When She Ended It With Divorce (Chiara and Titus) novel Chapter 77

**Chapter 77**

Lena sat in the car, enveloped in an eerie silence that felt almost palpable. Her stillness was so profound that it sent a shiver down Titus’s spine.

Without warning, Titus’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, and a wave of tension washed over him, tightening his grip on the steering wheel.

Approximately ten minutes later, Paul reappeared at the car, his arms burdened with an array of bags, a triumphant smile lighting up his face. “Mr. Goodman, everything’s sorted,” he announced, his voice brimming with pride.

As he caught Titus’s distracted glance in the mirror, Paul instinctively turned his head to follow Titus’s gaze. “Is something wrong, Mr. Goodman?” he inquired, concern creeping into his tone.

Titus squinted for a moment, as if weighing his words, before finally breaking his gaze from the mirror. “No problem. Let’s go,” he replied, his voice steady but laced with an undercurrent of urgency.

“Yes, sir,” Paul responded, a hint of uncertainty flickering in his eyes.

Throughout the journey, Titus’s eyes repeatedly darted to the rearview mirror, an unshakeable instinct gnawing at him. Suddenly, a chuckle escaped his lips, surprising even himself.

Paul shot him a bewildered look, confusion etched across his face as he continued to scan the surroundings, failing to spot anything out of the ordinary. “Mr. Goodman?” he ventured, still puzzled.

Finally, Titus met Paul’s gaze in the mirror and said, “We’ve been followed for three days, and you didn’t notice?”

“What?” Paul exclaimed, his complexion draining of color as the gravity of the situation settled in.

Even Lena, lost in her own thoughts moments before, snapped back to reality. “Followed?” she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Paul’s heart raced as he scanned the vehicles around them, his eyes darting from one car to another, desperate to identify a threat but finding nothing suspicious.

Titus’s voice was cool and composed as he stated, “0825.”

In an instant, Paul’s attention was drawn to a black Volkswagen, its license plate matching the number Titus had just mentioned. “What should we do?” he asked, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

Titus’s expression sharpened, his focus unwavering. “Let’s handle the main business first,” he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Paul nodded grimly, determination settling in. “Yes, Mr. Goodman.”

From that moment on, Paul kept an unnervingly close watch on the Volkswagen, confirming that it was indeed tailing them. His heart raced with anxiety. How had he overlooked something so glaringly obvious? When had Mr. Goodman pieced it all together? He realized just how astute Titus truly was.

Meanwhile, at the Goodman Group in Halinston, Queenie leaned over her desk, her curiosity piqued. “Did you know Mr. Goodman is coming back tonight?” she asked Chiara, her eyes sparkling with intrigue.

Chiara shook her head, a hint of surprise crossing her features. “No, I didn’t,” she replied, her voice laced with uncertainty.

Titus had kept his return a secret, not revealing it even during their phone call the previous night.

Queenie paused, a knowing smile creeping onto her face. “Looks like you two aren’t as close anymore. You really didn’t know he’s back tonight?”

Chiara merely smiled, shaking her head again. The truth was, she had never really known where Titus was or when he would return.

She never asked him, and he never offered up the information. Just like last night—their conversation had flowed easily, but he hadn’t mentioned his return. Perhaps he thought it wasn’t worth the mention.

“Paul told me. He just called and asked me to drop off a contract at Starlight,” Queenie continued, her voice brightening with the gossip.

But Chiara was miles away, lost in her thoughts. She couldn’t shake the nagging worry that something might have transpired between Titus and Elaine during their time in Harborton. ‘Eunice hasn’t called, so there’s probably no news,’ she mused, her mind racing.

Just as that thought crossed her mind, her phone rang.

Chiara’s heart quickened. She snatched her phone and slipped into the restroom for privacy.

“Eunice?” she answered, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Chiara, the detective just got back to me. He said he got some photos—they should be exactly what we need,” Eunice replied, urgency lacing her words.

Chiara’s heart sank slightly. If the detective had indeed found something, then it was undeniable—something was brewing between Titus and Elaine.

Thinking back to Titus’s call last night, Chiara squeezed her phone tightly, a wave of anxiety crashing over her. “Alright, I get it. When’s he supposed to get back?”

“His flight gets in tonight. I’ll pick the detective up; just hang tight and wait for my update,” Eunice assured her.

“Okay, I’ll be waiting,” Chiara said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Alright, talk to you later,” Eunice replied before hanging up.

Chiara lingered on the line for a moment, a tickle in her throat prompting a cough. She realized she must have caught a chill from the cold shower that morning.

Shaking off her discomfort, she composed herself and returned to her desk, sipping on some hot water. But as the afternoon wore on, her condition worsened; her throat felt raw and achy. When she finally got home, she asked Lindsay to pick up some medicine for her.

“W-Who are you? What do you want?” she stammered, fear creeping into her voice.

Just then, Titus’s lazy drawl sliced through the tension like a knife. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking that?” he said, his tone cool and mocking.

Eunice felt a chill run down her spine at the sight of him, her body going numb. “T-Titus, why are you here?” she managed to ask, her voice trembling.

Titus regarded her with a cold, piercing stare, then turned his attention to the detective, who was still pinned against the pillar. A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he sneered, “Did you really think you could follow me around in Harborton for three whole days and not slip up even once?”

Paul had recognized the man that afternoon—the same shadow that had been trailing them since Halinston, clearly intent on following them home.

Titus had noted the passenger list, mildly impressed that the man had managed to book a seat on their flight. He had chosen to hold off on confronting him, thinking, ‘Better to let him think he’s invisible and see what he does next. If he’s just a reporter or paparazzi, I’ll ignore him.’

None of them had anticipated that the man was a detective hired by Eunice.

Paul stepped forward, gathering the scattered photos from the ground. One glance at the images drained the color from his face, leaving him stunned.

Titus observed Paul’s reaction, his eyes narrowing with a predatory intensity. He already knew what was coming. His demeanor hardened as he turned the same piercing gaze on Eunice, making the atmosphere in the room feel frigid.

“Did she put you up to this?” Titus asked, his voice a chilling whisper.

Eunice clenched her jaw, forcing herself to remain composed. “No, Chiara had no idea. This was all me. I just can’t stand you, and I wanted to catch you doing something shady. It has nothing to do with Chiara, so don’t drag her into it.”

Titus didn’t respond, his gaze growing darker as he weighed her words.

Eunice felt the weight of his stare, but she lifted her chin defiantly. “W-What do you want?” she asked, her voice steadier than she felt.

Paul, having collected the photos, carefully placed them into an envelope and stepped up beside Titus. “Mr. Goodman, what are we going to do with these photos?” he asked, his voice low.

Titus took the envelope, extracting a photo to examine it closely. His jaw tightened as he coldly ordered, “Burn them.”

Paul nodded without hesitation. “Yes, Mr. Goodman.”

He immediately produced a lighter and began to incinerate the photos right there, his thoughts racing. There was no way these could be left behind, and absolutely no way they could ever reach Chiara.

Once the ashes settled, Paul turned to the detective, who looked as though he might faint. “Where are the originals?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.