The CEO's Amazing Ex-Wife Is Back (Thalassa and Kris) novel Chapter 200

Chapter 200
Kris sat in the darkness of his penthouse, the only light coming from the dim streetlights outside and the occasional flicker from the TV he hadn’t bothered to turn on.

He held a half-empty bottle of whiskey in his hand, his fingers gripping the neck tightly like it was a neck he wanted to squeeze. Who's neck? He wasn't sure.

The bottle clinked against the glass table as he set it down and leaned back, eyes heavy but wide open.

The doorbell rang.

He glared at the door, his jaw tightening. Whoever it was could turn right back around and leave. He wasn’t in the mood for visitors—especially not the fake-friendly neighbours who had come earlier, offering their “sympathies” when he knew they were only there to get some scoop to leak to the press.

He’d kicked them out, and then he’d turned off his phone to stop the endless flood of calls coming from acquaintances and business partners.

The doorbell rang again, more insistent this time. Kris’s irritation flared. Whoever it was clearly didn’t know how to take a hint.

"Go away," he muttered under his breath, though he knew they couldn’t hear him.

But the ringing continued.

Gritting his teeth, he stood, dragging his feet toward the door. His head was spinning from the alcohol, and the weight of his emotions made each step feel like a struggle.

When he finally reached the door, he yanked it open with more force than necessary, ready to snap at whoever had the nerve to disturb him.

His anger ebbed slightly when he saw it was Alden standing there.

Alden raised an eyebrow. "Is that disappointment or relief I see on your face? I can’t tell."

Kris didn’t answer, just turned his back and walked into the living room, leaving the door open behind him. Alden took that as an invitation and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

"You're drunk," Alden observed, his eyes sweeping over the bottle of whiskey on the table, the empty glasses of beer scattered around, and Kris’s disheveled appearance.

Kris scoffed, dropping onto the couch. "Your observation skills are sharp tonight."

Alden ignored the sarcasm, crossing his arms as he stood in the middle of the room. "I came to check on you."

"Don't worry," Kris snorted. "I’m not suicidal."

Alden’s expression hardened. "Don’t even joke about that, man."

Kris shrugged, picking up the bottle and pouring another drink. "How am I doing?" he repeated mockingly. "I feel like the guy with the worst mother in the world. How about that?"

Alden sat down on the couch across from him, watching him carefully. "I can understand how you’re feeling—"

"No, you can’t," Kris cut him off sharply, his words slurring slightly from the alcohol but laced with raw emotion. He downed the whiskey and slammed the glass down on the table. "Your mom is a sweet angel who wouldn’t hurt a fly. My mother? She’s a murderer. She killed her own grandchild, Alden. My child. And apparently, she’s involved in drug and human trafficking too." His voice broke, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. "Don’t tell me you understand, because you don’t. Nobody does."