Chapter 241
Trey’s words made Khloe let out a short laugh.
It wasn’t warmth. It wasn’t amusement.
It was the kind of laugh that came from seeing something absurd for too long and finally losing patience.
Years of deception, humiliation, and carefully buried truth had already shaped her resolve. She had planned to take her time with the Fox family—to dismantle them piece by piece, to let them experience what she had once endured.
But Trey… had just stripped away the last of her restraint.
She lowered the car window slowly. Her voice was calm, but the coldness beneath it cut sharply.
“Trey Fox,” she said, “are you still dreaming?”
Her gaze met his without a flicker.
“I’ve already dumped you.”
A pause.
“Even if you brought the entire Fox Group to my feet, even if you knelt and begged, I wouldn’t take you back.”
There was no hesitation. No softness. No doubt.
She stepped on the accelerator.
The car shot forward.
Trey’s pupils contracted. For a split second, his brain refused to process it—until instinct took over. He threw himself aside at the last moment.
The vehicle brushed past him and sped into the night.
His shoulder slammed hard into a concrete pillar. Pain shot through him, but he barely felt it.
Angela’s scream snapped him back.
“Trey!”
She rushed over immediately, grabbing his arm. “Are you hurt? Are you insane? She almost ran you over!”
But Trey barely heard her.
He pushed her hand away, breathing heavily, eyes fixed on the direction Khloe had gone.
“I’m fine,” he said roughly. “Go home.”
“What? Trey—!”
“I said go.”
Without waiting for her reply, he turned and ran back to his car.
—
The engine roared.
Trey’s grip tightened on the wheel as he chased into the night.
He didn’t believe it.
He refused to believe it.
Khloe couldn’t be serious.
After everything between them, after all these years—she couldn’t just cut him off like that.
And another man?
That was impossible.
He had known her longer than anyone. Understood her better than anyone. Whatever this was—it had to be a misunderstanding. A mistake. A moment of anger.
Khloe would come back.
She had to.
The thought repeated in his mind until it drowned out everything else.
—
Khloe’s car moved through the city like a blade cutting through silence. She didn’t rush blindly—she calculated every turn, every lane change, every detour designed to shake pursuit.
She had done it before.
And she did it again now.
At one intersection, she cut sharply through traffic and vanished from Trey’s sight.
When Trey arrived moments later, the road ahead was empty.
His hand slammed the steering wheel once.
“Damn it…”
Then, something clicked.
The gated community.
The property she had once mentioned.
A luxury residence in the financial district. The one she had casually referenced during a business discussion—seven million for the unit, if he remembered correctly.
Without hesitation, he changed direction.
—
Night deepened.
The community was quiet, almost eerily so—warm lamplight glowing over stone paths and trimmed gardens, the kind of place where everything looked controlled and expensive.
Khloe parked inside the garage and stepped out.
She had just closed the car door when—
A shadow struck.
Her back hit the vehicle hard.
“Trey—”
Before she could finish, his grip tightened on her shoulders.
He had found her.
His eyes were red—not just from anger, but from exhaustion, disbelief, and something closer to panic.
“So this was your plan,” he said hoarsely. “You were going to leave me like this?”
Khloe didn’t struggle immediately. She simply looked at him.
Cold. Unmoved.
Trey’s breathing was uneven.
“Was I too good to you?” he snapped, voice cracking with fury. “Is that why you got tired of me?”
His grip tightened.
“Tell me—who is he? Why are you doing this? Do you have any respect for what we had? For my family? For me?”
His voice rose, then broke again.
“Khloe… do you even have a heart?”
Silence.
For a moment, rage still burned in his eyes—but beneath it, something else surfaced.
Fear.
Because she wasn’t reacting the way she used to.
She wasn’t softening.
She wasn’t hesitating.
Trey swallowed hard, forcing his voice down, as if trying to regain control.
“Khloe…” he said more quietly now, almost pleading. “We can talk about this. Whatever it is—just come back.”
His tone shifted completely, from anger to something dangerously fragile.
“That man… whatever he told you… It doesn’t matter.”
His gaze searched her face like he was trying to find the version of her he remembered.
“Just come back to me.”