗺

Kristopher glanced one last time at the path Carrie had taken, then turned away and silently followed his contact down the road.

Hours later, Kristopher walked back into the villa, a strange weight settling in his chest. The sterile scent of the hospital still clung to him, but the emotional toll hit harder—an odd blend of emptiness, aching remorse, and something like hope.

Carrie drifted through his thoughts, stirring a quiet unease he couldn’t shake. He muttered to himself, “Is there even a chance left for us?” The accident hadn’t stolen his memories forever. His condition was treatable, temporary even—if only Aliza hadn’t kept feeding him medication that dulled his recovery.

Instead of healing, the drugs had chipped away at his mind, and today’s scans confirmed it. Subtle but significant, the results pointed to early signs of brain aging—Fazekas grade 1.

In layman’s terms, it meant his brain was aging in ways that typically didn’t appear until decades later. No cutting-edge medicine could undo that kind of vascular wear. And if it worsened, stroke or more serious conditions could follow.

Most men experienced this sort of decline in their fifties or sixties. Kristopher was far too young. But the cause wasn’t time—it was deliberate.

As Billie’s son, he couldn’t wrap his head around how his mother had sided with the Herrera family, enabling them to harm him like this.

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