Rebirth In Divorce My New Mr. Perfect (by Summer Knowles) novel Chapter 654

After hanging up the phone, Manager Sullivan carelessly packed up a few of his things and left the factory.

East Coast.

Melvin sat in his office, staring at the email Mr. Lambert had just sent. The entire timeline was laid out—every detail, every suspicion, all the context. He read it twice, barely blinking.

He never imagined his mother would go this far behind his back, meddling in the West Ridge factory like this.

Then again, maybe he should’ve seen it coming.

Three years ago, when Sarah handed him control of the Sanders Group, his mother had already started revealing her true intentions—dropping hints, making comments, all nudging him toward taking over. But there was no need to seize anything. Sarah never wanted power. From day one, she’d made it clear she had no interest in running the company. She wanted to be a psychologist. The company had been a burden she was more than ready to pass on.

So what was the point? Did it really matter who held what shares?

He’d fought bitterly with his mother over it back then. It ended with a blowout argument and two full years of silence. He only started talking to her again last year—when she swore she’d stop pushing.

But clearly, she hadn’t stopped at all.

She just went underground, working in the shadows, pulling strings to get her hands on Sanders Group. And now she’d even reached into West Ridge. Melvin couldn’t help but feel a bitter sort of admiration for the lengths she was willing to go.

After replying to Mr. Lambert, he opened the latest renderings of Harbour Crescent.

This time, the Wilsons had released an entirely revamped design—something totally different from their old plan. It was clear they were trying to shake off the shadow of what had happened last time. A clean slate.

Unfortunately, people in East Coast still remembered. Just hearing the name Harbour Crescent sparked sarcasm and side-eyes. It wasn’t going to be easy.

Melvin pulled up Sanders Group’s own renderings. Visually, they shared the same bones as the last plan—but this time, the details had evolved. A better strategy. More originality. The previous plan had already been leaked by the Wilsons, so the surprise factor was gone. But the new visuals were generating real buzz.

Some of that support came from people who wanted to spite the Wilsons after what happened.

Charlie slumped against the alley wall, chugging cheap beer straight from the bottle. He pointed to the sky, his voice hoarse and full of rage. “One day, I’m gonna rise again—and when I do, you’ll all be on your knees, begging to lick my boots.”

He broke into a sloppy laugh, spit flying, drool sliding down his chin. He looked more like a man lost in a fever dream than someone plotting a comeback.

He staggered home—if you could call it that. The house was gutted. Empty. Only a few broken chairs and a rotting bedframe remained.

Charlie stood in the middle of the room, swaying. Then he hurled the empty beer bottle to the ground with a crash.

“That bitch! Took one look at me broke and ran. Ungrateful scum, every one of you!”

Even now, with his life in ruins, he still didn’t see himself as the problem. Still no remorse. No realization.

When the anger wore off, he slumped into a chair, clawing at his messy hair, face buried in his hands. The sobs that came next weren’t quiet. They were raw. Desperate.