Once Cast-Off Wife Now Untouchable Queen novel Chapter 439

**TITLE: A Message On Whatsapp 439**
**CONTENT: Chapter 439 Scheme to Start Over**

“Ms. Caldwell, please hold on—Mr. Winter is currently in a meeting,” Noel interjected, his tone polite yet firm, before stepping out of the office without another word.

Left in the expansive confines of Tyrone’s office, Zera’s fingers danced over the sleek surfaces of various items, her eyes sparkling with a mix of awe and envy.

So, this was the reality of wealth—an existence she had never truly envisioned.

The office sprawled before her, an embodiment of luxury that seemed to mock her own struggles. Separate zones, each more lavish than the last, and a private suite dedicated solely for rest and reflection.

She couldn’t afford to despair now.

When Tyrone finally emerged from his meeting, she would unleash a torrent of accusations against Shirley and Julian’s family—claiming they had threatened her, forcing her into a corner.

She would weave her tale with such conviction that he would have no choice but to believe her.

With a flicker of hope igniting within her, she considered how to make him promise to keep her secret safe, to ensure that her past—of having borne a child—remained buried.

If she could just soften his heart, perhaps, just perhaps, there was still a glimmer of hope for them.

As if drawn by an invisible thread, Zera found herself gravitating toward Tyrone’s desk.

On the computer screen, a wedding photograph dominated the display. Her gaze locked onto the smiling face of the woman beside Tyrone, a venomous glare forming in her heart.

So, this was the fiancée—the insipid woman who had orchestrated her downfall, plotting her return to Vleka and nearly landing her in prison.

Once she cleared the chaos surrounding her, she vowed to make that woman pay.

Casting a furtive glance around the office, she discreetly pulled out her phone and snapped a covert photo of the wedding image, saving it with a sense of triumph.

Even after capturing the image, the sight only fueled her anger.

With a swift movement, she clicked on the X to close the window, her heart racing with a mix of adrenaline and bitterness.

Moments later, Noel re-entered the room, his expression slightly flustered. “Ms. Caldwell, Mr. Winter has had to attend to an urgent matter and has left the building. You’ll need to reschedule your appointment.”

Reluctantly, Zera acknowledged her defeat and prepared to withdraw—at least for the time being.

Noel hurried to the conference room, his footsteps echoing against the polished floors. “Mr. Winter, Ms. Caldwell has departed,” he announced.

Tyrone, tall and imposing in his tailored suit, stood with his back to the door, gazing out at the cityscape through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Without turning around, he commanded, “From now until tomorrow evening, no one is to enter my office.”

“Understood, sir.” Noel quickly retreated, locking the door to the CEO’s suite behind him.

This Ms. Caldwell—of all the people to provoke—had chosen to poke the lion.

What a reckless choice that was.

By noon, Zera made her way back to her aunt Anna’s beauty clinic, her mind swirling with thoughts of her next move.

As Anna entered the room, Zera approached her cautiously, “Aunt Anna, is Orson settled in?”

Brad attempted to drape the coat over her again, but Raine swatted it away, declaring it an eyesore.

The two stood in a silent standoff—one trying to cover up, the other intent on shedding layers.

Raine’s temper flared, and she snapped, “Brad. Keller.”

He met her fiery gaze, his lips pursing in reluctant defeat. Finally, he relinquished the coat, slinging it over his own arm. “Alright, alright, no coat. No need to bite my head off.”

Raine linked her arm back through his, a triumphant smile breaking through. “Who told you to let me up?”

They exchanged one last glare before stepping through the doors together.

Just before they crossed the threshold, Brad mischievously plucked the clip from her hair.

Her dark silk locks cascaded over her shoulders, and he hurriedly swept a curtain of it forward, covering her chest.

Raine felt her temper rising, but he quickly shifted the blame. “Which stylist did you hire? They can’t even pin a clip that stays put. We’re switching salons.”

With rapid-fire chatter, coaxing, and a bit of playful tugging, Brad guided Raine into the ballroom, his protective instincts kicking in.

It was this menace’s fault—her figure was lethal. Every “thereal” dress she wore turned men into ravenous wolves.

And she reveled in the attention.

Every outing, he found himself either shielding her upper half or guarding her lower half. He was bound to worry himself into an early grave.