Dear Ex-Wife Please Be Mine Again (Christina and Alex) novel Chapter 43

Alexander POV.

I stared at the list on my desk, an endless column of zeros staring back at me. I’d spared no expense, not that it mattered—I had more money than most could dream of. The gifts were extravagant, each one more lavish than the last. But every single one of them had come back to me, untouched. Christiana was sending them all back.

“Sir, the Cartier diamond bracelet was returned this morning.” James, my ever-faithful P.A., stood before me, his voice cautious as he placed the box on my desk. Inside, nestled in velvet, was a bracelet worth nearly half a million dollars. Flawless diamonds, handpicked for their clarity, sparkled back at me like tiny stars.

“Again?” I gritted my teeth, my frustration boiling over. “What the hell does she want, James? I’m sending her the best of everything. Jewelry, designer clothes, even that fucking limited-edition Birkin bag she’s always wanted. And she’s sending them back like they’re nothing.”

James shifted uncomfortably, clearly unsure of what to say. He knew better than to answer when I was like this, teetering on the edge of losing my temper. Instead, he reached into his briefcase and pulled out another box, placing it beside the bracelet.

“She also returned the sapphire and diamond earrings. They were delivered yesterday.”

I opened the box and stared at the deep blue sapphires, each surrounded by a halo of diamonds, worth over a million dollars. Christiana hadn’t even opened the package; she’d just sent it straight back. A part of me wanted to smash the damn thing against the wall, to shatter those perfect stones into dust. But I couldn’t. Because this wasn’t about the gifts—this was about her. And I wasn’t going to let her slip away again.

“Fine,” I muttered, closing the box with a snap. “What about the car?”

James cleared his throat. “The Ferrari? She refused to accept it. It was returned to the dealership this morning.”

A Ferrari 488 Pista, customized down to the last stitch in the leather seats, delivered right to her doorstep. And she’d sent it back like it was nothing more than a trinket from a corner store. I could feel my hands clenching into fists, the anger rising in me like a tidal wave. How could she be so cold, so goddamn stubborn?

“Send something else,” I ordered, my voice low, trying to keep a lid on the rage simmering beneath my skin. “Send… Send her the Tiffany necklace, the one with the pink diamond.”

James hesitated for a moment, his brow furrowing. “Sir, that necklace is worth nearly three million dollars. Are you sure—”