The moment James's voice came through the phone, sharp and commanding, my chest tightened.
"Zelda Liamson," he said, his tone filled with disdain, "if you regret the divorce, move back to the Mansion now and admit your mistake. I'll pretend I never signed the divorce agreement. Stop calling and saying inexplicable things."
I felt a weight lift slightly from my chest. His reaction meant he hadn't gone back on his word—he'd signed the agreement. Relieved but determined, I took a steadying breath and replied calmly,
"You won’t regret it. Mr. Ferguson, you’re overthinking things. I’ll raise the 30 million as soon as possible, and I won’t bother you anymore."
With that, I ended the call, my hands shaking ever so slightly. I could feel the lingering tension in his voice, a reminder
