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Her adoptive parents used her design talent to make a fortune for twenty years. But once their biological daughter was found, she was framed and expelled from home. Unexpectedly, her supposedly poor biological parents turned out to be the richest people in the city. She became the daughter of a top wealthy family and was spoiled by them! ===== "Brenna, why must it come to this? Yes, we've found our biological daughter, but that doesn't mean you have to leave. You know our family's wealth--taking care of one more person isn't a burden. If you ask me, you should stay. Your mom and I will treat you no differently than before." At the Barrett family's residence in Shirie, in the cramped, airless attic on the third floor, Brenna Barrett was packing her belongings. Meanwhile, the grand living room on the first floor buzzed with conversation, guests swirling glasses of champagne as they exchanged pleasantries. A towering banner with the words "Welcome Home, Beloved Daughter" stretched across the entrance. "But if you're determined to leave, I won't stop you. Still, your family is barely scraping by. I doubt they can even send a car to pick you up. Take this money--at least let it cover your travel expenses." Alec Barrett, Brenna's adoptive father, stood before her, an envelope in his hand. He set it down gently before Brenna, his face lined with feigned reluctance. Brenna's eyes flicked to the slim envelope. She was already certain it held no more than a thousand dollars. Without a hint of hesitation, she pushed it back toward Alec, her expression cold. "I don't need it. My parents have already sent a car for me." She scoffed inwardly. What a laughable attempt to make her stay. Persuading her to stay while already offering her travel money? The Barrett family had taken her in when she was barely past her second birthday, a replacement for the daughter Ruby Barrett had lost--a child stolen from the hospital the day she was born. Drowning in grief, Ruby had grasped at the idea of adoption, convincing herself it would ease the ache of her loss. But Brenna had never been a daughter for the Barrett family in anything more than name. She had spent her childhood in hand-me-downs from discount racks, scraping by on leftovers while serving as a servant in the Barrett household. When she had gotten older, Alec had stumbled upon her natural flair for design. Even her casual sketches outshone those of seasoned professionals, their market value undeniable. That was when everything changed. The Barrett family had stopped her from going to school. She had become their hidden asset, locked away to draft blueprints for car parts and even entire vehicles. They knew exactly how much of their wealth was earned by her. Without Brenna, they would have never broken into Shirie's elite circles, never had the means to throw this lavish welcome party for their biological daughter, with influential figures from all walks of life attending. And now that their fortune had just begun to flourish, they didn't want to keep Brenna anymore. The Barretts were eager to kick her out of the family, their selfishness laid bare. Alec sighed and shoved the envelope into Brenna's bag. He said, "They've sent a car to pick you up? I find that hard to believe. I looked into your biological family. Your parents have two sons, and your only uncle is bedridden, unable to care for himself. They live in a struggling village--barely making ends meet. They don't have the luxury to come pick you up. You've been living in comfort here, spending freely. Are you sure you're ready for that kind of hardship? Just take the money." Brenna pulled the envelope out of her bag and placed it on the table with quiet finality. "Goodbye." She didn't notice Isabella Barrett, Alec and Ruby's biological daughter, slipping something into the side pocket of her backpack. Without another glance, Brenna hoisted her black backpack over one shoulder and strode downstairs, leaving the Barretts behind. Ruby, watching Brenna disappear down the stairs, clenched her jaw. "Look at that! She showed me no gratitude at all. I housed and fed her for twenty years, and she didn't have a single word of thanks before leaving me? Someone like that is bound to end up begging in the streets!" Isabella looped her arm through Ruby's, her voice soft, almost soothing. "Mom, don't let her get to you. She never even finished school and was thrown into social circles at ten. How could she possibly have proper manners? She's walking away from a privileged life now--she'll be lucky if she doesn't starve. It's understandable if she's in a foul mood. Let me go see her off." Ruby frowned, grabbing Isabella's wrist to stop her. "Why bother? She's ungrateful. She doesn't deserve it." "Mom," Isabella said, her smile sweet, "since I came back, Brenna has treated me well. This might be the last time we ever see each other. It's only right that I say goodbye to her properly." She gave the jewelry box in her hand a little shake, her eyes twinkling. "Besides, I have a parting gift for her." With that, she hurried after Brenna, Alec and Ruby following behind. "Brenna!" Isabella called out, her voice warm and sweet as she lightly jogged forward. "You're leaving so quickly? I haven't given you the gift I got for you." She extended her palm, revealing a square red box. Inside lay a white jade bracelet, its surface smooth and luminous. It was undoubtedly of high quality. Brenna gave it a brief glance. She recognized the bracelet's good quality--it was probably worth a decent sum. Her voice was cold as she said, "No, thanks. You keep it." Isabella's expression didn't falter as she nudged the box into Brenna's hand. "You should take it. I spent over a hundred thousand on this bracelet. If things ever get tough, you can sell it for emergencies. It could come in handy someday." Before Brenna could refuse again, Isabella snapped the box shut and tucked it into Brenna's backpack herself. Just then, a flustered maid rushed over and exclaimed, "Miss Barrett, terrible news! The engagement necklace Mr. Barton gifted you is missing!" Chapter 2 Accused Of Stealing Isabella froze mid-motion upon hearing that, the jewelry box still clutched in her fingers as she slipped it into Brenna's backpack. Her eyes widened in disbelief. "What did you just say? That gemstone necklace is a gift from Jordy. It costs one million and eight hundred thousand! It has ten top-tier gems, each hand-selected. I left it on the table. How could it just vanish? Are you sure you checked properly?" Brenna observed the unfolding scene intently, her expression impassive. She could already see the setup, the neatly arranged trap. The servant's name was Sadie Brown. Her face went ghostly white, her hands visibly trembling. "Miss Barrett, I searched everywhere--every corner, every drawer--but it's gone. Could someone have taken it?" With that, Sadie's eyes landed on Brenna, suspicion darkening her expression. She didn't need to say it outright--her eyes did the accusing for her. Isabella shot her a sharp look. "What are you staring at? Just because Brenna's real family is poor doesn't mean she'd resort to stealing. Anyway, is anything else missing from my room?" Sadie hesitated, then swallowed hard. "Yes. The design plans you drew a few days ago. They're gone too." A strange glint flickered in Sadie's eyes. Without warning, she strode toward Brenna and yanked at a thin chain peeking out from her backpack. Isabella gasped, her shock perfectly timed as she took the necklace from Sadie's hand. "Brenna," she murmured, feigning hurt, "how did the engagement necklace Jordy gave me end up in your bag?" She clutched the piece, looking disappointed. "If you needed money, why not just ask Dad? He has supported you all these years--he wouldn't mind giving you more money. But stealing? This would break Mom's and Dad's hearts." At that moment, Alec and Ruby walked over. Alec scowled, disappointment carving deep lines into his face. He exhaled sharply, his tone laced with disapproval as he said, "I offered you money, and you turned it down--only to do this? If you needed help, you could have said something instead of resorting to this disgraceful behavior. This is really shameful! Why did you do this?" Ruby's temper flared instantly. "She must have thought the money was too little! What else could it be? A thousand for travel expenses wasn't enough for her, so she helped herself to something more valuable. One million and eight hundred thousand--her real parents' entire family couldn't make that much in a lifetime!" Isabella reached for Ruby's hand, a pained expression settling on her face. "Mom, please stop. If you keep saying such things, how will Brenna ever face anyone again? I don't think she did it on purpose--maybe she took it by mistake." Alec and Ruby remained silent, though the disdain in their eyes was clear. Inwardly, they had already written Brenna off as a thief. Isabella managed a gentle smile, but a flicker of triumph danced in her eyes as she glanced at the gathering guests around them. This was perfect. With Brenna marked as a thief, she would never find help from Shirie's upper circles. The Barrett family's influence would be forever out of her reach. Isabella turned to Brenna. "Brenna, I'd give you anything, but not this necklace. It's Jordy's engagement gift to me. I know it must be hard--watching him choose me when you were supposed to be engaged to him. But feelings can't be forced, right? Jordy and I love each other deeply. Please, don't come between us. If you need money, I'll give you all my jewelry, okay? Just not this one." As Isabella spoke, tears welled in her eyes, slipping down her cheeks like she had just suffered a great injustice. Seeing this, Brenna let out a short, cold laugh. What a waste of talent. Isabella should have been an actress with her acting skills. She believed since they had already staged this drama, it would be impolite not to play along. Brenna flung a glance at the necklace, unimpressed. The chain was thick, the gemstones sizable, but the craftsmanship left much to be desired. The color, cut, and overall design. They were far from top-tier. "I wouldn't be caught dead wearing something this poorly made," Brenna remarked coolly. "There must be some mistake. When I packed my things in the attic, that necklace wasn't in my bag. But I do recall you holding it in your hand earlier, dear sister. Could it be that you accidentally dropped it into my backpack?" She scoffed, refusing to shoulder the blame. With deliberate calm, she set her backpack on the floor and tipped it over, spilling its contents onto the cold surface. "Go ahead. See if there's anything else from the Barrett family in my backpack. If there is, take it. I'd rather not carry the label of a thief." Among the scattered items, a blue folder slid into view. Isabella's eyes widened in feigned shock. "Aren't these my design drafts for new energy auto parts? Brenna, how did they end up in your bag?" She crouched, picking up the folder and flipping through its pages with practiced disbelief. Inside were intricate sketches of mechanical components. She looked at Brenna, shaking her head, disappointment etched across her features. "I never imagined you'd stoop this low. You didn't even finish grade school--what could you possibly want with my design drafts? Planning to sell them?" Brenna rolled her eyes. She didn't need to check--she already knew what those papers were. The nuclear-powered cargo ship component blueprints she had spent an entire night perfecting. How had they become Isabella's? Brenna blinked, suddenly realizing something. Yesterday, Isabella had spent the day seated at the grand dining table, sketching exaggerated designs in an attempt to flaunt her mechanical expertise. The entire household had seen it. That gave Isabella the chance to frame her now. Isabella continued, pointing at the drafts, "You stole them. Just admit it. Since we're family, I'll let it slide." Ruby stepped closer, snatching the folder and scanning its contents. The moment she saw the sketches, her face twisted with fury. "How could I have raised someone like you?" she said to Brenna. "You are such a disgrace!" Brenna remained silent. Her blueprints had clear, unmistakable markings. The title, written in a foreign language, identified them as designs for nuclear-powered cargo ship components. Didn't any of them notice that? Right there in the lower right corner, her personal anti-counterfeit signature gleamed--proof that no one could claim her work as their own. Brenna faced Alec and Ruby. "You both know what I'm capable of," she stated, her voice steady. "A decade ago, you were running a small auto parts factory, barely making about five hundred thousand a year, living in a modest duplex. At that time, you saw my potential. That's why you kept me from school and forced me to stay home and design advanced components for you." Chapter 3 I Thought Your Design Drafts Were Trash Brenna looked at the Barrett family with clear contempt, her expression calm as she revealed the truth to the surrounding guests. "For over a decade, this family has capitalized on my designs--transforming a modest auto parts business into a full-fledged car-manufacturing empire, even securing a public listing. But now that they've outgrown their need for me, they're framing me for theft, all to protect their real daughter. How touching," she said with a snort. Alec's face darkened with fury, his voice rising. "What kind of nonsense is this? You barely made it through grade school. How could you possibly understand mechanical design?" Brenna held her designs up for the gathering guests to see. "Take a good look. This isn't a blueprint for new energy auto parts. It's an advanced cargo ship design. I have no reason to steal from anyone, least of all Isabella." Now, the regret hit her hard. In the past, she had been too young to see through Alec's schemes. She had been too trusting to realize why he had insisted on putting his name on her designs. It was painfully clear now--Alec had been setting this up from the very beginning. Brenna tapped a line of component names on the blueprint. "Read this carefully. It's in Amland's language, and it translates to 'nuclear-powered cargo ship propulsion system'." Tilting the paper slightly, she pointed to the faint watermark in the lower right corner, which shimmered under the shifting light. "This is my personal mark. You can compare it to Isabella's so-called 'designs'. Her designs are garbage," she said. Just as she finished speaking, Sarah Moss, one of the servants, hesitantly stepped forward, holding an identical folder. "Miss Barrett. I thought these were trash, so I threw them in the trash can. These are your design drafts." Brenna let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Did you hear that? Even Sarah recognized them as trash." Isabella's face burned with humiliation. She shot Sarah a murderous glare before yanking the folder from her hands and flipping through it in a panic. Then, with a furious growl, she slammed it down. "These designs aren't mine!" she exclaimed. Sarah paled, stammering, "I-I didn't mean to say they were trash! I just. mistakenly thought they were and threw them away." She trailed off, glancing around awkwardly and realizing there was no way to clarify this without making things worse. Ruby, unwilling to let Isabella be humiliated any further, immediately shifted the attack back onto Brenna. "Oh, please! Look at yourself. Do you really expect us to believe that someone who never even finished grade school designed a nuclear-powered cargo ship propulsion system? You must have stolen this! People like you bring nothing but disgrace. Don't you dare associate yourself with the Barrett family again from now on!" Brenna didn't spare Ruby a glance. She simply flipped open both her own design drafts and Isabella's, setting them side by side for the crowd to compare. Alec's and Ruby's faces immediately turned dark. Alec clenched his fists, his entire body tense with barely restrained anger. Then, he barked, "Enough with this nonsense! Do you really think you made our family rich? The Barrett family's success is built on my and your brother's hard work. You had nothing to do with it! We clothed and fed you for years, and this is how you repay us? You ungrateful brat--get out now!" Ruby, feeding off his rage, didn't hesitate to pile on the lies. "We took you in, gave you everything, spent millions raising you--and you dare act like you're the victim here? Do you think the scraps of talent you brought to this family mean anything compared to what we gave you?" Brenna's eyes turned ice-cold. She believed there was no point in arguing with them. She was leaving, and once she walked out that door, the Barrett family's problems would no longer be hers. "Fine. We will have nothing to do with each other from now on," she said. She bent down to grab her laptop from the floor. However, Isabella was faster. She snatched the sleek black device before Brenna could reach it, holding it tightly in her grasp. "You're so stubborn, Brenna. I was kind enough to offer you a way out earlier, but in return, you throw dirt on me and my family? You make mistakes, refuse to apologize, then try to turn it around on us? This computer must contain confidential information about the Barrett family. You can't take it with you!" Before anyone could react, Isabella grabbed a glass of water from a nearby guest's hand and poured it directly over the keyboard of the laptop. Without warning, Brenna sl**ped Isabella across the face. Then she grabbed the drenched laptop and immediately began drying it off. "How dare you hit me?" Isabella gasped, her face twisted with fury. She raised a trembling hand to strike back--only to be sl**ped again by Brenna. Ruby, a second too late, lunged forward, incensed. "The Barrett family raised you, and this is how you repay us now? By attacking our real daughter?" For years, Ruby had treated Brenna as a convenient target for her frustration, an outlet for her anger. But never--not once--had Brenna retaliated. Ruby wanted to hit Brenna. But something in Brenna's eyes made Ruby falter, her raised hand hanging mid-air. "Mom, she hit me!" Isabella exclaimed, clutching her stinging cheek, her eyes burning with resentment. Ruby grasped Isabella's hand, her breath catching at the sight of the glaring red imprint on her precious daughter's face. "Does it hurt, Isabella?" she asked. Isabella shot Brenna a venomous glare, her fury boiling over as she lifted her leg, aiming a kick at Brenna while she gathered her belongings. Brenna dodged instinctively, smoothly. Securing the last of her things, she turned to face them, her voice icy. "Oh? So it hurts? Mom, when you used me as a punching bag all these years, did you ever ask if I felt hurt? You had no problem beating me senseless, but the second I lay a single hand on your precious daughter, you act like you are heartbroken?" Ruby's eyes flickered with unease for a moment. Then, she recovered quickly, her lips curling in disdain. "And what do you think we took you in for? To pamper you?" "So you're finally admitting what you did to me." Brenna swept a frosty look over the Barrett family, then swung her backpack over her shoulder. Without a word, she turned to leave. Chapter 4 What Do You Think? The July sun blazed mercilessly. Brenna stood beneath the shade of a tree, waiting for her real family, the Harpers' car to arrive. Half an hour had passed, but no one had come. Just then, Brenna's phone suddenly vibrated with a friend request. A note accompanied it. "Hello, I'm Rosie Harper, your sister." Brenna accepted the request without hesitation, and within seconds, she received a message from Rosie. "Hello, I'm Rosie, your sister. Mom, Dad, and our elder brothers are tied up with work today, so they want you to go to Flavor Restaurant first. They've arranged lunch for you there." Doubt crept into Brenna's mind. Was this some kind of scam? Why send her to a restaurant instead of simply giving her the Harper family's address? But not many people knew she was heading to the Harper residence today. Whoever this was had to be a member of the Harper family. A weight settled in Brenna's chest. Her first day home, and they couldn't even bother to pick her up? That said enough about how little they valued her. She doubted this family would be any better than the Barrett family. Another message from Rosie popped up. "Brenna, I'll be waiting for you." Brenna responded with a single word, "Okay." It was nearly impossible to get a taxi at this hour. With no other choice, Brenna took the bus, getting off at Flavor Restaurant. The establishment was the pinnacle of luxury in Shirie, a favorite haunt of the city's elite. Dining here meant dropping at least ten thousand dollars. The moment Brenna pushed the door open and entered the restaurant, a blast of crisp, cool air wrapped around her, shielding her from the suffocating summer heat. Her lungs felt lighter instantly. The restaurant was quiet, nearly empty. No one paid her any attention--except for a waitress who approached her with a polite smile. The waitress was a young woman, pretty and probably in her early twenties. She wore a tailored red uniform, exuding professionalism. "Welcome, Miss. Are you Brenna Harper?" "Yes. The Harpers asked me to meet them here. Could you tell me which room they're in?" Brenna's eyes scanned the space. No one seemed to be waiting for her, which meant the Harper family was likely in a private room. The waitress kept her polished smile intact, subtly studying Brenna's casual outfit--a plain white T-shirt featuring a video game character, layered under an oversized striped shirt that draped past her frayed denim shorts. A worn baseball cap sat atop her head, partially hiding wavy hair streaked with deep blue. Brenna's skin was smooth, her facial features delicate yet striking. The bold blue lipstick added an edge to her look. Her voice was crisp, clear, effortlessly drawing attention from nearby tables. "Miss, please follow me." The waitress gestured toward a table before continuing, "A woman from the Harper family waited for you here for over an hour but had to leave for something urgent. She'll be back shortly. She ordered for you, so please sit down. The dishes will arrive soon." The table was set for six. Brenna chose the chair facing the door, tossing her backpack onto the seat beside her. Moments later, the waitress returned with a glass of fresh orange juice. "Please enjoy. The food will be out shortly," she said politely. Brenna nodded and thanked the waitress, though confusion lingered in her mind. Wasn't the Harper family supposed to be struggling financially? Why invite her to a restaurant this extravagant? She couldn't make sense of what the Harper family was up to. Pulling out her phone, she sent Rosie a message. "I'm here already. When will you join me?" Rosie responded soon, "I'm in a meeting right now. Might take a while. Go ahead and eat--no need to wait for me." A meeting? Brenna furrowed her brows upon seeing the message. Weren't the Harpers supposed to live in a poor, remote village? If that were true, how was Rosie in a meeting? Could the information she had gotten about the Harper family be false? She glanced around, noting the semi-private booths by the windows. The occupants were hidden from view, but the soft murmur of conversation trickled through the air. Soon, the waitress wheeled over a cart, and in moments, the table was filled with beautifully plated dishes--small portions, but meticulously crafted. Meanwhile, in one of the semi-private booths, three women sat around a table, their table adorned with steak and orange juice. A woman in a white dress set her phone down, a faint smile curving her lips. "So? What do you think?" This was Rosie Harper. She was actually Brenna's cousin. But she was raised by Brenna's parents after her own parents had passed away. Brenna's parents treated her like she was their daughter. Sitting across from her were her friends, Sylvie Higgins and Vivian Morrison, both from prominent families. Their outfits were impeccable, their makeup flawless, their table manners practiced to perfection. The three had been inseparable since childhood, sharing everything. Sylvie tilted her head. "Her face is decent, but her fashion sense is a disaster," she remarked, snapping a few photos. She then arranged them into a collage. The centerpiece of the collage was a photo of Brenna eating, her face blurred out. Sylvie soon posted the photos. The caption read, "Flavor Restaurant, spotted a beauty." Vivian casually liked the post before saying, "She's got a bit of a wild look." Then, with a teasing smirk, she cast a sideways glance at Rosie and added, "Ethan might find that appealing." Rosie's smile faltered. The last thing she wanted was for her fiancé to take an interest in Brenna. The marriage agreement between the Mitchell and Harper families required a Harper member to marry the son of the Mitchell family--but it had never specified who. She shot Vivian a warning look. "Don't say things like that." Sylvie leaned in, amusement flickering in her eyes. "Vivian's got a point. Brenna's got the kind of figure men tend to notice. Imagine Ethan's reaction if he saw her like this." Rosie scowled as she responded, "It doesn't matter how pretty she is or what kind of figure she has. After today's events, Ethan won't spare her a second glance." The three shared a quiet laugh. Sylvie's eyes flicked toward Brenna's table, where most of the food had already been eaten. "She's got quite the appetite," she remarked. "Maybe the Barretts didn't feed her well? Just look at the way she's devouring everything--it's obvious she has never had gourmet dining before." Chapter 5 You Really Shouldn't Have Come Here In The First Place Sylvie set her phone on the table, tilting the screen toward her two friends as she shook her head in mock disbelief. Clicking her tongue, she smirked. "Who would've guessed? The Barretts' adopted daughter didn't even finish grade school and started mingling in social circles at ten. Hey, how many boyfriends do you think she's had?" Rosie picked up the phone, her eyes narrowing as she read the information about Brenna. There were also photos of Brenna from different periods, her rebellious fashion sense on full display. Some shots showed her in bold, dramatic makeup, and some showed her surrounded by men--none of the men looked ordinary, and a few were noticeably older than her. "Where did you get this from?" Rosie asked, intrigued. "I tried digging into her background before but came up with nothing." Sylvie leaned back with a proud smile. "I had my brother ask his friend to investigate. Turns out, Brenna has been skipping school and picking fights since she was a kid. At one point, she even had to leave the country because she couldn't stay here anymore." Rosie was stunned, her brows raised. "If she becomes a member of my family, won't that be a disaster?" Sylvie's grin widened. "Isn't that the best part?" After a while, Rosie chuckled. "I suppose it is." Brenna ate without pretense, not because she had poor manners but because of sheer hunger. By the time she had cleared half the dishes, she finally felt a lot better. Yet, the Harper family was still nowhere to be seen. She glanced at her phone--it was two in the afternoon. No word from them. She sent a message to Rosie. "When are you coming?" Rosie's reply came almost instantly. "Sorry, I might not make it today. Just leave when you're done eating. I'll cover the bill." A slow, knowing smirk crept onto Rosie's lips as she sent the message. She then swiftly typed another to the waitress. As if on cue, the waitress who had been attending to Brenna approached her again, moving at a leisurely pace. By now, Brenna had pulled out her bulky black laptop and opened a stock trading page, the screen glowing faintly. The waitress, noticing the outdated model of Brenna's laptop, barely concealed her disdain but tried hard to keep her tone polished. "Miss, could you please settle the bill?" Brenna blinked, caught off guard. She hadn't even indicated she was ready to leave, yet the waitress was already rushing her to pay? When had the Flavor Restaurant's customer service become so terrible? She turned the screen of her phone toward the waitress, showing her Rosie's message, her voice calm. "My friend said she'd handle the bill. Her name is Rosie Harper." The waitress didn't drop her professional smile. "I'm sorry, Miss, but I don't know your friend. The total is one hundred and nine thousand eight hundred dollars. If you're unable to pay, I'll have no choice but to call the police." From the booth, Rosie watched the scene with delight. She was curious to see what Brenna would do. Would she grovel to the Barretts for help? Or would she work off the debt scrubbing dishes for a year? Or perhaps she would resort to a classic dine-and-dash, flexing the street smarts she was rumored to have? Her fingers tightened around her phone as she silently recorded the scene. Just then, Vivian and Sylvie sauntered toward Brenna's table. The commotion had also drawn the attention of nearby diners, who discreetly raised their phones, capturing the scene. Vivian's eyes swept over Brenna with thinly veiled contempt. "Miss, if you can't afford to eat here, you really shouldn't have come here in the first place. This place is for the elite. You'd be better off at a restaurant more suited to your status." Sylvie smirked and folded her arms. "The minimum spend here is ten grand. I doubt you make that in a month. Tell you what, my family's looking for someone to clean the toilets. Work for my family for a month, and I'll cover your bill. What do you say?" Vivian let out a soft chuckle. "That's generous, Sylvie. If you'd rather not scrub toilets, Miss, I can pay for you instead. No cleaning necessary--just get on your knees and polish my shoes. Then I'll settle the bill for you." Clicks echoed through the room as more people snapped photos, some already posting the drama online. Seeing this, Rosie was very pleased. The people she had hired were doing their job perfectly, each capturing the scene and sharing it on social media. She believed that soon enough, Brenna's name would be dragged through the mud, and neither the Harper family nor Ethan would want anything to do with her. In an attempt to portray herself as the kind person who cleaned up the mess for Brenna later, Rosie sneaked out into the scorching heat, closely monitoring the chaos within. Vivian turned to the waitress, reaching into her designer bag. "How much is her bill?" she asked, pulling out a thick stack of cash and dropping it onto the table. She looked at Brenna. "Do as we say, and we'll cover your bill." The waitress answered promptly, "One hundred and nine thousand eight hundred dollars." Brenna leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, her eyes shifting between the two women before her. Judging by their outfits and attitudes, they were definitely from wealthy families--spoiled, entitled, and clearly here to target her. She hadn't offended them before, yet here they were, going out of their way to humiliate her. Someone was obviously pulling the strings behind the scenes. "Who do you think you are, barking in front of me? I don't even know you," she said. Before either Sylvie or Vivian could respond, Brenna glanced toward the staircase. A tall man had just arrived, his presence instantly commanding the room. His eyes gleamed like polished obsidian beneath perfectly arched brows. He had a chiseled nose, thin yet defined lips, and a jawline so precise that it looked sculpted by a master artisan. The man frowned as he surveyed the scene, his handsome face darkened by unmistakable displeasure. It was clear he had already pieced together what was happening. And yet, even with such a stunning man in the room, Brenna remained unaffected. A handsome face wouldn't distract her from the fools still yapping in front of her. Sylvie and Vivian, not seeing the man behind them, were fuming. Vivian, seething from Brenna's insult, raised her hand, ready to sl*p Brenna across the face. But the next second, a firm hand gripped her wrist, stopping her. Vivian's breath caught as she turned sharply, ready to lash out--until her eyes locked onto the man holding her back. Her heart sank. Why was Ethan Mitchell here? "E-Ethan?" she stammered. What happens next? 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She followed him for seven years out of gratitude, feeling lucky to marry him. When his mistress claimed she had cancer and only six months to live, he handed her divorce papers. "It's only for show. We'll remarry in six months." Her heart died. She resolved to make the fake divorce real and restart her life. ===== "Let's get a divorce. She has stomach cancer and has only six months left to live." After their in**mate encounter, Brandon Watson sat up and said in a detached voice. Millie Bennett, still breathing hard from the encounter, turned to him slowly, a wild look of disbelief in her eyes. They had been married for a year. What did he mean by suddenly saying he wanted a divorce? "Her final wish is to be my wife," Brandon added, almost offhandedly. He said, lighting a ci**rette. The sm**e rose in slow spirals around his face. Millie gawked at him, stunned. Silence spread across the room like mist. The bedside lamp glowed faintly, casting long shadows across the wall, making them seem farther apart than they were. Brandon glanced at her and gave a faint frown. "It's only to comfort her," he explained. "We'll remarry after six months. She won't be here long, Millie." His voice was steady, almost detached, like someone passing along a message that didn't concern him. Millie watched Brandon wordlessly, her eyes fixed on his profile. He spoke like his words were instructions, not suggestions. Their relationship had always been one-sided. She had chased it from the start, drawn in by youthful affection. She had stayed by his side for years, moving through each rough season without letting go. Millie still remembered that day, under the heavy rain that soaked them both, Brandon had stood between her and her stepfather, gripping a cracked stick, and said with fire in his voice, "Touch Millie again, and you'll regret it." That moment had etched itself into her heart. Even when she was weak and bl**ding, she saw him--unmoving, protective, fierce. From that point on, she was his. She loved him without pause, met his requests with everything she had, carrying them out more flawlessly than anyone else ever could. He would always pat her head, light and warm, and say in a low voice, "You did so well, Millie." But Brandon's praises never lasted, his ki**es barely stayed, and whatever affection they shared always felt just out of reach. But Millie told herself it was just how he was. Even when others called her naive, she stayed--devoted and trusting. She had given seven years of her life to him. A year earlier, Brandon's grandfather, Derek Watson, had fallen into poor health. The family, hoping to lift his spirits, decided Brandon should marry. Perhaps the joy of a wedding would give the old man something to hold on to. So Brandon went on to marry Millie. She thought it was finally their moment. But after the vows, something changed. He began to pull away. Sometimes, he looked at her like she was a stranger. "Millie, are you listening?" Brandon scowled as he caught the far-off look in Millie's eyes. "Does it have to be like this?" she asked softly. He didn't answer. Instead, he said, "She's going through so much, Millie." Millie's ch**t tightened. "And what about me?" Brandon didn't answer right away. His eyes, dark and steady, flickered with a trace of impatience. Then, after about three seconds, he said, "Millie, she's dying. Maybe you don't know, but she's in love with me. Because we were married, and she didn't want to hurt you, she never let things go too far between us. Even when I tried to make it up to her, she never let me. She's a good person. Please, let her have this. Don't make me think you're being heartless." His words, spoken so calmly, pierced her more than if he had shouted. So in Brandon's eyes, a woman in love with a married man, who promised to hold back but never really let go, was a saint. And a wife who simply wanted to keep her husband to herself was heartless. Millie stared at his face. The same face she had fallen for--intense eyes, prominent nose, beautiful lips. When had things started to crumble? Maybe it was the day the woman showed up. "Are you sure this is what you want?" Millie asked, steadying herself. Brandon said nothing, pursing his lips. Finally, he opened his mouth to respond. "Yes, you--" "Alright." Millie cut him off before he could finish. Brandon looked up, clearly surprised. He frowned, studying her closely. "Millie, you're getting clever," he said, a flicker of irritation in his voice. "You know I need your consent to go through with it. Are you thinking of using it to get under my skin?" Millie didn't answer. She just stared at the white wall, watching how their shadows stretched. Brandon put out his ci**rette andsaid no more, pulling on his clothes quickly and storming out. He didn't stop to consider how she felt. Nor did he pause to acknowledge how humiliating or painful his request was. He knew she couldn't leave him. He was utterly sure about that. The door slammed shut behind him. And just like that, Millie was alone. She sat motionless by the bed, staring at the door as if it might open again. Her phone buzzed beside her. A message lit up the screen. She picked up the phone. It was from a familiar number. "He came to see me again." The text came with a photo. Brandon's face was captured in the reflection of a glass door, a soft smile playing on his lips, eyes warm in a way Millie had never seen. She froze. Then, slowly, she scrolled upward through the previous messages. "He said he has feelings for me." "Rainy nights aren't lonely for me because he's here with me. What about you?" "The one who isn't loved is truly the other woman. Millie, you were never his first choice; you were just the one he settled for. He sees beauty the way I do, shares my taste in things, and he loves me." The messages continued that way, proving Brandon's betrayal. The man who had always treated her with distance these past seven years had apparently mastered tenderness for someone else. Millie kept scrolling until she reached the very first message. "You should know who I am. Do you like the flowers in your living room today? I sent them. He said they were beautiful." Of course, Millie knew who it was. Vivian Simpson, the famous floral designer known for filling her wealthy clients' grand villas and lavish parties with carefully and beautifully arranged blooms. Millie had shown Brandon the messages before. He'd brushed them off and said there was no proof they were from Vivian. He had even said maybe Millie sent them herself just to stir trouble. Most of the messages didn't have pictures, and the few that did were vague--taken from afar, hard to pin down. But not today's. Today's was clear. Millie thought about showing him the photo. Then her eyes drifted toward the bedside drawer. She reached down and pulled it open. There it was. The pr**nancy test result she'd gotten earlier that day. She was pr**nant with Brandon's child. At the worst possible moment. Her tears fell, soaking the paper and smudging the ink. But what did it matter anymore? Brandon's heart had been gone for a long time. Millie wiped her face dry and picked up the lighter he'd left behind. Flames flickered as she held the test result to the fire. Brandon had no idea that saying yes to the divorce would be the final thing she'd ever do for him. She had given him back what she owed--not in money, but in seven full years of her life. She would never love him again. Chapter 2 Terminate The Pregnancy The next day, parked just outside the courthouse, Brandon sat in his Maybach, quietly tapping the steering wheel with his left hand. "Brandon, you and Millie have been married for a year now. Don't you think it's time to start planning for a baby?" An elderly voice drifted from the phone's speaker. Brandon's face softened, a trace of frustration flickering through, but his patience didn't waver. "Grandma, we're still young. There's no need to rush. You and Grandpa should focus on staying healthy. He." "What do you mean by 'There's no need to rush'?" The elderly voice rose in annoyance. "Your grandfather's condition might have improved, but we're not getting any younger. We don't know how much time we've got left." "Grandma." "Don't give me that! I've heard things, Brandon. Whatever's going on, be good to Millie." Silence fell over the line for a few seconds. "Brandon, did you hear me?" the elder asked. Brandon rubbed his forehead in frustration. "I understand, Grandma." They exchanged a few more words before he ended the call. Brandon resumed tapping the steering wheel with his fingers, this time slower, more distracted. He stared through the windshield toward the courthouse. He clenched his jaw. Then, he opened the messaging app on his phone. His thumb hovered over a familiar profile picture--a simple floral image, tagged "My Love." He skipped past it and opened the thread with Millie. The last message he'd sent her simply reminded her of the time and place to meet for the divorce. She still hadn't shown up. With a scowl, Brandon sent a new message. "Where are you?" A knock on the window followed almost instantly. He turned to see Millie standing outside, her face a little pale. She opened the door and slipped into the passenger seat, giving him a blank look. He hadn't changed out of yesterday's clothes--the same ones she had picked out for him. Through the years, it had always been her--choosing his ties, picking his cologne, arranging every detail down to the fit of his tailored shirts and suits. "Why are you late?" Brandon asked. Millie looked away. "I'm not late," she said quietly. She was simply no longer the girl who would always arrive early and wait for him without thinking. Brandon's fingers stilled against the wheel. His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied her. Millie looked a little pale, maybe from a sleepless night after he mentioned the divorce last night. Still, she looked fine. "My grandma called earlier," Brandon muttered, looking away. "Don't tell them about the divorce. They're too old to handle something like that." Millie didn't respond right away. Instead, she asked, "What did your grandma say?" "She wants us to have a baby," Brandon said flatly, a flicker of irritation slipping into his voice. Silence settled in the car. After a while, Millie let out a small soft laugh. Brandon curled his hand into a fist and turned his face to the window. There were moments when he used to imagine what their child might look like. He remembered holding her from behind, pressing a hand gently over her belly, whispering, "Millie, when will you give me a baby?" But it hadn't happened. Anyway, they could always remarry in six months and start planning for a baby. There would still be enough time. Vivian, however, only had six months left. Outside, passers-by came and went. Then Millie spoke up. "Just once more, Brandon. Are you completely sure you want to go through with the divorce?" "Having second thoughts?" Brandon barked, looking genuinely upset. Vivian was still waiting for him at the studio. After confirming once more, Millie didn't say another word. She reached into her bag, pulled out a document, and handed it to Brandon. He took it with a frown, flipping through the pages. It was a property division agreement. "If we're getting divorced," she said, "we should make everything clear. I'll only take what I'm entitled to from the Watson family. And from this moment on, anything either of us earns belongs to us individually." Then Millie pulled out a pen and placed it beside him. "If that's okay with you, just sign it." Brandon's eyes stayed on the document, but his frown deepened as he read. The agreement was too simple. She really wasn't asking for much. And her signature was already there. He didn't get it. What was she trying to do? It was basically just a fake divorce. Vivian only had six months left. He planned to spend those months by her side. After that, he'd return to Millie--no one else needed to know the divorce ever happened. To him, Millie had always seemed blindly loyal. Brandon had never thought of her as someone with pride or boundaries. There was a time he'd grown bored of her, pushing her into things that chipped away at her pride on purpose. But Millie never declined. She'd still return with a soft smile, holding out the results like a trophy. "Brandon, look--I did it. Isn't it great?" She was a good wife. Meek. Obedient. For seven years, he'd seen it play out over and over. If it weren't for Vivian, their marriage probably would have gone on like that. But. A flash of memory--Vivian, weak and coughing bl**d, still trying to smile--stabbed at his ch**t. The pain was raw and unshakable. Brandon looked outside the car window again. Millie's reflection stared back at him--blank, expressionless. Was this her way of threatening him? After all, she had once faked messages to frame Vivian. She hated Vivian. Chuckling dryly, Brandon picked up the pen and signed his name. No one could force his hand. Not even her. There were two copies of the agreement. Millie calmly took her copy after he signed both. They both stepped out of the car and headed into the courthouse. Together, they filed for divorce. Next time they came back here, they would finalize everything and collect the official decree. Once all the formalities were done, the two of them stepped out of the courthouse together. The sun was already blazing, and the warmth settled on Millie's skin. Brandon scanned the people moving about. It wasn't hard to tell the couples getting married from those getting divorced. Some people chose to have their weddings at the courthouse. A couple walked by, hand in hand. The woman's smile triggered something in Brandon. He remembered that same look on Millie's face a year ago, when they first got married. Brandon glanced over at Millie, but her face was blank. "I'll keep transferring money to your account during the next six months," he said. "And don't say anything to my grandparents." He didn't wait for a reply. Just turned and walked off. Millie stood there quietly, watching his car disappear around the corner. Her cab arrived not long after. And then, the two cars went opposite directions. One turned toward Vivian Floral Design. The other headed for Crobert Hospital. Brandon walked into Vivian's studio, where she greeted him with a gentle smile. He told her, "It's done. She didn't make a scene." Meanwhile, Millie stepped into the ob-gyn wing and quietly sat opposite the doctor. The doctor reached over and pulled the curtain "Millie. are you sure you want to terminate the pr**nancy?" Her best friend and doctor, Alexia Hussain, looked at her with concern. "You were so determined to have a baby. You even worked so hard to get yourself ready for co**eption." Millie reached into her bag and placed the divorce filing receipt on the side table. "Yes," she replied calmly. "Let's terminate it. I don't want it anymore." Chapter 3 Signs Of Miscarriage Alexia stared at the filing receipt, surprised. She and Millie had been close friends for more than ten years, and in all that time, Alexia had seen just how hard Millie loved Brandon. There was a time Millie could have died for him, and nobody would have questioned it. They got married a year ago. Alexia had smiled at the wedding, even though something about their pairing felt off. But still, Millie had gotten what she wanted. That had been enough for Alexia. Now this. What had happened? "I don't love him anymore," Millie said, before Alexia could ask. She looked over and gave a small, calm smile. In that smile, Alexia caught a glimpse of the old Millie--the one from before everything collapsed, before grief carved deep lines into her, before her father's death and the fall of the Bennett family changed her. It brought Alexia a strange sense of calm. "Brandon doesn't know I'm pr**nant," Millie said calmly. "And before the divorce becomes final, I don't want to take any risks. It's better if he doesn't know." If either party changed their mind before the divorce was finalized, they could take back the application, and the procedure would no longer go through. And that was when Alexia knew that Millie wasn't playing around about divorcing Brandon. After taking it all in, Alexia did what needed to be done: she booked Millie's medical tests and then advised carefully, "Wait a few days before the surgery." Millie frowned in confusion. "Why?" "You know your bl**d type--Rh-negative. It's rare. We need time to prepare bl**d, just in case. I've already contacted the bl**d bank. They said it might take a week." Millie went quiet. The sadness in her eyes was unmistakable. She had gotten that bl**d type from her father. And now she missed him all over again. If he were still here. "Okay." Millie nodded slowly. A smile tugged at her lips, but her eyes turned red. "You also have early signs of mi**arriage. You need to be careful these next few days," Alexia added, her voice full of concern. They'd grown up together, and Alexia knew Millie's sadness too well. She held Millie's hand. "Wait for me. My shift's almost over. I'll go home with you." Millie nodded, and then went to wait in the hallway. She looked down at her stomach. Early signs of mi**arriage. Did the baby know what she'd decided and want to leave first? Pursing her lips, Millie walked toward the lab for the tests. Her phone buzzed. It was a bank notification. She had opened a new account--one that Brandon wouldn't know about. She was keeping her money cleanly separate before the divorce was finalized. Every cent she earned from now on would live in that account. A second message followed. "Payment for composition and lyrics has been completed. Finance has sent the transfer. Kindly confirm." Before she married Brandon, Millie had worked quietly as an anonymous songwriter. Music had always been her first love. Back when her father was alive, life had been generous, and she lacked nothing. As the Bennett family's only daughter, she had the freedom and the means to grow her gift. The turns her life had taken had taught her things she hadn't known she needed to learn. Maybe her father never thought that the pastime he once encouraged would one day be the very thing keeping her afloat. Millie paused, and then typed back, "Money received. Thank you." The reply came quickly. "It's what you deserve. You've written a lot of hits over the years. Why don't you return? There's a new show coming up. It fits you perfectly. I've sent details to your email. Reserved a contestant slot just for you." Millie opened her email. A new message sat at the top, inviting her to join a music competition show. The format was familiar, like others she had seen before, but this one wanted something original. She typed out a quick reply. "I'll think about it." Then she set her phone down. A light cramp curled in her lower belly. She thought of her father again. The second time today. Meanwhile, the Internet was buzzing with updates. #VivianSimpsonStomachCancer #FloristVivianSimpsonCountdown #LastSixMonths The most trending post was a video featuring a reporter summarizing the news about Vivian. "Sources confirm that the well-known floral designer, Vivian Simpson, has been diagnosed with stomach cancer. She's been given six months to live. But instead of retreating, she's choosing to document her remaining time--she wants to share her life with the world as it winds down." The video cut to Vivian. She looked at the camera with a sad smile. "In these last six months, I'll be posting updates about my life. I'm not doing it for attention. I just want to offer some comfort to others going through the same thing. I hope you all stay strong." Then the reporter came back on screen. "There have long been whispers about Miss Simpson and Mr. Brandon Watson, CEO of Watson Group. But Mr. Watson is married. It remains to be seen if he'll reconnect with Miss Simpson during her final months." In the background, Vivian seemed to have heard that part. She stepped forward, stopped beside the reporter, and gently cut in. She faced the camera. "I'm not ashamed to say I like Brandon. He's an incredible man," she said. "I'm sure I'm not the only one who feels that way. But I want to make it clear--I'm not going to break up someone's marriage. That's not who I am." Having said that, she walked off, leaving the reporter behind. She wove through the small crowd with a smile and climbed into a waiting car. The foreign caregiver from Flaville passed her a glass of water, hand paused in midair, unsure. "You look like you want to say something," Vivian said, her voice cold. "Go ahead. The driver's one of ours." The caregiver leaned in and lowered their voice. "Miss Simpson, your diagnosis. it's a stomach ulcer. Having our facility change that into cancer is already risky. But now you're sharing it with the public online?" Vivian gave a sharp laugh, startling the caregiver. "Your facility--is it a licensed medical facility?" she asked. The caregiver nodded. "And does it manage my medical record privately?" The caregiver gave another nod. "Is that what my medical record says--that I have six months left because of terminal stomach cancer?" The caregiver hesitated before nodding again. "Exactly!" Vivian leaned back with a smile. "It's official, then. No one can question it." "But you don't actually have stomach cancer. What happens later." "There are two ways out," Vivian said, cutting in. Her voice was sharper now, her eyes harder. "One: I make a miraculous recovery during treatment at your facility or somewhere else, maybe because of all the love I've received. Two: your facility gets blamed for a diagnostic error and months of wrong treatment." She turned her face fully to the caregiver, looking more intimidating. "Which option do you prefer?" The caregiver looked panicked but forced out the words. "I'm sorry, Miss Simpson. I understand. You've already thought everything through." Vivian gave a short, cold smile. "Where should we go next, Miss Simpson?" the caregiver asked in an attempt to lighten the mood. Vivian glanced at her phone. "Crobert Hospital." The caregiver stiffened. "But--" "Relax. I'm only going in for pain relief with my medical record," Vivian said, and then reached for her phone and sent Brandon a message, telling him to meet her at the hospital later. Almost instantly, he replied, "Sure." Meanwhile, Millie stood in the hospital restroom, a steady ache pulling at her lower stomach. In her hand was a tissue, the smear of bl**d clear against the white. It was an early sign of a mi**arriage. Chapter 4 She Would Have No Ties With Brandon As Vivian made her way to Crobert Hospital, the Internet was filled with comments about her diagnosis. Her name appeared across countless threads. "To be honest, I think Vivian's brave. She's clear about her feelings as well as boundaries. Quite impressive, actually." "Exactly. A lot of people like Brandon. As long as she's not wrecking his marriage, her feelings are her own business." "Her older videos and that livestream from Crest Villa gave me a glimpse into rich people's lives. It's sad she won't be around much longer." "Who's Brandon's wife, though? She should just let him be with Vivian. The girl has only six months left." "I know her. It's Millie Bennett, a musician. She stopped working after she got married and became a full-time housewife.". At Crobert Hospital, Millie's phone kept buzzing. Calls and messages came one after another. Some people acted concerned. Others wanted information. A few tried to mock her. All of it was about Vivian and Brandon. Millie had read just enough of the headlines to understand what was going on with Vivian's illness. She didn't click on anything else. It didn't matter anymore. Once the divorce was finalized, Brandon would no longer be a part of her life. She checked the time. When she looked up, she saw Alexia walking toward her. "How are you feeling?" Alexia asked, concerned. "Any pain?" She saw the strain on Millie's face and, without needing to be asked, reached out to help her rise. Millie gave a small smile and shook her head. She had made up her mind. Some things simply had to be faced. Alexia understood, but she just sighed and helped Millie up. They took the elevator. The elevator doors soon opened at the ground floor. The hospital was packed. Even more than usual. Millie noticed a few reporters scattered in the crowd. "So many people today. Probably another celebrity here for a check-up," Alexia said. "They always bring this kind of attention." She stopped at once, her face changing. She had seen something and quickly tried to lead Millie in the other direction. But there was no point. Millie had already spotted them. Brandon stood tall, striking in a way that drew attention without effort. The noise and movement around him didn't touch him--his hair perfectly in place, his suit smooth and sharp, like the chaos didn't dare come close. Vivian stood beside him. She looked small and weak, her face pale, which made her seem even more fragile. She lost her balance slightly. Brandon stepped in to catch her, shielding her from the cameras and the crowd. "Don't look," Alexia said quickly, stepping in front of Millie, her tone sharp with anger. "Alexia, let's go," Millie said, her voice calm. She had made up her mind; Brandon didn't need to know she was there, and she had no interest in crossing paths with him now. "Why should we go?" Alexia snapped, growing more furious. "You're not divorced yet. He's still your husband. And he's here holding another woman like it's nothing. It's shameless." Husband. Millie looked away, sighing. There was a time she had secretly smiled just thinking about Brandon being her husband. But not anymore. "I don't feel well, Alexia. Let's just go," Millie said, changing the topic. Alexia gave her full attention now and stopped looking in Brandon and Vivian's direction. They left. Across the lobby, Vivian glanced over. A flicker of pride passed through her face. "I'm sorry, Brandon. I didn't mean to drag you into this mess," she said, a tinge of remorse in her voice. "I know you hate being in the spotlight." "It's fine," Brandon replied. "Let's go see the doctor first." His face stayed calm, but something stirred in his thoughts--something brief, hard to name. They stepped into the consultation room. Vivian handed over her medical record to the doctor. The doctor read through it, slowly, and frowned. "This looks serious," he said. Vivian gave a faint smile. "I know," she said quietly. Then she took a slow breath. "Please prescribe something strong for the pain." "In your current condition, I suggest you stay in the hospital and begin treatment," the doctor said. "You should try. There's still a chance we can extend your life." "What's the point?" Vivian gave a sad smile. She brushed away the tears building in her eyes, and then said quietly, "I don't want treatment." Brandon's fingers curled tighter around hers. She gave a small shake of her head. "Doctor, I just want to spend the last phase of my life with some dignity," she said. "So, please prescribe some strong painkillers." The doctor sighed deeply but finally nodded in understanding. Outside, reporters were taking photos and recording videos without pause before posting them online. People watching were emotional. "Good heavens, this is a real person whose life is ending." "I cry when I'm in mild pain. I can't imagine what late-stage cancer feels like. But she still manages to smile. She's really strong." "I couldn't hold back tears when she said she wouldn't go through treatment. Only people who've faced serious illness understand this feeling." Public sympathy for Vivian reached its highest point. Vivian soon got her medicine, and as she and Brandon walked out of the hospital, Millie was sitting on a bench nearby. She was waiting for Alexia, who had gone to get the car. Before Millie could respond to what was happening, paparazzi noticed her and rushed over. The camera flashes came all at once. Brandon saw her too. He frowned and asked, "What are you doing here?" Millie stood up, glanced at Brandon, and then at Vivian's hand resting on his arm. She didn't speak yet. The crowd didn't give her the chance. "Mrs. Watson, did you come because of what's online? Are you trying to catch them together?" "What do you think of your husband being out in public with someone else?" "Mrs. Watson, what are you planning to do about Vivian?" People quickly decided that Millie had shown up on purpose--to face Vivian directly, to start something. Even Brandon thought the same. He looked annoyed. "Vivian is sick. Didn't you know?" he barked. Brandon's voice was brimming with menace. Millie felt like laughing. So that was what he believed--that she was picking a fight on purpose with someone who was ill. Brandon really didn't know her. Seeing Millie didn't answer, the reporters turned to Vivian, asking questions about breaking up someone's marriage. Brandon looked at Millie again. "Millie!" he called. He wanted her to defend Vivian. Like always, he expected her to do what he wanted. But the will to please him was gone. She was walking away from him--there was no reason left to obey. Millie placed her right hand over her stomach. The dull ache was still there. "I came to visit a friend," she said finally. She didn't want to say more. Her pr**nancy wasn't something she wanted to share--not before the divorce was finalized, not with all eyes on her. Her reply to his question earlier was simple. Having answered Brandon, Millie turned to leave. But the reporters didn't back off. They crowded in around her. "Mrs. Watson, people online are asking you to step aside and let Mr. Watson be with Vivian. What do you say to that?" "Vivian doesn't have long. Are you still going to fight her?" "Mrs. Watson--" Millie didn't bother responding; she just wanted to get away. The crowd, thrilled to see the three of them in the same place at last, had no intention of letting it end. Brandon stood still, saying nothing, and that silence gave someone the boldness to shove Millie with force. She staggered, her arms moving at once to shield her stomach. Chapter 5 To Let Go Of The Past Millie landed hard, her back hitting the ground first. Cameras flashed wildly, capturing the fall from every angle. She looked toward Brandon by instinct. But his face gave nothing--just a cold, still stare. And in that moment, she understood what he wanted her to do, and it stung her heart. He wanted her to speak for him. To tell the press it was all a misunderstanding. That Vivian was ill, and he had only come out of concern. That it was kindness, not betrayal. Clutching her belly, Millie lowered her head and let a faint smile slip across her face. The sky above was clear, and sunlight streamed through gaps in the crowd. But none of it touched her. She steadied herself and rose slowly. Then, without looking back, she said calmly, "I feel sorry for Miss Simpson. But that's all." Someone nearby, unaware, asked, "So, are you friends with her?" Millie gave a short laugh. "Friends? No. I wouldn't call someone clinging to my husband a friend." She turned and waved to Alexia, who had just pulled up. "Millie!" Brandon called after her, his face red with rage. But she didn't turn around. She stood tall and kept walking. Alexia got out and moved quickly toward her friend, scoffing as they left, "You'd think they were the married couple confronting the home-wrecker. Absolutely ridiculous." Vivian's lips parted to respond. "You." But Alexia cut in before she could say a word. "What? Tell me I'm wrong. If you're planning to use the press to scare me, go ahead. I've got nothing to hide." Vivian's face turned even paler, looking as if she might faint. Reporters scrambled, voices rising all at once. Alexia ushered Millie into the car, not sparing another glance behind them. "Don't worry," she said. "She's definitely faking it. I've seen enough of these cases to tell in a second." Millie gave her a small smile. "I'm not worried about her. I'm worried about you. What if this mess affects your job?" At a red light, Alexia grinned and nudged her. "Don't forget my dad's the hospital director." Millie raised an eyebrow. "The same dad you swore you'd never speak to again?" Alexia shrugged. "You never know when a connection comes in handy. Honestly, sometimes I wish all the powerful people out there were my dads." They both laughed, the tension slowly easing from Millie's face. As the light turned green, the car moved forward again. "I've got the afternoon free," Alexia said, stretching. "Whatever you need, I'm ready." Playing along, Millie turned to her with a sly grin. "Great. I need help with something." "What is it?" Alexia asked curiously. "Help me move." She grabbed Alexia's wrist. "You can't back out now." Alexia gr**ned but gave in. Before long, the two of them arrived at the house Millie had shared with Brandon, along with a team of movers and organizers. The house had come together quickly after their rushed wedding. Everything--furniture and layout--had felt temporary at first. But over the year, Millie had made a home out of it, filling it with warmth. At least, she tried. Alexia directed the workers while Millie moved quietly around the room, her hands light on every object. On a shelf, she spotted a bottle of Chanel No. 5. The first gift Brandon ever gave her. He'd brought it back from a business trip. He came straight to her from the airport. He had pulled her into his arms. His ki**es were quick, urgent. They had been just like any young couple in love back then. She opened the bottle and sprayed it once. The scent filled the room. She remembered how he had ki**ed her lightly after spraying it on her skin. "Should I pack this too?" Alexia asked, seeing the perfume. Millie glanced over and shook her head. "Leave it." She slipped off the wedding ring Brandon had picked without thought, placing it gently on the table. But as the movers shuffled back and forth through the space, she paused. Then, quietly, she opened a drawer and put both the perfume and the ring inside. Soon, the house had been cleared of every trace of her. Only that bottle and that ring remained. Packing up had been tiring, but once the decision was made, it moved quickly. It was the same with her feelings. The wind moved softly through her hair as the car headed toward her new place. Behind her, the mansion faded in the rearview mirror. Sometimes, to move forward, one had to leave parts of oneself behind. Millie had things to do. The fall of the Bennett family, the unanswered questions around her father's sudden death--she was going to find the truth. Her life had always been shaped by what others needed. Now it was time to live for herself. She decided to begin with the music show. It would bring in money, and more importantly, might reconnect her with people linked to her father's past. She pulled out her phone, found the right contact, and typed her message. "I'm joining the music program.". Vivian was still crying. Brandon sat beside her, muttering words of comfort. But his thoughts were filled with the image of Millie standing with her back to him, saying those words. She had known exactly what he wanted her to say. And she had chosen not to. He had sent her message after message. She hadn't replied any of them. She had been acting strangely lately. The change in her was too sharp, too sudden. She was provoking him on purpose. She had done it when they filed for divorce. And again at the hospital. Brandon remembered the look in her eyes the night before, when she asked if he truly made up his mind about the divorce. She had been sad but also calm. An unexpected fear filled his heart. "Brandon, don't be angry at Millie," Vivian said through tears. "I know she's upset. After seeing the videos online, she must've come to confront us. And I understand." She burst into tears. "After all. I'm the one who took something from her. I'm taking six months from your marriage--what's left of it. If she lashes out at me, I deserve it." As she spoke, she started coughing--hard. A second later, she spat bl**d into her hand. "Vivian!" Brandon jumped up, reaching for his phone to call for an ambulance. As for Millie's sudden change, he brushed it off as moodiness. In his mind, she wouldn't dare walk away. Vivian reached out and stopped him, still smiling faintly. "It's the cancer. It's late-stage. This happens. Don't worry." Her caregiver helped her lie back down. Brandon turned away, already thinking of confronting Millie. As soon as he left the room, Vivian calmly wiped her mouth and pulled out a small bl**d bag hidden in her cheek. She laughed. "What do you think he'll say to Millie now?" she asked the caregiver. "I'm honestly looking forward to it." Then she began to go through the news reports excitedly. The entire online community seemed against Millie. "Vivian didn't even go for life-saving treatment--she just wanted pain meds. Millie really made a scene for no reason." "Vivian's dying, and Millie still wants to pick fights?" "Mr. Watson and Vivian look perfect together. Like a real power couple." "Millie's fall was so embarrassing. I cringed." "Millie, just step aside already!" "Millie, divorce Brandon!" "Yeah, divorce Brandon!" "Divorce!" Vivian chuckled as she read the comments. Then she sent a message to a contact and gave a few instructions. "Today's move was perfect. Keep the pressure up. Make sure Millie stays where she is--down. Oh, and find out why she went to the hospital today.". What happens next? Available chapters here are limited, click the button below to install the App and enjoy more exciting chapters (Automatically jump to this novel when you open the app) &3&

After four years of marriage, her husband only cared about another woman. She decided to divorce, planning a p**sionate one-n*ght st**d with another man. It didn't go as planned, but the man she h**ked up with ended up pursuing her relentlessly. ===== A message lit up Stella Russell's phone, and along with it came a bunch of photos. Clothes scattered carelessly, two people holding each other tightly, messy b**sheets, and a hazy reflection in a fogged-up mirror. Stella had seen this kind of thing before. This wasn't new to her. One look at the big hand holding that woman's wrist, and Stella knew it was Marc's. Her husband. The same man she'd been married to for four years. Then her eyes caught the date on the pictures, and her stomach sank. It was the same day as their wedding anniversary. Marc had promised they'd spend the evening together, but he'd vanished for three days. All she got was a message from his assistant, saying he had some urgent business to handle. "Urgent, huh?" Stella let out a cold chuckle. Clearly urgent--in someone else's b*d. She then closed the message and called someone from her contact list. The person picked up almost immediately. "Stella," came the voice on the other end. "I've made my decision about the classified research project," she said calmly. "Who's the candidate?" they asked. "Me." A heavy silence stretched on the other end of the line, and then came a sharp, unwavering voice. "Don't joke around, Stella. You know what this means! Once you're in the classified research project, there's no turning back. No outside contact, no personal ties. You'll be officially listed as missing, and everything about your past will be wiped clean. A new identity will be created for you. So ask yourself--are you really ready to walk away from your family? From Marc?" Stella's eyes fell on the framed wedding photo hanging nearby. The smiles in it once made her feel warm, but now they just made her heart ache. Marc's promises, which used to sound sweet, now felt cold and empty. "I've made my decision," she said quietly. "I'll come by tomorrow to fill out the forms." She ended the call before the person on the other end could say anything else. She didn't want to hear more. Her mind was already made up. At that moment, a car pulled up outside. Moments later, Marc Walsh walked in, tall as ever, loosening his black tie while heading straight for the bathroom. His jacket, tossed lazily on the hook, still carried the su**estive scent of FIRE2, the latest women's perfume of brand Vlexoot. Bold, heated--everything she apparently wasn't anymore. Marc came out minutes later, dripping from a fast shower, wearing a gray bathrobe. The robe hung loosely, showing off his ch**t and a*s. Damp hair fell around his face, and the steam only made him look colder. Sharper. Being the heir to the powerful Walsh family, Marc had everything--looks, status, and money. Once, she'd been drawn to all of that. Now, it only made her sick. "What's with that look?" Marc chuckled, sliding an arm around her waist, his voice low and teasing. "Miss me, babe?" His hand slid down her side, but his touch made her skin crawl. She quickly pulled away. Marc's hand stopped mid-move, his eyebrows knitting together. "What's going on? Are you mad at me?" Stella took a breath, steadying herself. She wasn't going to waste energy on another fight. Pushing down the ache in her heart, she leaned over and picked up a locked box from the drawer, handing it to him. "Here. A gift." Inside? The divorce papers she'd already signed. Her final present. "You'll have to guess the password to open it," she said flatly. Marc gave it a lazy look, thinking it was just another one of her odd little games, and tossed it onto the table. Then he pulled her close again, resting his chin on her shoulder. "You're the only gift I want." Stella stiffened without meaning to. Marc noticed and gave a low chuckle. "Still pouting because I missed our anniversary? Work's been nuts," he said while brushing a k**s on her cheek. Then he let go, pulled a small box from his coat, and handed it to her. "Do you like it?" Inside was a hairpin--delicate and gold-plated, clearly custom-made with careful detail. "I got this made just for you. You've always liked things like this, haven't you? Try it on." His voice held that familiar mix of control and affection. That tone had once been enough to melt her resolve. People in Choria all believed Marc doted on his wife. Stella had believed it as well. If it weren't for the photos saved in her phone, she might've really been touched by the gift. The girl in the pictures was in her twenties, pretty and confident, with flirtatious eyes and long, wavy hair pinned up using the same hairpin that now lay in front of Stella. The loose style revealed her smooth neck--marked with hi**eys. "There's only one like it in the world. You like it, don't you?" Marc gently lifted her hair, his rough fingers brushing against her skin in a way that was both familiar and far too int**ate. Stella's patience was wearing down fast--she nearly stabbed the d**n thing straight into his ch**t. She looked up at him, her eyes colder than usual. "The only one in the world, huh?" Something about her felt off. Marc felt it in his gut. But the moment she smiled, that familiar softness returning, his doubt disappeared. "If it's truly one of a kind, then yes, I love it." Stella calmly closed the box. "I've got work to do tonight. You go ahead and sl**p." She stepped out of his arms, holding the box tightly, not sparing him a single glance. A cool draft slipped into his open robe, and for some reason, it left Marc feeling strangely hollow. Tonight, she seemed colder than usual. He glanced at the locked box on the table, and a strange calm returned to him. After all, no one understood Stella's feelings better than he did. She loved him deeply. so deeply that no matter what he did, she'd never truly walk away. Not now, not ever. His phone buzzed over and over inside his robe pocket. When he finally checked it, bold, fl**ty messages lit up the screen, making his throat tighten. He gave a short reply, deleted everything, and carelessly tossed the phone aside before sinking into b*d. The soft, familiar scent lingering on the sheets eased his nerves, and before long, he was fast asleep. Meanwhile, in the study, Stella quietly snapped a picture of the hairpin and sent it to a luxury resale boutique. "Sell this. ASAP." She attached a bank account. "Send the money here." It was the institute's official account. Even something stained could still be put to good use. By morning, when Marc opened his eyes, Stella was already fully dressed. He leaned up on his elbows and motioned her over. His voice was husky and soft with sl**p. "Come here. Give me a hug." Stella's fingers paused on her blouse buttons. She drew in a breath, her gaze clear and composed. "Something urgent came up at the institute. I've got to leave now. Didn't have time to make breakfast--you'll have to sort it out yourself today." She grabbed her bag and walked out, just like last night--no glance, no hesitation. Marc's hands froze mid-motion, a hollow feeling creeping back into his ch**t. He slowly rubbed his brows, trying to shake it off. No matter how packed her schedule was, Stella never missed a morning. She always made sure breakfast was ready just in time. Then she'd gently wake him, coax a hug, and offer a morning k**s with that sweet smile. But not today. "Stella." Just as she opened the door, she heard his voice behind her. It felt like something ripped through her ch**t--sharp and deep. She turned slowly, her eyes steady. "Yes?" Marc looked at her for a long moment. She seemed normal. Maybe it was just in his head. "Make sure you eat, even if things get hectic. And don't stay up too late. The Marina Horizon deal hit a snag, so I'll be working late this week. Don't wait up." "Alright." Stella smiled. With sunlight on her face, that warm smile and sparkling eyes reminded him of the girl who'd once taken his breath away. Marc's heart skipped a beat. His voice turned even softer. "Once work calms down, let's go to Midstream Isle. Make up for the honeymoon we missed." Her heart, already aching, felt like it was breaking all over again. Back when they were planning the wedding, she'd carefully listed out places they'd travel to together--one for every anniversary as another honeymoon. She'd believed they'd stay in love forever. But this year, Marc had taken another woman to that very place. The photos of them together were still in her phone. Stella lowered her eyes and answered quietly, "Sure. when things settle down." With that, she turned and walked out. Not a flicker of warmth was left in her eyes. And sadly for him, that chance would never come. Chapter 2 Caught Red Handed Stella drove her modest black Volkswagen straight through the gates of the Hookwood Research Institute. The moment she stepped inside the main office building, Lainey Lewis, her senior colleague, marched up and grabbed her by the wrist. "You're seriously here to submit the application? What's going on, Stella? You didn't reply to my messages. You can't just make a decision like this on a whim. This project isn't some experiment, and you should've at least discussed it with Marc." A sharp ache rose in Stella's ch**t, but she remained silent. Instead, she unlocked her phone, scrolled to a WhatsApp conversation, and handed it over. Dozens of pr**ocative messages and su**estive images stared back--sent more than once. One photo in particular left nothing to the imagination. Lainey glanced at the screen, then immediately shoved the phone back into Stella's hands, her eyes blazing. "That ba**ard! If it weren't for your patents back then, his company wouldn't have even made it past launch. And now he's cheating on you? Come on, we're going back. I swear I'll make him crawl on his knees begging for mercy." Stella quickly caught her arm. "No. That won't be necessary." "What do you mean, not necessary? After what he's done? You're just going to stand there and let him get away with it?" Her voice was shaking, but Stella's was cool and even. "Let him off? Never." She slid her phone back into her coat pocket. "Facing him head-on would be far too easy. I want him to suffer. to truly regret everything." Lainey said nothing more. She knew exactly the kind of person Stella was. Brilliant in the lab. Honest to a fault. But if someone pushed her beyond her limits, she'd never let it go quietly. She'd bounce back when they least expected it--with precision and force. They walked together toward the administrative office, and the form submission went smoothly. A few steps, a couple of stamps, and everything was nearly finalized--just awaiting the final review. Before she left, Stella volunteered to attend an academic seminar on behalf of the institute and gather the necessary materials. By 3:30 p.m., the event at the Grace Hotel had wrapped up. Holding a folder against her ch**t, Stella stepped out of the lobby, making her way toward the parking lot when a familiar, lazy chuckle reached her ears. "Come on now, be good." Her body stiffened at once. The moment she heard that voice, she slowly turned around. A wave of betrayal crashed over her, as if the ground beneath her had shifted without warning. Marc had his arm wrapped around a long-haired woman with a slim waist, guiding her through the entrance of the h**el. The woman chirped, "I miss you. miss you so much," her voice syrupy and int**ate. As she said it, she leaned into Marc, her l*ps trailing from his ea**obe down his neck. Marc laughed, low and fond, drawing her even closer, his palm firmly resting at the curve of her waist. Stella's vision blurred for a second, her ch**t tightening. So this was where the woman had followed him--to this very h**el--and they couldn't even wait until nightfall. Then, through the slowly spinning glass of the revolving door, their eyes met. Marc's gaze was dark and full of desire, while Stella's eyes were calm and distant, with a hint of mockery. The air between them suddenly felt heavy. The woman noticed Stella too. But instead of looking startled, she simply smiled smugly, then turned and k**sed Marc again--this time deeper, more deliberate, as if marking her territory. A bitter taste rose in Stella's throat. Her stomach churned with nausea. She turned away, refusing to witness the spectacle any longer. She reached for her car door, but before she could get into the car, a hand stopped her from behind. Marc had chased after her, a little breathless, and the smell of that woman's bold perfume still clung to him--strong enough to make her sick. "Let go!" Stella tried to shake him off, but the door wouldn't budge. Marc didn't say a word--he just grabbed her waist and pushed her into the back seat, sliding in right after. His sharp features looked tense, and his eyes flickered with a strange mix of anxiety and impatience. "Stella, please, let me explain." With nowhere to run, Stella shifted away and spoke in a frozen tone. "Wipe that lips**ck off your mouth before you start talking." Marc's face fell. His hand flew to his mouth without thinking, eyes flashing with a hint of panic. "The Marina Horizon deal's in trouble. I've been stressing over the funding and reached out to Nova Holdings. Haley Smith--she's the daughter of a board member of Nova Holdings. She doesn't speak our language well and had been dr**king. I was just making sure she got back to the h**el." His tone was gentle, and he leaned in the way he always did when he wanted to charm her. "She's from Achury. People in her country are pretty relaxed, you know that. I swear I'll be more careful. Don't be upset, okay? I'll make it up to you." Stella looked at him, her eyes sharp and cold. "So. is that how you secure investments? By getting that close to their daughters?" There was no shouting, no tears. Stella spoke with a chilling calm, too composed to be angry. Her quiet words stripped every excuse from Marc's mouth, leaving them meaningless. That same heavy emptiness crashed into him again. Frustrated, he pulled at his tie, trying to breathe. "Stella, come on. It's for work. Can you not blow this out of proportion?" Stella almost laughed. She hadn't even raised her voice. Did he want her to throw the photos in his face to make it count as drama? The love she'd held onto all these years now burned like a bl**e in her ch**t. "If you're done with me, Marc, just be honest. I won't hold on--I'll give you the divorce you want." Why did he have to play games? Why lie? Right after those words left her mouth, Marc grabbed her shoulder--hard. His eyes were ice. "Don't ever say that. We promised--no matter what, we'd work through it. Divorce is not an option. Don't even mention it." Work it out? He had already sl**t with someone else. What was left to fix now? It felt like she was trapped in a web of thorns. Every breath, every movement cut deeper. Suddenly, Marc's phone rang. He checked it, frowned, and declined the call. But Stella caught the name on the screen. "Sweetheart Wild Thing." Before he could tuck it away, the phone lit up again--this time, WhatsApp messages popping up. The sender's name? "Sizzling Baby." "Baby, I'm in pain." "I need you. Come now." "I'm bl**ding. am I going to die?" Three texts, all in Achure, one after another. Chapter 3 Just A Friend It was like Marc believed she couldn't read Achure at all--he didn't bother hiding the screen and typed a swift "On my way" before shutting off his phone without a word of hesitation. "Stella, I've got something urgent to handle. If you can't help, at least stay out of the way. Be good, alright?" He said softly, brushing her hair as if she were a child. Then he turned and walked away without once looking back. She just sat there and let him go. It felt like something inside her had been torn to pieces--too much pain to feel anything at all. She dropped the conference materials off at the institute for recordkeeping, then quietly headed home without another word. Marc didn't return for the next three days, and she didn't call. Not even once. There was nothing left to say. While waiting for her final approval, she kept herself occupied by sorting through her things--anything to keep her mind from collapsing. The storage room was a shrine to their years together--handwritten notes from their first confession, the lopsided pottery they made on their first date, a small heart-shaped stone from a mountain night sky, and rows of framed photos bundled by year. Even the Polaroid cameras were neatly arranged from oldest to newest. Stella had always been sentimental--she kept these things, hoping one day they'd sit together as old souls, laughing over the past. But now, it all felt like some cruel joke. Without hesitation, she tossed the keepsakes into the fireplace and watched them burn. As for the expensive gifts--diamonds, luxury watches, delicate necklaces, and even the wedding ring--she lined them up, took photos, and messaged her contact at the resale boutique. She told him to clear them all out. When she saw the empty jewelry box, it finally sank in--love, no matter how glittering, was worthless once tainted by betrayal. After another two days, she got the news that her application for joining the closed-door research project had been approved. She had ten quiet days before the project would begin. Wanting to stock up on essentials, she changed clothes and headed to the mall. But as she came down the escalator with her shopping bags, she caught sight of a scene that stopped her in her tracks. There stood Jazlyn Walsh--her always-critical mother-in-law--smiling warmly and clinging to that Haley woman's arm like they were old friends. The affection on her face was a stab to the gut. And next to them was Marc, the same man who'd disappeared for days, carefully slipping a glittering diamond bracelet onto Haley's wrist with all the tenderness he used to reserve for her. They looked complete--like a picture-perfect family. One that didn't include her. When Haley nodded with delight, Jazlyn praised her taste with a sparkle in her eye and casually handed over a black card for payment. But to Stella, the moment was soaked in bitter irony. That black card belonged to her. It was her money being spent. She had earned those privileges. deep discounts, first picks from new collections, all because of her close friendship with the brand's director. What was meant as a thoughtful gesture to bring her and Jazlyn closer was now being used to flatter Marc's mi**ress. Without hesitation, Stella marched up to the counter, yanked the card from the stunned saleswoman's hand, and said calmly, "Sorry. This card's no longer valid." The employee blinked in confusion. "Ma'am, that's a premium card. It doesn't expire, and it can't be canceled." "Oh, really?" Stella broke the card clean in half and tossed it into the nearby tr**h without blinking. "It's canceled now." Jazlyn's fury exploded. She sl**ped Stella hard across the cheek and hissed, "What's gotten into you? Do you even realize how disgraceful you're being?" The Walsh family carried a spotless reputation, and Marc had always been praised as a prodigy in finance. From the very beginning, when Stella and Marc had only just started dating, Jazlyn had treated her with indifference. And after the wedding, that coldness only grew. No matter how hard Stella tried to earn her approval, a warm smile never came. She had always kept quiet, not wanting to put Marc in a tough spot. But that patience--built on love--had finally run dry. She had no reason to tolerate it anymore. Then, suddenly, two crisp sl**s rang out, landing squarely on Marc's face. The noise silenced everyone around them. This was Marc Walsh--the man hailed in financial circles like a legend, and now he stood, red-cheeked, sl**ped in broad daylight. "Stella!" Jazlyn shouted, livid. She rolled up her sleeves as if ready to storm forward and retaliate. However, Stella stood her ground, her chin lifted high. "You lay a hand on me again, and I'll hit him twice as hard. Want to test me?" "You! You." Jazlyn was so furious she clutched her ch**t for breath. "Marc! Look at her! How can you let her act like such a sh**w?" Stella turned toward Marc with a cold smirk. "Tell me, Marc--didn't I have every reason to s**p you?" Marc's expression hardened, his jaw clenched. He stepped forward and seized her wrist, muttering under his breath, "Stella, that's enough. Just calm down. You're making a scene." Suddenly, Haley rushed into Marc's arms, dragging his hand to her waist and whining in Achure about Stella's outrageous behavior. She clung to him like ivy, calling him "darling" again and again, as if she wanted to dissolve into his skin. Marc murmured soft reassurances in Achure, speaking to her gently. The sight of them, so close and cozy, made Stella laugh in disbelief. Then, out of nowhere, Stella spoke--her Achure fluent, her tone sharp. "If you're bold enough to be someone's mi**ress, at least have the decency not to play the innocent. You're sl**ping with another woman's husband--don't even think about denying it. If Achure's not working for you, we can switch. I speak sixteen languages. You pick one, and I'll keep up. If I lose the argument, I'll admit defeat." Haley's face turned a deep red. She had clearly never imagined Stella could speak Achure so perfectly. Hadn't Marc said his wife was just some regular office employee? Marc's face darkened, his tone rigid. "Stella. when did you learn Achure?" The moment hit her like a kn**e twisting deeper into an open wound. Her lips curled into a bitter smile. "Ah, Marc, you must really love me, huh?" The sarcasm in her voice was razor-sharp. "Go on, enjoy your little shopping spree. I won't get in your way." And with that, she turned on her heel and walked away. Marc quickly moved to follow, but Jazlyn and Haley each latched onto one of his arms, stopping him. "Marc, just divorce that shameless woman already! How dare she lay a hand on you?" Jazlyn snapped. She had said those exact words countless times before, and Marc had always ignored them. But for some reason, this time, they felt different. They got under his skin. "That's between me and her," he muttered, shaking them off and hurrying after Stella. Luckily, he managed to catch her just as she reached her car. "Stella." The second his fingers touched her wrist, a wave of nausea hit her, and she shook it off in disgust. "What is it, Mr. Walsh? Done playing house with your wild little darling?" Marc's face twisted in frustration. "Haley's just a friend. Why are you being so jealous? Can't you be mature for once? Do you have to h**iliate us in public?" Stella let out a dry, disbelieving laugh. Of course. Somehow, in the end, it always circled back to being her fault. How convenient. "So let me get this straight," she snapped. "Even if I walk in on you and your side piece in b*d, I should smile, close the curtains, and stand outside to protect the family name?" His grip on her wrist tightened, his eyes flashing. "How many times do I have to say it? She's just a friend!" "A friend, is it?" Stella's tone dripped with irony as she looked him up and down. Then her gaze turned playful, laced with something sharper like seduction or maybe vengeance. "Alright then, I'll go find myself a friend too. And I'll make sure to do everything you and Haley have done--every last thing." She leaned in slightly, her voice a whisper dipped in venom. "And you, dear husband. don't get jealous. That wouldn't be fair, now would it?" Chapter 4 Wanna Be My One-N*ght St**d? Stella's final words hit harder than any s**p. The way she called him "husband" carried weight. It wasn't just to remind him of their relationship but more like a warning. As if she really might walk out and find someone else. just like that. Marc's hand clamped tighter around her wrist, his voice low and livid. "Don't you dare." His grip was so tight it felt like he might snap a bone. But that was nothing compared to the ache in her ch**t. Stella felt as if something had pierced right through her heart, each heartbeat twisting the kn**e deeper. She met his eyes, pain and disbelief swimming in hers. "So you do know you've gone too far," she whispered. Marc froze for a second, then shoved her away like her words had burned him. "I told you, Haley and I didn't cross any line. But if you want to go and get yourself a male companion--do what you want." Her wrist throbbed, the ache spreading through her arm. But it was her heart that hurt more. She gave him a slow, mocking smile. "You said it. So when it happens, don't you dare play the victim." Without another glance, she turned, got into the car, and slammed the door. Marc ran after her, banging on the window. "Stella!" But before he could pull the door open, Jazlyn and Haley caught up, each grabbing an arm to hold him back. The moment passed, and Stella didn't wait around. She stepped on the gas and left them behind in a roar of tires. The b*r was drenched in neon lights and thick sm**e, packed with people trying to escape their loneliness. Stella sat slouched in a booth tucked in the corner, already tipsy from dr**king too much. She had seen the betrayal with her own eyes. Now, every bitter truth crashed into her, cutting through her like bl**es, mixed with memories that used to be beautiful. "Excuse me." A deep, smooth voice pulled her out of her thoughts, and her mind returned to the present in an instant. She blinked, lifting her head. There he was--tall and composed, his legs long and poised in tailored black trousers. His jacket was open, revealing a crisp black shirt tucked neatly into his belt, highlighting a slim, well-toned waist. His frame was strong, his ch**t broad. A sharp jawline, well-shaped lips, and eyes that seemed to see right through her. He was dangerously attractive. Without a second thought, she pulled him down onto the sofa, and played with his tie, her breath warm and sweet. "Wanna be my one-n*ght st**d?" she whispered boldly. "Trust me, we'd enjoy ourselves." She sat up and swayed slightly, te**ting like a flame dancing in the dark, te**ing him. She could feel herself losing control, letting her pain take over. But the man just stared at her with an unreadable expression, not even slightly te**ted. It made her feel ridiculous, like she was performing alone on a stage. Whatever heat had been building inside her vanished in a second. What if he was already with someone? Was she really about to become another Haley? The thought made her sick. A bitter smile curved her lips. She tried to pull herself together. Because of Marc, she had nearly turned into the very kind of woman she couldn't stand. "Sorry. I drank too much," she murmured, retreating into her seat. She curled up in the corner and finished another glass in a single gulp. She didn't move until the man stood and walked away. Only then did she get up unsteadily and vanish into the night. That night, Marc didn't come home. As for Stella, she embraced the quiet and the peace it brought. The following morning, she went straight to the research center. Even though her participation was already approved, she still needed to complete some paperwork. Lainey, who was sorting project files nearby, suddenly looked up with a cheeky grin on her face. "Hey Stella, did you hear? This project's got serious attention from the higher-ups. There's a VIP joining us--super rich, comes from a powerful family, and still single. Aren't you even a little curious?" "Why would I be?" Stella replied flatly, still looking at her research notes, not the least bit interested. The Hookwood Research Institute had a strong reputation, and she'd seen plenty of wealthy heirs come around just to boost their image. "But this guy's on another level," Lainey said, leaning over Stella's desk. "Come on, with your looks and charm? You could have any man eating out of the palm of your hand. Once the research kicks off, your records vanish, your marriage to Marc wiped clean like it never happened. Just picture it--walking in with someone powerful and drop-dead gorgeous, letting Marc see exactly what he lost. Tell me that wouldn't feel amazing." Stella finally looked up. Her eyes were clear but cold. "That's petty. Marc will lose much more than that." Just then, there was a knock at the door. It was an administrative coordinator, letting them know it was time to head to the meeting room and meet the rest of the project team. "Do you think the VIP's here already?" Lainey said excitedly, grabbing Stella and rushing toward the meeting room. "Wait, I haven't even packed my stuff," Stella said, holding her folder close as she tried to keep up. When they got there, she quietly took a seat in a corner and focused on her files. She didn't look up until a round of applause echoed through the room. Then, slowly lifting her head, she locked eyes with a man whose gaze was intense and powerful. Her heart gave a sudden jolt. How could it be him?. What happens next? Available chapters here are limited, click the button below to install the App and enjoy more exciting chapters (Automatically jump to this novel when you open the app) &5&

She gave her husband back to his first love and focused on developing her acting career. Then she took back everything that belonged to her and stepped onto a bigger stage. However, to her surprise, among the frenzied fans, there was her scumbag ex-husband! ===== "Saved! They've been saved." Firefighters emerged from the smoldering inferno, carrying Carrie Campbell to safety at the roadside. Her features, usually refined and expressive, were now smeared with soot; her sparkling eyes dimmed to a vacant gaze, hollow and lost. As reality seeped back into her consciousness, Carrie felt a rush of gratitude overpower her usual composure. Her voice, hoarse and weak, conveyed a profound "thank you" to her rescuers. Shaking, she fumbled for her phone, her fingertips quivering as they found the familiar number. "Hello, the person you are trying to reach is currently unavailable. Please try again later." The automated message played after a few rings, leaving her with a lump in her throat, her unvoiced frustrations and sorrow welling up inside her. Bang! With a deafening roar, the explosion abruptly silenced the cold, mechanical voice echoing through the line. Carrie's head snapped upwards, shock painted on her face as she witnessed the apartment she had just exited erupt into flames. Chunks of debris were hurled into the air by the force of the blast, scattering across the sky. Panic engulfed the crowd as survivors, freshly rescued, screamed in terror. They huddled together, seeking solace in each other's arms, their cries piercing the tumultuous scene. In stark contrast, Carrie lay alone on a stretcher, her isolation magnified amidst the chaos. "Kristopher." Fighting the dread creeping up her spine, Carrie pressed her lips together tightly and dialed her husband's number again, her resolve unwavering. Yet, the call disconnected after a few short rings, leaving her with a haunting silence. Just then, a Twitter notification flickered on her phone screen. The gossip feed was alive with the latest gossip: #LiseNash #MysteriouBoyfriend. According to the tweet, a producer from a well-known variety show had invited the renowned star Lise Nash to a dinner, which had quickly soured when she declined to partake in a toast. This act of defiance had sparked a confrontation, only to be interrupted by Lise's domineering boyfriend. He stormed into the private dining room, dismissing the producer with a dismissive wave and escorting Lise away. The tweet described the scene vividly, painting a picture of a powerful man defending his beloved partner. Yet, perhaps due to his prominence, only the back of the man was visible in the accompanying photos, preserving his anonymity. Meanwhile, Lise, donning an oversized suit jacket, beamed a smile, reaching out to clasp his hand as they departed together. Carrie's eyes were glued to the screen, her stare intense and unblinking as she absorbed the image before her. There he was--Kristopher Norris! The suit jacket draped carelessly over Lise was a dead giveaway. Every piece of clothing Kristopher owned had been meticulously tailored by a master craftsman abroad, a detail Carrie knew all too well. Her grip on her phone tightened, her knuckles blanching to a stark white, as if her very soul were being squeezed by an invisible hand, the pain sharp and acid-like in its intensity. In her most desperate moment, Kristopher had coldly disconnected their call, choosing instead to be at Lise's side. What was the worth of their two-year marriage? The tears she had been holding back now overwhelmed her, streaming down her face. Even as she tilted her head back in a futile attempt to stem the flow, the tears continued to escape. Lise had always been Kristopher's first love, a fact whispered and gossiped about among their circles. The Norris family had never approved of Lise, seeing her ordinary background as unfitting. Forced apart by family pressures, it had been Lise who ended things, but the past, it seemed, was not easily left behind. Kristopher had diligently pursued the leadership of the Norris family, harboring dreams of finally being with Lise. Yet, when he reached his goal, he discovered that Lise had already chosen another. In defiance of his family's expectations and perhaps out of bitterness, Kristopher turned to Carrie, a woman equally devoid of wealth or status, to become Mrs. Norris, thereby blocking any matchmaking attempts by his relatives. At that time, Carrie faced immense pressure from her father, Tristan Campbell, who was pushing her towards a marriage with a playboy, the son of a business associate, to cover her grandmother's steep medical expenses. Both Kristopher and Carrie, driven by their personal motives, consented to a marriage of convenience. Originally set for just one year, their contractual marriage stretched beyond its term, sustained by a shared understanding between them. Over time, Carrie began to believe in the authenticity of their union, never suspecting that it was merely an extension of her hopes. Just moments ago, a fire had nearly claimed Carrie's life. In that critical moment, she reached out to Kristopher, only to be twice rebuffed as he spent his time with Lise. This harsh reality shattered Carrie's illusions, revealing that her perceived transition from pretense to genuine relationship was nothing but a facade maintained by her own desires. Carrie wasn't even a temporary substitute in Kristopher's life but merely a pawn used to spite his family. After a poignant pause, tears welled up in Carrie's eyes, unstoppable and poignant. It might be time for her to release herself from the shackles of her own hopeful delusions--to stop deceiving herself. Chapter 2 Trending Topics The overwhelming number of injuries from the fire was staggering, straining the already frantic doctors and nurses as they tried to provide aid. Carrie had been merely grazed by a splintered clothes rack, which left a deep, jagged wound on her calf. In comparison to the chaos around her, her wounds seemed almost negligible. She managed to get basic care--a brisk cleaning and a quick wrap of bandages--at a local hospital before catching a cab back to her house. Bayview Villa, a grand property under Kristopher's name, was technically their matrimonial residence. Living alone had become the norm for Carrie, as Kristopher was hardly ever around. She had bid farewell to the housekeeper, discovering that her life could be quite adequately maintained with just takeout, deliveries, and the occasional visit from a part-time cleaner. Now, she found herself the sole occupant of the sprawling living room, sinking into the sofa, her gaze drifting across the empty space. The stark, monochrome decor did nothing to imbue warmth into the atmosphere. A chilling realization crept up on her: this vast, elegant space felt more like a colossal tomb, a silent grave for her lost years of youth and a love that had quietly slipped away. In this cold, echoing house, would anyone even notice if her breath ceased one day? Carrie exhaled a weary sigh, her frame heavy as she leaned against the cold wall for support, struggling up the stairs to her bedroom on the second floor. Each step was a battle, sending stabbing pains shooting through her from the surface of her skin down to her aching bones. The house, stark and hollow, echoed even the smallest sounds, magnifying her sense of isolation. It was today, amidst this profound silence, that Carrie truly grasped the all-encompassing nature of her loneliness--it was almost tangible, enveloping her senses with its texture and mournful whispers, tightening around her heart like a vice, producing a dull, relentless ache. Upon reaching the sanctuary of her bedroom, she collapsed onto the bed, the very embodiment of exhaustion, feeling it both physically and spiritually. Just as she surrendered to this weariness, the sharp ring of the phone pierced the silence. "You reached out to me earlier. What do you need?" Kristopher's voice cut through the line, cold and distant as ever. Carrie was caught off guard by his unexpected call. Words failed her as she parted her lips to respond, but before she could collect her thoughts, a soft, feminine voice floated through from the other end. "Kristopher, will you join me to." A surge of emotions tightened Carrie's grip on the phone, her heart thumping louder with each second. Overwhelmed and unable to contain her rising panic, she demanded, "Who's there with you?" Kristopher gave no answer, merely stating in a flat, disinterested voice, "If there's something you need, let's catch up when I'm back. I have pressing engagements right now, so I must disconnect." He promptly ended the call, cutting off any chance for Carrie to reply. As the harsh beep of the disconnected line filled her ears, Carrie's lips twisted into a rueful grin. How utterly foolish she felt! Deep down, she knew his response all too well, yet she had clung to the hope of hearing his voice confirm it. With a sense of self-inflicted irony, Carrie activated her tablet and scrolled through the day's hot topics. One headline caught her eye: "A female star shielded from harassment at a dinner by her formidable partner." A wry smile twisted her lips. Carrie knew all too well what it was like to face harassment at those kinds of dinners. She vividly remembered her first major audition after her entering the showbiz; her agent had escorted her to a dinner with the influential director and producer of the drama series "Serene Sighs." As a novice in the dizzying world of showbiz, Carrie had felt incredibly vulnerable, uncertain of how to navigate the murky waters of such gatherings. The producer had eyed her shamelessly, sneering as he asked, "Is this the new talent you're introducing? She appears presentable, but I'm curious to see how she fares with a drink. Here's the deal, if you can gulp down this bottle in one go, I'll secure you an audition for the lead role." Carrie was inclined to decline, but under the relentless pressure from her agent, she found herself compelled to consume the entire bottle. As the evening wore on, she was hurriedly taken to the hospital suffering from a severe stomach ailment. Her agent, fretful about the prospect of the role slipping away to another, quickly settled the hospital charges and departed. At that time, Carrie found herself isolated in a hospital bed for several long days. Yet, even before Carrie could be released from the hospital, the media was abuzz with the announcement that Lise had secured the lead role in "Serene Sighs." Subsequently, her agent rebuked Carrie for her lack of ambition, complaining, "You are more appealing than Lise, so why can't you show more drive? She cozied up to Mr. Norris and hardly had to make an effort. She's surrounded by people eager to cater to her every need. I've heard that Mr. Norris personally orchestrated her landing the lead role in this production!" When the show premiered, Lise was catapulted into stardom, swiftly ascending to the elite echelons of the acting world. From that moment forward, Carrie let her acting aspirations wane and chose instead to devote herself entirely to supporting her husband, Kristopher. After all, no matter her efforts, she could never get the same career opportunities that Lise seemed to receive effortlessly with Kristopher's offhand remarks. At that time, Carrie had believed she was filling the role that was meant to be Lise's as Mrs. Norris, which meant she owed Lise. By giving up the career opportunities to Lise, Carrie thought they would settle their unspoken debt. However, Carrie hadn't foreseen that Lise would claim both the coveted career and Kristopher's affections. As Lise's professional and love life blossomed, Carrie came to the painful realization that she had been overly consumed with her romantic pursuits, at the expense of her career, and now, she found herself bereft of both love and professional fulfillment. With tears streaming down her face, Carrie viewed her past two years as tragically misguided. Given another opportunity, she resolved she wouldn't be so unguarded, letting her heart recklessly fall captive to Kristopher's charm. "Ms. Spencer, the new copyright contract is prepared. Please review it for any discrepancies." Her phone buzzed with the alert, snapping Carrie out of her reverie. She gazed at the PDF file attached in the message, her mind briefly overwhelmed. Under the pseudonym Katrina Spencer, Carrie had once made a name for herself as a budding screenwriter, selling numerous scripts in her early days. During her early career as Katrina, Carrie often sold her work for a pittance, compelled by her urgent need for immediate cash. Over the years, these scripts transformed into blockbuster films and hit series, catapulting Katrina's reputation to new heights. By this time, Carrie had married Kristopher and was no longer plagued by the financial woes that had once driven her to desperation--her grandmother's hefty medical bills were a thing of the past. With her financial crises resolved, Carrie's life had pivoted to domestic responsibilities, striving to be an exemplary wife to Kristopher. Amidst these changes, her pseudonym, Katrina Spencer, gradually receded into the background. However, her past as Katrina wasn't ready to be shelved just yet. Recently, an interested buyer had come forward, ready to pay a handsome sum for one of her old scripts. Carrie, however, was hesitant to sell. She raised several concerns about the contract presented to her, and to her astonishment, the buyer was genuine enough to revise it accordingly. Holding the revised contract in her hands, Carrie inhaled deeply, her resolve hardening. She seemed to have reached a crucial decision. Her fingers danced over her phone's keyboard with swift precision, typing out a firm command. "Create a divorce agreement following my terms and ensure it reaches Kristopher Norris at the Norris Group." Without pausing for a response, she placed her phone aside and limped toward the bathroom, each step echoing a blend of determination and newfound independence. Chapter 3 Exchange Of Conveniences Thirty minutes had passed, Carrie finally heaved herself up from the bathtub, her limbs feeling heavy and uncooperative. As she lifted her gaze, her own image in the mirror halted her movements--her skin appeared as smooth and impeccable as fine porcelain, glowing with an unblemished radiance. Her eyes, deep pools of allure, sparkled with an enchanting, soft warmth, inviting anyone who dared meet her gaze. Despite edging into her late twenties at twenty-five, she reveled in the fact that time had yet to etch its marks upon her flawless complexion. Surely, a woman with such a visage had no place for self-pity. Absorbed in her contemplation, Carrie carelessly extended her right leg onto the cold floor, forgetting it was the very limb she had injured. Wrapped excessively in cling film to shield it from moisture, the tight encasement had stifled her circulation, rendering her leg eerily numb. As her foot touched down, it betrayed her, slipping forward unexpectedly. "Ah!" Carrie gasped, her arms flailing in a frantic ballet, searching for a lifeline in the void. Just as she teetered on the brink of a painful rendezvous with the floor, the bathroom door burst open. Kristopher stood at the entrance, his suit immaculately tailored, creating a striking figure. As their eyes locked, he paused, visibly taken aback, then quickly closed the distance with brisk strides. Carrie's breath caught as Kristopher swept her up in a graceful bridal style, an unexpected tightness wrapping around her waist. Caught off guard by his sudden appearance, Carrie realized with a jolt that she was completely b*re. A flush of embarrassment washed over her as she instinctively clutched her hands over her ch*st. This was their first moment of such intimacy since their wedding, and the discomfort made her toes curl inward, her skin blushing a delicate shade of pink. Kristopher looked down at her with a mischievous grin. "Let's be honest, there's not much to see," he teased gently. Feeling both mortified and slightly irritated, Carrie snapped back, "Oh, Mr. Norris, after all you've seen, I suppose nothing can impress you anymore." She carried her C-cup curves with understated charm, a touch of sen**ality that outshone Lise's painfully flat, almost awkwardly rigid build. Yet Carrie knew well that without love, even the most perfect physique paled in comparison to the charm of one dearly cherished. Nonchalantly, Kristopher reached for a bathrobe hanging behind the door and draped it over her. His frown deepened at her comment. "What are you talking about, Carrie?" A thought seemed to strike him, and his expression grew even more impatient. "Tell me, did you send those divorce papers in the dead of night just to lure me back here--to catch you completely b*re?" His tone was a mix of disbelief and annoyance. "I told you I was swamped with work. Was this dramatic display really necessary?" Carrie's temper flared at his accusatory tone, reigniting the tension between them. He was always so quick to lose patience with her. She wasn't the type to throw around words like divorce or breakups lightly. In fact, this was the first time she'd ever mentioned divorce in their two-year marriage, yet he seemed indifferent to her turmoil. He simply dismissed her concerns as if she were overreacting about trivial matters. Despite the throbbing pain in her leg, Carrie mustered her strength and said, "Put me down." Kristopher, however, paid no heed, his eyes scanning her leg swathed in bandages. His brow furrowed slightly. "What happened to your leg? Is this some elaborate ploy to lure me back?" At his words, a bitter laugh escaped Carrie. It seemed he viewed her as merely seeking attention, and in failing to capture it, she had likely concocted a story to draw him back, allowing her to dramatize her plight in his presence. With a blank face, she replied untruthfully, "It's a beauty treatment that shouldn't get wet." "Why did you suddenly decide to undergo such a treatment?" Kristopher inquired, his tone casual as he carried her outside, not pressing the issue further. His frame was large, and through his thin shirt, she could distinctly feel the warmth of his body and the defined shape of his ch*st muscles. The closeness created an uncomfortable tension for Carrie, who had resolved to end things once and for all. Her voice climbed involuntarily, sharper this time. "Oh, since when have you been concerned with such minor things, Mr. Norris?" For the first time, Kristopher witnessed her using biting sarcasm; it struck him as peculiarly amusing. With a calm demeanor, he responded, "You're my wife, it's only natural I'd be concerned about your well-being." "Really?" There was a somber note in Carrie's voice now. "It seems like you've never really regarded me as your wife. I'm scared that if I were to die, you wouldn't even know until much later." After all, at that very moment, Kristopher had been distracted, lost in moments with his first love, too consumed to lend an ear to her desperate pleas. Caught off guard by her accusation, Kristopher's eyes widened with surprise before he let out a disbelieving chuckle. "Carrie, what's brought on this sudden outburst of anger? Just because I was tied up this afternoon and missed your call? Perhaps I've been too indulgent with you lately, and it's made you a bit too presumptuous?" Carrie froze, startled. Was he accusing her of being too presumptuous? She realized their marriage had always been lopsided. In his eyes, she was nothing more than a transactional partner, a woman who had bartered her freedom for financial security. Their union was meant to be a mere exchange of conveniences, yet she had, quite foolishly, fallen deeply in love with him. In the tricky terrain of romance, the one who fell first invariably found themselves at a distinct disadvantage. Kristopher's dismissive reaction left Carrie reeling, her emotions dismissed as trifles, a tight knot of suffocation rising in her chest. "I said to put me down this instant!" Carrie exclaimed, jerking her head to the side, her voice laced with a sharp edge of impatience. Kristopher remained mute, effortlessly carrying her towards the bed before suddenly releasing his hold. Carrie felt a jolt as the support vanished, her heart skipping a beat as she instinctively grasped for him. Their bodies collided on the bed, her bathrobe teetering on the brink of decency, threatening to unravel with any minor shift. Propped on one elbow, Kristopher gazed down at her, his lips curled into a sly, teasing grin. "You wanted to be let go, didn't you? So why cling to me now?" His eyes, deep and sparkling like a midnight lake speckled with stars, captivated her. In those celestial depths, Carrie caught a glimpse of her own reflection. At times like this, she was misled into believing he harbored a deep affection. Sadly, his heart was a fortress reserved for Lise, and all Carrie had left were empty fantasies. "Boring!" she exclaimed, her voice devoid of any enthusiasm as she attempted to rise, her hand inadvertently brushing against something unexpected. "Don't move, or I can't promise what might happen next," he warned in a deep, gravelly voice. With a frown, Carrie internally cursed upon hearing the statement. It was an undeniable fact. Primal instincts steered the actions of men. Absence of affection didn't quell their basic d**ires. Yet, she dared not agitate Kristopher. Angling her face away, her body remained rigid, frozen in place. Carrie, feeling irked, shot back. "Didn't you say there's nothing here to see? What's with the reaction now, Mr. Norris? Are you really that easy to impress?" No sooner had her words flown than she grasped the potential repercussions of her sharp tongue. A wave of regret surged through Carrie, but instead of anger, Kristopher responded with a chuckle, "You are my wife, after all. Since that's something I can't alter, I might as well embrace it. Besides, it's been years since we became husband and wife--it would be a shame to neglect you completely." Chapter 4 Are You Out Of Your Mind? Kristopher leaned in close to Carrie. The fabric of his suit brushed lightly against Carrie's cheek, releasing a mix of scents: a familiar woody aroma intertwined with an unexpected zesty twist of lemon. It was unmistakably Jo Malone's Blue Agava and Cacao--Lise's signature scent. A surge of nausea overwhelmed Carrie at the realization. Heat crept up her neck, coloring her cheeks a bright scarlet as indignation took hold. Without thinking, her hand flew up and delivered a stinging slap across Kristopher's face. All her suppressed grievances from the day ignited in that swift motion. The impact of her sl*p had left a light, crimson mark on Kristopher's cheek, marking him with her outrage. His eyes, wide with disbelief, met hers. "Carrie, are you out of your mind?" Out of her mind? Yes, she was clearly insane to ever fall for him in the first place. Carrie fumed silently, her heart pounding in her chest. Suddenly, the sharp buzz of the phone on the table cut through the mounting tension, its vibration bringing a brief respite from their standoff. Kristopher cast a fleeting glance at the message, shut off the phone with a snap, and strode towards the door, his back rigid with tension. Her voice, firm and unwavering, chased after him. "We're getting a divorce! Make sure you sign those papers before you walk out that door!" Kristopher paused briefly and said sharply, "I have something to do now. When I return, do whatever pleases you." With that, he forcefully shut the door. Carrie's eyes followed his unwavering exit, feeling an oppressive weight compressing her chest once again. She disregarded the sharp sting in her leg and hobbled determinedly toward her tablet. Fingers trembling, she hastily navigated to Lise's Twitter page. Lise had just uploaded a new tweet. The photo showed her lying down with a fever patch adhered to her forehead, still enveloped in Kristopher's familiar jacket. The caption read, "Being sick makes me extra clingy. Wishing I had someone here. Stay cozy and take care, everyone!" The simultaneous timing of these two events made it almost impossible for Carrie not to suspect that Kristopher had dashed off to tend to Lise. Carrie's instincts loudly proclaimed that this was no accident; Lise had deliberately sought to tug at Kristopher's heartstrings. It appeared her tactics were effective. Not even Carrie's stark threat of divorce could overshadow Lise's theatrical display of vulnerability. Lise didn't have to lift a finger, and Carrie had already fallen, utterly broken and beyond redemption. Seething with fury, Carrie quaked like a leaf swept into a storm. She had arrived here with nothing but a suitcase and a heart full of dreams, and now she was leaving, dreams crumbled, utterly alone. It was time for her to pursue her acting career and give it her all.. ==== It was supposed to be a marriage of convenience, but Carrie made the mistake of falling in love with Kristopher. When the time came that she needed him the most, her husband was in the company of another woman. Enough was enough. Carrie chose to divorce Kristopher and move on with her life. Only when she left did Kristopher realize how important she was to him. What happens next? Available chapters here are limited, click the button below to install the App and enjoy more exciting chapters (Automatically jump to this novel when you open the app) &5&

En la escuela fue acosada por sus antiguas amigas, incluso le robaron el mérito de su discurso. Nunca imaginó que el líder Alfa, quien siempre la había despreciado, sería quien se pusiera de su lado; el destino volvía a ponerlo en su camino. ===== "Despierta, Sophi. Te dije anoche que el Alfa no está aquí. Tengo que ir hoy temprano a la casa de la manada". Estaba durmiendo profundamente cuando escuché un fuerte golpe en la puerta de mi habitación. Intenté volver a dormirme, esta vez poniendo la almohada sobre mi cabeza. Mi hermano Abraham estaba tocando la puerta. Era tres años mayor que yo. Recientemente, había sido ascendido a Gamma en nuestra manada, llamada Sombra Nocturna. Por lo tanto, sus responsabilidades aumentaban día tras día. "Si no sales ahora mismo, m*taré a tu novio", amenazó. Al instante, abrí los ojos y me senté. "¡Oye! ¿Por qué dices eso? Ahora voy, espérame". "Buena chica". Puse los ojos en blanco. Mi hermano era muy consciente de mi debilidad, mi novio Bruce Morrison. Era una bendición tener un hombre como él en mi vida. Me amaba y yo confiaba plenamente en él. Era el hermano menor de nuestro Alfa, Bryan Morrison. A pesar de compartir la misma s*ngre, sus personalidades eran totalmente diferentes. Bruce era tranquilo y sereno. Podía llevarse bien con todos. Por otro lado, Bryan era un hombre de corazón frío. Todos en la manada le teníamos miedo. Decían que su mirada afilada como una d*ga era tan peligrosa que le causaba escalofríos a aquellos que se atrevían a cruzarse en su camino. Cada uno de sus movimientos estaba calculado y cada una de sus acciones tenía un propósito en el reino de los lobos. Sus ataques letales podrían m*tar a cualquier Alfa cuando quisiera. No solo era el Alfa mejor hablando de fuerza, sino también uno de los magnates más destacados en el mundo de los negocios, que nos catapultó a la cima de las manadas más adineradas del mundo. Bueno, al menos eso había escuchado de él. Solo lo había visto una vez. Lo vi fugazmente en el último cumpleaños de Bruce. Era un alivio que mi novio no fuera tan frío como él, ya que era todo un caballero y, lo más importante, se preocupaba mucho por mí. Fui a ducharme, me puse un sencillo vestido largo azul y unas zapatillas deportivas. Rápidamente agarré mi celular y mi bolso y bajé corriendo las escaleras. "¿Ves? Ella casi nunca es puntual". Pude escuchar a mi hermano quejándose de mí frente a mi madre. "Mamá, no le hagas caso. Él y su Alfa me están poniendo de los nervios. Anoche me dijo que nos iríamos temprano. Pero nunca me dijo la hora en lo que haríamos. Ni siquiera pude dormir bien por su culpa". Mi madre se echó a reír. Estaba acostumbrada a ese tipo de peleas. Abraham y yo nos despedimos de ella y salimos de casa. Nos subimos a su auto y él empezó a conducir. "Mamá me dijo que tengo que llevarte todos los días a tu universidad. De lo contrario, tendrías que ir a pie". "Está bien, no tienes que hacerlo. Le diré a Bru.". "Ni lo pienses, yo te llevaré todos los días. No me agrada ese tipo". "Por supuesto que no te agrada. Porque no es tu novio, sino el mío. Yo lo conozco mejor que nadie y él me ama. De hecho, me prometió que conversaría con mamá sobre nuestra relación después de que cumpliera los dieciocho", respondí burlonamente. Tras cumplir los dieciocho años, cada miembro de la manada encontraría a su pareja. Hoy en día, muchas personas preferían estar con la persona que elegían antes que su pareja predestinada, así que podrían no aceptar las decisiones del destino. Pero había una ley que solo se aplicaba al líder Alfa. Era el único que no podía rechazar a su pareja predestinada. Si lo hacía, ella moriría. Además, otros Alfas degradarían su posición como líder de la manada Sombra Nocturna, y eso sería peor que la muerte. "Y eso será mañana. Mañana es tu cumpleaños, Sophia", me recordó mi hermano. "Bueno, vendrá pasado mañana". "Primero lo vigilaré y luego dejaré que seas su pareja". Bruce tenía la misma edad que Abraham. No sabía por qué, pero a mi hermano no le agradaba. Sin embargo, él pensaba que Bruce podría ser mi pareja, así que debía aceptar nuestra unión. "Bueno, bueno, hermanito. Como desees", respondí sarcásticamente. Me dio un suave golpecito en la cabeza con los nudillos, por lo que me eché a reír. Luego, me dejó en la entrada principal de mi universidad. Universidad de Sombra Nocturna. Había soñado con estudiar ahí. Había tenido que esforzarme mucho para llegar hasta allí. Recién estaba en mi primer año. Después de asistir a algunas clases, me sentí aburrida. Mi mejor amiga Luisa no estaba conmigo. No había venido. '¿Dónde estará?', me pregunté. La llamé de inmediato, pero ella no respondió. También extrañaba a Bruce, ya que tampoco estaba ahí. Marqué su número. Después de dos tonos, él respondió la llamada. "Hola". "¿Dónde estás, Bruce?". "Mi amor, te dije que mi hermano se fue a la manada Valle de la Luna para traer a mi cuñada. Hoy va a regresar. Su compromiso es mañana, así que ahora estoy en la casa de la manada". "¡Oh, cierto! ¿Cómo pude olvidarme de la ceremonia de compromiso de mi cuñado? Creo que por eso mi hermano fue temprano. También me informó que estábamos invitados". "No te preocupes, mi amor. Aunque lo hubieras olvidado, yo te lo habría recordado. No te preocupes. Ahora estoy bastante ocupado. Me gustaría que estuvieras conmigo. Pero está bien, debes estar en clase. Te llamaré más tarde". "De acuerdo, adiós". "Adiós". Un suspiro escapó de mis labios cuando Bruce terminó la llamada. Estaba haciendo lo correcto al ayudar a su familia. De repente, tuve una idea. 'Debería ir a la casa de la manada para sorprenderlo y ayudarlo en el trabajo. Se pondrá muy contento'. Salí de la universidad y tomé un taxi. En veinte minutos, llegué a la casa de la manada. Pagué al taxista y caminé hacia la residencia. Al principio, los guardias me detuvieron en la entrada, pero cuando les dije que era la hermana del Gamma Abraham, me dejaron pasar. Al entrar en la casa, me envolvió una fragancia dulce de flores florecientes. Cada rincón estaba adornado con pétalos vibrantes, creando un arcoíris de colores que bailaban ante mis ojos por la brisa. Las paredes estaban adornadas con delicados ramos, cuyos pétalos caían como una cascada de belleza natural. Toda la casa de la manada parecía estar vestida de novia. Me reí ante ese pensamiento. ¿Por qué no decorarían la casa? Era el compromiso del Alfa Bryan. Mañana todos recibirían a su Luna. Miré a mi alrededor para buscar a Bruce, pero no lo encontré por ningún lado. "Disculpe, ¿dónde está Bruce?", le pregunté a una sirvienta. "No está aquí", contestó ella con una sonrisa amable. Supuse que estaría descansando, así que pregunté: "¿Dónde está su habitación?". "Arriba, en la esquina", respondió ella antes de volver a su trabajo. "Gracias". Subí las escaleras y miré las dos esquinas. "¿Cuál es? ¿La de la derecha o la de la izquierda?". Me había olvidado de preguntar la dirección. Seguí mis instintos y me dirigí hacia la esquina de la izquierda. La habitación estaba al final. Caminé lentamente y me detuve frente a la puerta. La abrí y me quedé sin aliento. Era un dormitorio muy grande. Se veía limpio y ordenado. Cada sitio estaba meticulosamente organizado, como si todos los elementos hubieran sido colocados con cuidado. Una c*ma enorme se alzaba orgullosa en el centro, exigiendo atención con su majestuosa presencia. La habitación era elegante, con impecables muebles blancos cuidadosamente dispuestos para crear una sensación de paz. Las paredes estaban pintadas de un color oscuro y la ventana al lado de la cama daba una vista al bosque. Sin embargo, para mi sorpresa, sentí vibraciones muy diferentes. "¿Bruce?", lo llamé. Pero no obtuve respuesta. ¿Dónde estaba? ¿No dijo que estaba en la casa de la manada? Intenté llamarlo, pero no contestó. Como pensé que volvería pronto, me tomé mi tiempo estudiando toda la habitación. Mi mirada se dirigió a una foto que estaba en la mesilla de noche. Me acerqué y agarré el marco. Era una foto de dos hermanos. Eran Bruce y su hermano mayor. Sin darme cuenta, me senté en el suave colchón y acaricié el rostro de Bruce a través del cristal. Parecía que habían tomado esa foto en su adolescencia. Él era lindo, pero su hermano se veía frígido, justo como lo describían los rumores. El año pasado, cuando llegó a la fiesta del cumpleaños de Bruce para felicitarlo, solo vi su rostro desde lejos. Mi novio ni siquiera pudo presentármelo, ya que tuvo que irse rápido a una reunión de la manada. Solo se llevaban dos años. Pero Bruce respetaba mucho a su hermano. En esta foto, Bryan se veía guapo, pero tenía una actitud muy arrogante. ¿Quién hubiera pensado que un día se convertiría en el Alfa más poderoso? Su nombre resonaba en los pasillos del poder y se extendía como un reguero de pólvora entre quienes habían presenciado sus despiadados ataques en la guerra. Me distraje observando la imagen. De repente, una gélida voz detrás de mí me hizo salir de mis pensamientos y me causó un escalofrío. "¿Cómo te atreves a entrar en mi habitación sin mi permiso?". Capítulo 2 Punto de vista de Sophia 002 "¿Cómo te atreves a entrar a mi habitación sin mi permiso?". Me levanté enseguida y me dirigí hacia la puerta. El hombre que estaba ahí no era otro que Bryan Morrison. Tenía un encanto innegable y llamativo. Pero su gélida mirada me causó un escalofrío que recorrió mi columna. Sus ojos oscuros estaban fijos en mí. Jadeé y mi mano empezó a temblar. La foto se me escapó de las manos y cayó al suelo sin que pudiera evitarlo. No sabía que esa era su habitación. "¡Cu. cuñado!", murmuré con voz temblorosa. "¿Cuñado? ¿Estoy escuchando bien, Bryan?". Una mujer entró a la habitación y se puso al lado del hombre. Era increíblemente hermosa. Tenía una belleza que los hombres adoraban y llevaba un vestido blanco que le llegaba hasta las rodillas. Sus curvas destacaban su figura esbelta y atr*ctiva. Después de mirarme de la cabeza a los pies, dirigió su atención hacia el hombre. "¿Es la novia de Bruce…?". Bryan levantó la mano para callarla y su mirada se dirigió al suelo. Lentamente bajé la mirada y vi que el cristal del marco se había roto. Mis ojos se abrieron como platos cuando vi la grieta entre los dos hermanos. A toda prisa, me agaché y extendí la mano para tocar la foto. "Voy a limpiarlo". "Vete", ordenó él. Me volví para mirarlo. Sus ojos seguían fijos en la foto, como si le molestara mirarme. Y si lo hacía, me m*taría. Tragué saliva e intenté disculparme. "Lo siento". "¡Vete!", bramó él. Me estremecí y un fragmento de vidrio me pinchó el dedo. Bajé la cabeza y me puse de pie. Salí corriendo mientras intentaba no llorar. Una vez que estuve afuera, las lágrimas comenzaron a deslizarse por mis mejillas. Me detuve y me mordí el labio inferior para controlarme. Nadie jamás me había hablado así. Sollozando, me preparaba para irme cuando escuché la voz de la mujer: "Bryan, esa chica se ve tan pobretona. ¿No viste su vestido?". Bajé la mirada hacia mi ropa. ¿Qué tenía de malo? Llevaba una prenda decente. "¿Qué le pasa a nuestro Bruce? ¿De verdad le gusta esa chica? No puedo creerlo. ¡Tiene un gusto pésimo!". Fruncí el ceño y caminé hacia las escaleras. No quería quedarme ni un segundo más. No había venido para sufrir una humillación. Bajé las escaleras y me dirigí hacia la puerta principal. "¿Sophia?". Alguien me llamó desde atrás. Al darme la vuelta, vi a la madre de Bruce, Juliana Morrison. La mujer inclinó la cabeza y me sonrió. "¡Hola! ¿Qué haces aquí? ¿Y por qué te marchas?". Esforzándome por recuperar la compostura, le devolví la sonrisa. La había visto el año pasado en la fiesta de cumpleaños de Bruce, al igual que a su hermano mayor. Además, mi novio pudo presentarme a sus padres. Ellos ya me conocían. Su madre era muy amable. "Luna, ¿cómo se encuentra?", pregunté acercándome a ella. Ella me tomó de las manos y me pidió que me sentara a su lado en el sofá. Les lanzó una mirada a las sirvientas que trabajaban ahí. Estas hicieron una reverencia y abandonaron la sala. La madre de Bruce se rio entre dientes y sacudió la cabeza. "Ya no soy tu Luna. Mila lo será muy pronto", explicó. '¿Mila?'. Pensé en ese nombre. Debía ser la prometida de Bryan, la mujer que acababa de ver en su habitación. Considerando que se casaría pronto con ella, Bruce siempre la llamaba cuñada. De hecho, fue él quien me pidió que tratara a Bryan como mi cuñado. Según él, llamarlo Alfa sonaría extraño, ya que pronto nos convertiríamos en familia. "Sí", contesté, recordando las humillaciones. "Es la hija del líder Alfa de la manada Valle de la Luna. Es la mejor opción para mi hijo. Es una mujer decente y tratará bien a toda la manada. Al menos, eso espero". Estaba describiendo a su futura nuera alegremente. No pude evitar sentirme inquieta. Yo pronto también lo sería, pero no pertenecía a ninguna otra manada ni tenía un estatus alto. Mi familia era bastante normal. Mi padre no era Alfa siquiera, sino solo un lobo luchador. Murió en un accidente, dejando sola a mi madre con nosotros. Para criarnos a mí y a mi hermano, ella tuvo que trabajar muy duro. A Abraham le costó sangre, sudor y lágrimas conseguir el puesto de Gamma. Y yo estudié mucho para ingresar a la mejor universidad, ya que quería graduarme y hacer que mi madre se sintiera orgullosa. Era todo lo que teníamos. Éramos respetados, pero nada que ver con una alta reputación. Como si adivinara mis pensamientos, la madre de Bruce puso su mano sobre mi cabeza. "No pienses que no estoy contenta contigo solo porque hablo de mi otra nuera. Bruce te menciona siempre. Cuando te conocí en la fiesta, supe que había elegido bien. Eres una chica muy bonita. ¿Te trata bien?". Al mirarla, la ansiedad que sentía desapareció de inmediato. Esbocé una sonrisa y asentí. "Sí, es muy bueno conmigo. Me considero afortunada de estar con él". Ella asintió. Su sonrisa jamás abandonó su rostro. Estaba feliz de que sus dos hijos estuvieran con buenas mujeres. Unas criadas llegaron con bocadillos y los colocaron en la mesa de centro. "¿Dónde está Bruce, tía?". "Lo escuché hablando con una chica llamada Luisa. Tal vez esté trabajando afuera". "Oh". ¿Luisa? ¿De qué estaría hablando con ella? De repente, recordé que mañana era mi cumpleaños. ¿Estaban planeando algo para mí? Me puse de pie. "Tía, debo retirarme ahora. Tengo que trabajar". "No comiste nada", comentó ella, alzando las cejas. "La próxima vez será, tía. Ahora estoy apurada". "Vendrás mañana con Abraham, ¿no?". "Sí". "Trae a tu madre". Tímidamente bajé la cabeza y asentí. Luego, salí de la casa de la manada y marqué el número de Luisa, pero ella seguía sin contestarme. Por lo tanto, tomé un taxi hacia su casa. '¿Estarán planeando una sorpresa para mí y pensaron que nunca lo sabría?', me pregunté con una risita. Sin embargo, no quería arruinarles el plan. Solo iría a su casa para ver si estaba bien, ya que no había ido a la universidad. Además, no tenía idea de dónde estaba Bruce. Pero como me había mentido, supuse que estaba tramando algo. Pronto llegué a la casa de Luisa. Una sirvienta abrió la puerta. "Hola. ¿Dónde está Luisa?". "Está en su dormitorio". "Bueno, voy para allá", dije y subí las escaleras. Hoy me sentía feliz. ¿Por qué no? Había escuchado los elogios de mi futura suegra. Me detuve frente a la puerta de Luisa. Me sorprendí cuando la abrí. Mi amiga estaba revisando su celular. ¿No la había llamado muchas veces? ¿Por qué no me contestó? Sin embargo, vi que su cuerpo estaba cubierto con una manta. Entré en la habitación y pregunté: "¿Luisa? ¿Tienes fiebre?". Ella se sobresaltó cuando me vio, como si viera a un fantasma. "¡Tú! ¿Qué haces aquí?", preguntó. Inmediatamente trató de cubrirse el cuello y los brazos con la manta. No entendía su reacción. De repente, escuché a alguien abriendo una puerta. Giré la cabeza hacia el baño. Fue entonces cuando vi salir a un hombre con el cabello mojado y vestido con una bata blanca. No podía creer lo que estaba viendo. Mi corazón empezó a doler. Mis ojos se llenaron de lágrimas. "¿Bruce?", susurré. Capítulo 3 Punto de vista de Sophia 003 Sentí como si el suelo se derrumbara bajo mis pies. Habría preferido enterrarme con vida antes que ver esto. "¿Sophia?". Bruce me miró aturdido. ¿Qué estaba pensando? ¿Creía que podría seguir engañándome y que yo no no me enteraría de nada? "¿Cómo pudiste?". Retrocedí un paso. Mi pecho se sentía pesado. ¡La persona en quien más confiaba me había traicionado! Siempre había deseado pasar el resto de mi vida a su lado. Había pensado que era afortunada por tenerlo, pero ¿qué obtuve a cambio? ¿Un engaño? "Sophia, lo que sea que estés pensando, no es eso, mi amor". Bruce intentó acercarse a mí, pero levanté la mano para detenerlo. Negué con la cabeza, sintiendo que me desmayaría. Me volví hacia Luisa, quien tenía la cabeza gacha. ¿Cómo pudo hacerme eso? ¿No era mi mejor amiga? "¿Y tú?", murmuré. Ella me miró y meneó la cabeza. Había olvidado que estaba envuelta en una manta y esta se había caído de su cuerpo. Las marcas en su piel desnuda se hicieron visibles. Cuando vi eso, estuve a punto de derrumbarme. Me quedé sin palabras. ¿Cómo pudieron traicionarme de esta forma? "Sophia, lo siento. Por favor, perdóname, mi amor". Bruce se acercó y agarró mi mano. Pero yo me sentí asqueada cuando me tocó. Me zafé de su agarre y le di una bo**tada. "¿Por cuánto tiempo?", pregunté. Bruce se quedó callado. ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué no decía nada? Teníamos una relación de dos años, y él me prometió fidelidad. Me prometió que me marcaría y me haría su pareja. Hace unos años, fui a la casa de la manada con mi hermano, quien todavía no era Gamma. Fue entonces cuando lo conocí y empezó a ir a mi escuela para conocerme mejor. Unos meses después, empezamos a salir. En ese momento, él ya había rechazado a su pareja porque ella lo había engañado. ¿Y qué estaba haciendo exactamente ahora? "¡Les pregunté que por cuánto tiempo!", exclamé. Bruce permaneció en silencio, sin querer mirarme. Me volví hacia Luisa. "Tú respóndeme. ¿Cuánto tiempo llevas con él a mis espaldas?". Quería saber el tiempo en que me habían tratado como una t*nta. "Un año", respondió ella mientras se daba la vuelta. Me mordí el labio hasta casi s*ngrar. No podía soportar más puñaladas en mi corazón. "Yo no quería hacer eso, Sophia. Solo te amo a ti", insistió Bruce. ¿Todavía se atrevía a hablar? No pude evitar burlarme. Después de lo que hizo, ¿se atrevía a decir eso? "¿Por qué me engañaste?". "Nunca me dejabas tocarte. Yo soy un Alfa y tengo necesidades que satisfacer, así que tuve que tomar otro camino". "Estaba esperando cumplir dieciocho años. Quería ser tu pareja y esposa. Antes de llegar más lejos, quería formalizar nuestra relación. Nunca pensé en otro hombre. Te estaba esperando solo a ti. ¿Y tú no pudiste hacerlo? ¿Ni siquiera un año? ¿Empezaste a engañarme después de solo un año de relación?". Apreté los puños y respiré profundamente. "Todo ha terminado, lo nuestro ha terminado", declaré. Luego, miré a Luisa, a quien solía ver como mi mejor amiga. "Y tú no vuelvas a aparecer delante de mí". Ella no intentó justificarse, como si no supiera qué decir. Me di la vuelta para irme y bajé las escaleras llorando. "¡Sophia!". Bruce también bajó corriendo y me agarró del brazo. "No me toques". "¿Cómo te atreves a romper conmigo? No puedes hacerlo, nadie te aceptará. Todo el mundo sabe que eres mi novia. Y eres una débil Omega. Nadie te convertirá en su esposa, no serás más que un j*guete. Deberías estar feliz de que esté enamorado de ti. Olvídate de todo y haz como si no hubieras visto nada". Me quedé mirándolo. ¿Cómo era posible que ese hombre fuera tan d**vergonzado? Quería golpearme a mí misma por haberme enamorado de él. Sus palabras me hicieron sentir desprecio. Lo empujé con fuerza. "No tienes que pensar en mí. Quédate con Luisa, como lo has estado haciendo todo este tiempo". Luego, salí de la casa. Mis piernas temblaban. No sabía a dónde ir. ¿Qué debía hacer ahora? ¿Qué haría con esa traición? ¿Cómo le explicaría a mi madre y a mi hermano lo de Bruce? Les prometí que se los presentaría. Mi hermano parecía ver a través de las fachadas de la gente. Me había advertido sobre Bruce, pero nunca le presté atención. ¡Qué estúpida fui! Me dirigí hacia la carretera, pero no tuve fuerzas para esperar un taxi. Estaba confundida. El día siguiente cumpliría dieciocho años. ¡El destino me hizo un gran regalo! Había pensado que estarían preparando algo para mi cumpleaños, sin saber que me habían estado engañando durante tanto tiempo. ¿Por qué me pasaba todo esto? Yo era una chica sencilla y feliz con su pequeña familia. ¿Qué hice para merecerme eso? ¡Me llamó una débil Omega! ¿Pensó siempre eso de mí? Caminé como una loca hacia la carretera. No sabía dónde estaba ni de cuánto tiempo había estado caminando. Mis pasos se volvieron más lentos a medida que comencé a sentir el sol, y su intensidad casi me enloqueció. Estaba sudando y llorando mientras me ahogaba en un mar de desesperación. De repente, escuché bocinas detrás de mí. "¡Oye, chica! Anda a morir en otro lugar. ¡Apártate del camino! Nuestro Alfa llegará tarde". Tenía la mente tan nublada que no pude escuchar bien al conductor. Cuando me di la vuelta, me quedé atónita ante una larga fila de autos negros detrás de mí. Un hombre corpulento salió de un vehículo que estaba en medio de los demás. Luego, abrió la puerta trasera para alguien. Un hombre con traje negro salió y se acercó a mí. Debido a la luz del sol, no pude ver bien su rostro. El hombre avanzó lentamente hasta detenerse frente a mí. Su figura impidió que los rayos del sol cayeran directamente sobre mi rostro. Parpadeé para verlo mejor. ¡Era Bryan Morrison! ¿Cómo terminé encontrándomelo dos veces el mismo día? Ahora no sabía cómo llamarlo. ¿Cuñado? ¿Bryan? ¿Alfa? Él me estaba mirando fijamente con el ceño fruncido. Quizás se preguntaba qué hacía en medio de la carretera. "Yo.". Quería contarle lo que su hermano me había hecho, pero antes de que pudiera hacerlo, me sentí muy mal. La oscuridad comenzó a apoderarse de mi visión y sentí que me estrellaba contra su duro p*cho. Sus fuertes brazos rodearon mi cintura casi de inmediato. Cuando me tocó, sentí algo extraño que jamás había sentido. Antes de que pudiera entender esa sensación desconocida, me desmayé en sus brazos. Capítulo 4 Punto de vista de Sophia 004 Ya era de noche cuando abrí los ojos. Parpadeé unas cuantas veces y miré el techo de mi habitación. Me senté y me froté la frente, sin entender lo que había pasado. De inmediato, recordé a Bruce con Luisa. Al principio, pensé que había sido una pesadilla. Sin embargo, sabía que lo que había pasado era real. Bruce me había engañado. "Nunca te lo perdonaré, Bruce. Te odio". Quería levantarme de la cama. Pero el mundo pareció detenerse cuando me pregunté cómo había regresado a casa. De repente, mis ojos se abrieron como platos y me cubrí la boca con las manos. ¡Me desmayé en los brazos del Alfa! ¿Cómo? ¿Por qué? ¿Él me había traído a casa? Bajé las escaleras para preguntarle a mi madre, quien justamente estaba cocinando. "¿Mamá?". "¿Sophia? ¿Te despertaste?", preguntó ella, volviéndose hacia mí. Seguidamente, tomó mi rostro con las manos. "¿Qué te pasó, hija mía? ¿Te sientes mejor ahora?". "Estoy bien, mamá. ¿Quién me trajo a casa?". "Tu hermano te trajo". "¿Abraham?". Estaba confundida. "Me dijo que iba a ir con el Alfa a una reunión de la manada. Estaban apurados, pero entonces, una chica apareció frente a uno de sus vehículos, y el Alfa salió para ver qué pasaba. Como Abraham es el Gamma, fue a comprobar la situación para asegurarse de que todo estuviera en orden. Fue entonces cuando te vio inconsciente. Le dijo a Alfa que eras su hermana y te trajo de regreso a casa". "Debe sentirse avergonzado por mi culpa", susurré bajando la cabeza. "No, hija mía. ¿Por qué dices eso? Eres su hermana, así que tú eres su responsabilidad". Tras escuchar sus palabras, asentí. Mi madre me dijo que comiera algo, pero la rechacé. No estaba de humor para ello, así que regresé a mi habitación. Lloré mucho. Intenté no emitir sonido alguno porque no quería que mi madre se diera cuenta de que tenía el corazón destrozado, al menos no por el momento. A la medianoche, mi madre y mi hermano entraron a mi habitación con un pastel de cumpleaños. "¡Feliz cumpleaños!". Me quedé atónita ante su repentina aparición. Inmediatamente, me sequé los ojos e intenté ocultar mi rostro tras mi cabello. "Sophi, ¿qué te pasó?", preguntó Abraham. "Nada, hermano". Él colocó el pastel sobre la cama y se sentó a mi lado. Mi madre se sentó al otro lado. "No te pregunté sobre hoy. ¿Qué fue lo que pasó?". "Solo estaba cansada, nada más. Lamento haberte hecho perder el tiempo y haberte avergonzado". "No te preocupes, tontita. No debes llorar por eso", me consoló Abraham y me dio una palmadita en la cabeza. "Ahora pide un deseo y corta el pastel", intervino mi madre. Cerré los ojos. 'Ya no sé qué desear. A partir de ahora, seguiré mi destino a dondequiera que me lleve', me dije a mí misma, y apagué la vela. Luego, corté mi pastel de cumpleaños. Tuve que sonreír porque no quería que mi familia fuera testigo de mi dolor. Después de comer trozos de pastel y darme dos sobres, Abraham y mamá se fueron de mi habitación. Seguidamente, los guardé en un cajón, no tenía ganas de abrirlos, ya que sabía que contenían dinero. Ellos habían trabajado duro y me habían regalado parte de sus ganancias. ¿Cómo podría usarlos sin darles nada a cambio? Me acosté en mi cama e intenté dormirme con el corazón roto. Al día siguiente, estuve todo el día en mi habitación. Como no salí a almorzar, mi madre me llevó comida a mi habitación. Me informó que necesitaba prepararme con tiempo porque Abraham enviaría a alguien para llevarnos a la casa de la manada. "No quiero ir, mamá". ¿Cómo podría hacerlo? Era la casa de mi exnovio. Ya no tenía ninguna relación con él, y no quería volver a verlo. "Tienes que ir. Es la ceremonia de compromiso de Alfa Bryan. Tu nombre está en la tarjeta de invitación. No puedes negarte, hija mía. Es una regla". Yo era una Omega. Si violaba alguna norma, no podría sobrevivir a ningún castigo, así que no tuve más remedio que acceder. Empecé a prepararme para esa noche. Me puse un vestido blanco sencillo que mi madre me compró como regalo de cumpleaños y unos tacones blancos. Luego, me apliqué un poco de maquillaje y me solté el cabello. Mi madre me vio bajar las escaleras. "Te ves tan hermosa, Sophia". "Gracias, mamá". Ella me abrazó y se echó a llorar. "Si tu padre estuviera aquí, se habría alegrado de verte". Le di una palmadita en la espalda. Tenía razón. Extrañaba a mi padre. "No iré con ustedes". "¿Por qué, mamá?". "Mi dolor de espalda ha vuelto a aparecer", respondió ella con una risita baja. "Entonces, yo tampoco voy". "No, tienes que ir. Ya hemos hablado de esto". Con un suspiro, le pedí que se cuidara y salí de mi casa. Afuera estaba aparcado un auto. El conductor salió y me abrió la puerta trasera. En cuanto entré, el hombre regresó a su asiento y arrancó. Pronto llegamos a la casa de la manada. Bajé y llamé a mi hermano. Él salió para llevarme adentro. Me tomó la mano y se dirigió al otro lado. "¿No entraremos aquí?". "No, esta es la zona residencial. Vamos al siguiente edificio, es un salón enorme. Se utiliza para todo tipo de eventos". Asentí levemente y seguí caminando. Estaba rezando para no ver a Bruce y perder la cordura ahí mismo. Entré al salón. Era enorme y estaba hermosamente decorado, igual que la casa de la manada que había visto ayer. "Quédate aquí y disfruta la fiesta. Tengo que ir a un lugar, pero regresaré en media hora. Llámame si te aburres", señaló Abraham. Me volví para mirarlo. "¿Qué estás diciendo? ¿Qué voy a hacer aquí sola?". "Solo disfruta de la ceremonia de compromiso. Tu novio también está aquí, así que no creo que me necesites. Pero no te acerques demasiado antes de que nosotros demos nuestra aprobación, ¿de acuerdo?". Bajé la cabeza y asentí. Si mi hermano se hubiera enterado de lo que Bruce había hecho, se habría enojado mucho y probablemente lo habría m*tado ahí mismo. Una vez que él se fue, me quedé parada en un rincón. Cuando miré a mi alrededor, vi a los antiguos Alfa y Luna. Se veían muy felices. Todos los invitados estaban esperando el intercambio de anillos. De repente, mi visión se volvió borrosa y olí un aroma desconocido. Era una mezcla de lluvia y bosque, un olor muy adictivo. Giré la cabeza y olfateé para concentrarme mejor en el aroma. Mis piernas avanzaron sin mi aprobación. La gente empezó a reunirse alrededor de alguien. Al parecer, ahora el Alfa y la futura Luna intercambiarían anillos. ¿Pero quién estaría controlando a mi loba? No quiso detenerse y trató de tomar el control. Sentí que me desmayaría si no alcanzaba al dueño de ese aroma. Tomé otra bocanada de aire y caminé hacia el lugar de donde provenía el olor. Empujé a la multitud y di grandes zancadas frente a la familia real. Ellos se volvieron para mirarme. Pude sentir los ojos de Bruce sobre mí. Pero yo no lo miraba a él, sino a otra persona. Alguien cuyo olor no podía creer que me había atraído hasta allí. No podía pensar en nada. Me acerqué y me detuve frente a él. Todos empezaron a murmurar por qué me había dirigido hacia la pareja en el momento de su compromiso. Mi loba empezó a cantar: 'Pareja, pareja, pareja'. Lo había encontrado. Era el olor de mi pareja. ¡Pero el dueño del olor era Bryan Morrison, el líder Alfa de la manada Sombra Nocturna! Los ojos de Bryan se pusieron rojos cuando me miraron. Me estaba fulminando con la mirada, como si no le hiciera gracia verme ni saber que yo era su pareja. Mi loba no pudo resistirse ante esa mirada fría. Sentí mis rodillas temblar bajo sus ojos feroces. Caí de rodillas frente a él. Levanté la cabeza y lo observé. Mis ojos se volvieron azul océano y mis lágrimas empezaron a caer. Delante de todos, no pude evitar llamarlo: "Pareja". ==== Su vida era perfecta hasta que conoció al hermano mayor de su novio. Había una regla en la manada Night Shade: si el Alfa rechazaba a su pareja, perdería su posición. Y la vida de Sophia estaba relacionada con esa ley, pues era una Omega que salía con el hermano menor Bruce del Alfa, pero él la engañó con la mejor amiga de Sophia. Bryan Morrison, el Alfa actual, no solo era un hombre de sangre fría, sino también un encantador hombre de negocios. De hecho, su nombre era suficiente para poner a temblar a las demás manadas, pues era conocido por ser muy despiadado. ¿Y si por un giro del destino su camino se entralazaba con el del Sophia? ¿Qué sucederá en adelante? Los capítulos disponibles son limitados aquí, haga click el botón abajo para instalar APP y disfrutar leyendo más contenidos maravillosos. (Al abrir el APP, directo accederá a este libro) &5&

A message lit up Stella's phone, and along with it came a bunch of photos. Clothes scattered carelessly, two people holding each other tightly, messy b**sheets. This kind of thing wasn't new to Stella. One look at the big hand holding that woman's wrist, and Stella knew it was Marc's. Her husband. The same man she'd been married to for four years. Then her eyes caught the date on the pictures, and her stomach sank. It was the same day as their wedding anniversary. Marc had promised they'd spend the evening together, but he'd vanished for three days. All she got was a message from his assistant, saying he had some urgent business to handle. "Urgent, huh?" Stella let out a cold chuckle. Clearly urgent--in someone else's b*d. She then closed the message and called someone from her contact list. The person picked up almost immediately. "Stella," came the voice on the other end. "I've made my decision to join the classified research project," she said calmly. A heavy silence stretched on the other end of the line, and then came a sharp, unwavering voice. "Don't joke around, Stella. Once you're in the classified research project, there's no turning back. You'll be officially listed as missing, and everything about your past will be wiped clean. A new identity will be created for you. So ask yourself--are you really ready to walk away from your family? From Marc?" Stella's eyes fell on the framed wedding photo hanging nearby. Marc's promises, which used to sound sweet, now felt cold and empty. "I've made my decision. I'll come by tomorrow to fill out the forms." Stella once savored Marc's devotion, yet his covert cruelty cut deep. Then she deleted her identity, signed onto a classified research mission, vanished without a trace, that same dawn Marc's empire crumbled. All he unearthed was her death certificate, and he shattered. When they met again, a gala spotlighted Stella beside a tycoon. Marc begged her to forgive. With a smirk, she said, "Out of your league, darling.". &7&

"Estou cansada. Vamos nos divorciar!" Diante da traição cruel do marido, ela assinou os papéis com firmeza. Todos zombaram dela, dizendo que até uma galinha era melhor do que uma fênix caída. Mas ninguém imaginava que aquela órfã, na verdade, era a verdadeira filha do presidente, além de uma renomada médica milagrosa, uma designer de joias de elite, uma deusa do mercado de ações e uma hacker de primeira linha! ===== Na noite anterior ao terceiro aniversário de casamento, Cary Gibson conquistou uma vitória em um leilão exclusivo, garantindo um par de brincos de safira raros. Num tom brando, ele declarou: "Isto é para a pessoa a quem mais devo -- minha amada." Em casa, sua esposa, Evelina Marsh, sentiu as lágrimas marejarem seus olhos enquanto assistia ao leilão na televisão. O dia seguinte seria o aniversário de três anos de casamento deles e talvez, finalmente, Cary tivesse se conscientizado da sua dedicação. A avó de Cary, Demi Gibson, suspirou numa satisfação tranquila. "Finalmente, Cary percebeu o verdadeiro valor da sua esposa." Na noite seguinte, Evelina mal havia terminado de preparar um jantar exuberante quando Cary passou pela porta. Ao notar sua chegada, ela foi recebê-lo rapidamente, segurando sua pasta antes de estender a mão pegar o casaco. "Pelo visto, teremos um banquete e tanto esta noite. Algo aconteceu?", ele perguntou levemente. Atônita, os dedos dela pararam no ar e Evelina perguntou calmamente: "Você não esqueceu, né?" Será que ele tinha se esquecido? Mas ele não havia adquirido aqueles brincos de safira preciosos para se redimir? As sobrancelhas do homem se franziram levemente. "Esquecer o quê exatamente, Evelina?" "Os brincos de safira. você os adquiriu no leilão, não adquiriu?" O coração de Evelina palpitava de inquietação, mas a esperança permanecia teimosamente. "Como sabe daqueles brincos?", Cary perguntou, parecendo genuinamente surpreso, sem esperar que sua esposa discreta fosse ficar de olho em algo tão extravagante. Um sorriso amarelo ilustrou seus lábios, transparecendo desprezo. Evelina possuía uma beleza natural, com traços delicados, olhos gentis e expressivos, mas se recusava a ostentá-la, sempre se vestindo com simplicidade e carregando um aspecto monótono e negligenciado, como uma flor que havia murchado. Até a empregada da casa da família Gibson se vestia com mais requinte do que ela. Mas, agora, Evelina decidiu criar coragem, seus olhos brilhando cautelosamente. "Vi a transmissão do leilão. Aqueles brincos são tão lindos." "Eles são para Esme", o homem a interrompeu rispidamente. Só de falar do seu primeiro amor, Esme Barton, sua voz se suavizou notavelmente. "Ela finalmente aceitou voltar para mim. É claro que eu precisava presenteá-la com algo especial." Ouvindo essas palavras, Evelina sentiu seu peito apertar dolorosamente, sua respiração presa na garganta. Então a pessoa com que ele se sentia em dívida era Esme Barton, a mulher que havia o abandonado? E o que isso fazia da esposa dedicada que permanecia ao lado dele por três anos sem reclamar, nem sequer pedir reconhecimento? Incapaz de suportar, Evelina perguntou com a voz embargada pela angústia: "Cary, você se esqueceu de quem foi o culpado pelo acidente que te deixou cego?" Naquele dia terrível, Esme deu um chilique por algo banal, o que distraiu Cary e causou um acidente. Quando a notícia de que a visão de Cary poderia estar comprometida permanentemente foi divulgada, Esme inventou uma desculpa esfarrapada antes de fugir para o exterior no mesmo dia, sem deixar qualquer rastro. O casamento deles já havia sido anunciado, e os convites enviados, mas ela e sua família não puderam ser localizadas. Se Evelina não tivesse sido corajosa e intervindo no momento certo, a família Gibson teria sido alvo de escândalos na cidade inteira. "Você não sabe de nada! Esme não teve culpa!", o homem retrucou duramente. Se recusando a admitir qualquer crítica à sua verdadeira amada, ele a defendeu: "Inclusive, foi Esme que providenciou as cirurgias para meus olhos. Se alguém não tivesse revelado a verdade, eu jamais saberia tudo o que ela fez por mim em segredo." Atordoada, Evelina mal conseguia formular as palavras. "O que. você disse?" Foi Evelina quem realizou as cirurgias, e a avó dele praticamente implorou por sua ajuda. Evelina havia realizado três cirurgias delicadas, se empenhando por horas na mesa de cirurgia até a exaustão. Incontáveis noites sem dormir ela passara dedicando-se inteiramente a ele, nunca revelando que era a renomada Tecelã da Visão. Como Esme acabou ficando com todo o mérito? "Tem certeza disso? Você confia em todos os boatos que ouve?" "Tenho total certeza. Esme foi a última aprendiz do professor Landen Mitchell, a única pessoa no mundo qualificada para realizar esse tipo de cirurgia", respondeu Cary com orgulho e gratidão inabaláveis. Mas, na verdade, não era Evelina a última aprendiz do professor Mitchell? Há quanto tempo Esme estava fingindo ser ela? Nesse instante, Evelina queria desesperadamente expor a farsa da mulher, mas logo se lembrou da morte do seu mentor seis meses atrás. Era claro por que Esme escolheria esse momento para retornar. Com a ausência de Landen, ninguém poderia contestar as alegações dela. E Cary, totalmente curado pelos cuidados de Evelina, agora exercia uma influência significativa como líder do Grupo Gibson, criando uma oportunidade certeira para as estratégias de Esme. Evelina não tinha provas, o que a impedia de revelar a verdade. Com a amargura a consumindo, ela perguntou: "Então o que você veio fazer aqui esta noite? Não deveria estar comemorando com sua amada?" Retirando o avental bruscamente, ela podia sentir o desespero corroer seu coração. Num tom casual e indiferente, o homem respondeu: "Estou exausto, Evelina. Vamos colocar um fim neste casamento. Acordamos três anos, e eu já aguentei mais do que devia." Aguentou mais do que devia? Como ele ousava descartar os sacríficos dela como se não fossem nada? Ela tinha passado esses três longos anos se sacrificando, dedicando toda a sua energia e conhecimento para curá-lo, o transformando no homem poderoso que ele havia se tornado. Sem sequer notar a angústia no rosto dela, Cary pegou uma pasta com os documentos do divórcio com uma calma perturbadora, obviamente já tendo os preparado com antecedência. "Leia os termos e assine se não tiver objeções. Já perdi tempo demais. Não vou fazer Esme continuar esperando." Folheando os papéis, Evelina leu dolorosamente a separação de bens. Ela ficaria com um apartamento longe do centro da cidade, o carro velho que ela usava para fazer compras e meros três milhões de dólares. A audácia do homem era inacreditável! Ele presenteara a mulher responsável por sua cegueira com brincos de safira avaliados em trezentos milhões, mas estava oferecendo três milhões para a esposa que o havia salvado. Três milhões não cobririam sequer o custo de uma das suas cirurgias, muito menos compensariam os inúmeros procedimentos que ela havia rejeitado durante esses três anos que passou isolada nessa casa, cuidando apenas dele. "Se você quiser mais.", Cary começou, já esperando que Evelina chorasse ou suplicasse por mais. Mas, em vez disso, ela deu uma risadinha, pegou a caneta com determinação e assinou sem hesitar. Perplexo, o homem parou por um momento, não esperando que ela fosse aceitar tão facilmente. Evelina era órfã. Será que ela realmente estava disposta a abandonar uma vida de conforto? Devolvendo os papéis assinados, ela disse num tom curto e grosso: "Pronto. Espero que não se arrependa da sua escolha depois!" Capítulo 2 O retorno da rainha Cary foi pego de surpresa por um momento, mas logo se recompôs. "Claro que não vou me arrepender. Mas já que você aceitou o acordo, é sua responsabilidade explicar o divórcio para minha avó." O homem sabia muito bem que Demi só aceitava Evelina como sua neta por afinidade. Se a notícia do divórcio chegasse aos ouvidos dela, ele enfrentaria sua ira. Então, naturalmente, ele queria que Evelina levasse a culpa. Sem sequer olhar para ele, Evelina respondeu calmamente: "Não vou explicar nada para Demi. Já quitei todas as minhas dívidas com ela nesses três anos. Você não está apaixonado por Esme? Qual é o problema com isso? Não consegue nem ter coragem para falar com sua própria avó?" Tendo crescido em um orfanato, Evelina contou com a generosidade de Demi para sua criação. Então, quando a família Gibson precisou urgentemente de uma noiva substituta, ela aceitou sem hesitar. Inteiramente disposta a assumir esse papel quando Cary perdeu a visão, ela cumpria seus deveres fielmente, cuidando dele e da casa todo dia sem reclamar. Ela tinha um único e modesto pedido: um acordo matrimonial de três anos. Se Cary não se apaixonasse por ela até o prazo final, eles se separariam pacificamente. Agora, depois de tantos anos de cuidado árduo, sua liberdade finalmente havia batido na porta. "O amor verdadeiro supera tudo. Espero de coração que sua história de amor perfeita dure para sempre", Evelina respondeu secamente, com um leve toque de sarcasmo nas suas palavras. Ela pegou as chaves do carro sobre a mesa e foi até a garagem, mas foi abruptamente bloqueada por Margot Gibson, irmã caçula de Cary. "Evelina, fiquei sabendo que está se divorciando do meu irmão. Esse carro é propriedade da nossa família, então você não pode levá-lo!" Evelina soltou uma risada fria. "Paguei por este carro sozinha. Sendo sincera, você é tão descarada quanto seu irmão!" Atraído pela discussão, Cary se aproximou. "O que está acontecendo aqui?" "Evelina está levando o carro, e eu pretendia usá-lo!", reclamou Margot num tom petulante. A testa de Cary se franziu ligeiramente. "Evelina, entregue as chaves para Margot." "De jeito nenhum. Por que eu deveria?" "Você é tão ousada!", exclamou Margot, avançando para pegar as chaves. De repente, uma mala velha foi lançada para dentro do veículo, seguida por vários fogos de artifício acesos. No instante seguinte, faíscas começaram a surgir e uma f*maça densa se espalhou quando os fogos de artifício explodiram, fazendo Margot gritar em pânico. "O carro é seu. Não o quero mais", respondeu Evelina, limpando as mãos enquanto se afastava decididamente. Tudo o que ela usou ou vestiu na casa dessa família estava no veículo. Ela não queria nada que a lembrasse desse lugar. Rapidamente, ela ligou para sua melhor amiga, Kristina Anderson. Quando ela chegou nos portões da vila, um carro elegante e discreto a aguardava. Ao avistar a amiga, Kristina ficou de queixo caído. "Ora, se não é a majestosa Evelina em pessoa!" Fingindo espanto, a mulher esfregou os olhos ao acrescentar: "Três anos, Evelina! Toda vez que eu te ligava, você estava ocupada demais cuidando daquele marido ingrato. Sinceramente, eu não sabia ao certo se naquela época fui ao seu casamento ou ao funeral." Saltando do veículo, Kristina deu um abraço apertado em Evelina. "Você finalmente deu um fim naquele caolho i**ota? Bom, agora podemos começar a viver de verdade." Estralando os dedos dramaticamente, ela continuou: "Espere aí. preciso comprar uma caixa de fogos de artifício! Seu retorno tão esperado merece uma comemoração à altura!" "Você chegou na hora certa", disse Evelina com indiferença, apontando casualmente por cima do ombro. Nesse momento, uma explosão rompeu a noite tranquila -- o carro velho explodiu em chamas, criando um visual que ninguém esperava. Faíscas brilhantes se espalhavam por toda parte, iluminando a escuridão num espetáculo vibrante. "O que achou desse presente de despedida?", Evelina perguntou com um sorriso brincalhão, sua sobrancelha arqueada em travessura. Kristina caiu na gargalhada. "Aí está ela! A Rainha Evelina finalmente está de volta! É hora de festejar!" Indo para o banco do passageiro, Evelina soltou um suspiro cansado. "Outro dia, quem sabe. Agora, só preciso dormir urgentemente." Ela havia passado três anos ajudando na recuperação de Cary, mal conseguindo tirar um tempo para descansar, então agora sentia como se um caminhão a tivesse atingido. Dentro da residência, Margot batia o pé furiosamente. "Evelina quase me matou de susto! Ela perdeu a cabeça? Ela destruiu nosso carro! Cary, você tem que dar um jeito nela!" "Já chega!", Cary interrompeu bruscamente. A exasperação marcava sua voz ao repreender: "É assim que uma Gibson deve se comportar? Com essa birra infantil?" Instantaneamente, Margot assumiu um tom suplicante e magoado: "Está mesmo implicando comigo por causa daquela mulher? Espere até eu contar para Esme. Ela verá o quanto você mudou!" "Não fale bobagens", retrucou o homem com irritação, embora, no fundo, considerasse Evelina insignificante em comparação com sua irmã. No instante seguinte, ele suavizou a voz para tranquilizá-la: "Se esqueceu de que em breve Jasper Russell chegará a Aglonard?" A família Russell era uma das famílias mais influentes de Ireah, dominando os círculos políticos, comerciais e militares, o que a tornava extremamente poderosa. Jasper Russell, o herdeiro mais jovem, além de ser bastante simpático, também gerenciava o imenso Grupo Russell. Um mínimo gesto seu causava comoção em toda a alta sociedade. E o mais importante era que ele era o único solteiro entre os herdeiros da família Russell. Todas as jovens ricas de Aglonard e de outros lugares sonhavam em se tornar a senhora Russell. "Não esqueci", Margot murmurou timidamente, corando ao ouvir sobre o cara que ela admirava. Se agarrando carinhosamente ao braço do irmão, ela acrescentou com entusiasmo: "Ele virá para o tratamento oftalmológico da sobrinha. Se Esme conseguir curar a visão da senhorita Florrie Russell, se tornará uma pessoa imprescindível para a família Russell e sem dúvida para nós também. Assim, até a vovó terá que aceitá-la." Cary acenou com a cabeça pensativamente. O suposto talento médico de Esme havia feito a família Russell vir para Aglonard, apresentando-lhes uma oportunidade perfeita para solidificar alianças poderosas. "E se você ajudar Esme durante a operação e conquistar a simpatia da senhorita Russell. talvez até Jasper se interesse por você", ele sugeriu, a encorajando. "Ah, isso mesmo! Obrigada pela ideia, Cary!" Os olhos de Margot brilharam enquanto os sonhos invadiam sua mente. Mas, de repente, os pensamentos de Cary começaram a vagar. A imagem de Evelina se afastando com confiança, destemida e equilibrada, permanecia persistentemente. Tendo sempre a considerado uma mulher banal, submissa e até entediante, ele não esperava por essa versão ousada e feroz. Talvez ele precisasse reavaliar a mulher que havia desprezado por três anos. Capítulo 3 Beleza renovada Evelina passou três dias seguidos recuperando as energias na luxuosa suíte presidencial de Kristina. Além dos breves momentos que beliscava alguns lanches, ela mal se movia, com a amiga até aplicando máscaras faciais rejuvenescedoras nela. Quatro dias depois, de repente Demi ligou de manhã, solicitando que Evelina fosse à Mansão Gibson. Não foi difícil adivinhar o motivo da convocação. Sem dúvida, era sobre o divórcio. No entanto, Kristina suspeitava de algo além. "Duvido que seja só pelo divórcio. Pelo que fiquei sabendo, Florrie Russell, a neta mais velha da família Russell, perdeu a visão recentemente após sofrer uma lesão grave na cabeça. A família já consultou todos os especialistas renomados e agora está procurando desesperadamente pela Tecelã da Visão, aprendiz de Landen Mitchell. Até Jasper Russell está vindo a Aglonard para supervisionar a busca pessoalmente. Demi é a única que sabe da sua verdadeira identidade, então estou preocupada que ela possa tentar." Evelina logo a tranquilizou: "Demi prometeu nunca expor minha identidade. Não se preocupe com isso." Mesmo assim, Kristina se mantinha prudente, alertando a amiga: "Só não deixe que a família Gibson se aproveite do seu conhecimento novamente." "Terei cuidado com isso", Evelina respondeu firmemente. Ainda não convencida, Kristina disse com determinação: "Você não vai encontrá-los assim, vai?" Após o café da manhã, Kristina chamou sua equipe de beleza particular. "A missão de vocês é reviver nossa bela adormecida!" E eles conseguiram. Um momento de relaxamento e trato depois, Evelina parecia uma flor radiante e renovada sob a luz do sol. Sua pele estava iluminada, suas feições vigorosas, e o cansaço que obscurecia seu olhar há anos desapareceu completamente, substituído por uma limpidez e fascínio. Com um vestido co**etel elegante e uma maquiagem leve, mas de bom gosto, Evelina estava totalmente transformada. Após um longo tempo a observando, Kristina exclamou: "A cirurgia de Cary para recuperar a visão não deve ter funcionado, já que ele trocou uma deusa dessas por alguém como Esme." Na hora combinada, o veículo com o motorista da família Gibson chegou à porta do hotel. Asher, mordomo antigo da família, havia vindo até lá para buscar Evelina. Mas, ao vê-la, ele não a reconheceu de imediato, a olhando confuso até que ela o cumprimentou. "Senhorita Marsh? Você está completamente espetacular!", ele gaguejou. Em meia hora, o carro parou na Mansão Gibson e Asher saiu rapidamente para abrir a porta para ela. "É a senhorita Russell?" Margot se aproximou às pressas, assumindo uma expressão bajuladora instantaneamente. Esse era o dia da chegada de Jasper, e Margot havia se arrumando desde o início da manhã, ansiosa para chamar a atenção dele. Ela imaginava que seria Jasper quem apareceria, mas encontrou uma mulher deslumbrante parada na porta. Com toda essa graciosidade e confiança, quem mais ela poderia ser senão uma Russell? "Margot, você deveria fazer um exame de vista." O tom de Evelina era educado, mas com um desprezo inconfundível. Incrédula, Margot entreabriu os lábios enquanto observava Evelina de perto, sussurrando com uma inveja aparente: "É você?" Nesse momento, outro veículo se aproximou e Cary saiu graciosamente, acompanhado por Esme. No entanto, quando seu olhar pousou em Evelina, ele parou abruptamente, pego de surpresa pelo encantamento da mulher. Apenas alguns dias haviam se passado. Como ela havia se transformado tanto? Agora, Evelina irradiava uma beleza natural e envolvente. Notando o espanto de Cary, Esme cerrou os dentes em nervosismo, mas mantinha seu sorriso gentil. "Essa é sua ex-esposa, não é? Já que a encontramos, seria bom que você pelo menos a cumprimentasse. Deve ser difícil para alguém sem família como ela vir até aqui atrás de você." A mulher usava um tom suave, mas cada palavra era mais afiada do que uma agulha, agindo como se ela fosse a verdadeira senhora Gibson. Saindo do devaneio, Margot explodiu de raiva. "Evelina! Onde conseguiu dinheiro para se vestir assim? Por acaso usou o cartão de Cary para custear esse seu novo rosto e esse vestido de grife?" Até Esme estava com um traje mais simples nesse dia, a fim de evitar atenção desnecessária. Ver Evelina roubar a cena sem qualquer esforço estava sendo insuportável para Margot. Após um momento de hesitação, ela sussurrou maliciosamente: "Olhe só para você, vestida como uma pr**tituta. Tentando reconquistar Cary? Você só pode estar delirando!" Num ataque de raiva, Margot avançou, suas unhas exageradamente grandes tentando agarrar o vestido e cabelo de Evelina. Asher interveio rapidamente: "Senhorita Gibson, por favor! Há convidados estimados hoje, e esse não é um comportamento adequado para uma Gibson." Ignorando o alerta do motorista, Margot gritou furiosamente: "Vou acabar com esse seu sorrisinho arrogante!" Sem se importar com as palavras da mulher, Evelina ergueu seu celular calmamente para gravar o ataque de Margot, respondendo com uma confiança gélida: "Isso, continue. Vamos mostrar a Jasper Russell o quão refinada você realmente é." Ao ouvir isso, Margot congelou instantaneamente e arregalou os olhos. Suas ameaças pararam na garganta, substituídas por um olhar fulminante. "Você não teria coragem!" Decidindo mudar a abordagem, ela se apoiou no ombro de Esme para fingir vulnerabilidade. "Esme, coloque essa mulher ardilosa no lugar dela, por favor. Logo seremos uma família, então você tem que me defender." Ela enfatizou a palavra "família" só para provocar Evelina. Com uma ternura forçada, Esme acariciou os cabelos de Margot como se consolasse uma criança. "Está tudo bem. Ninguém vai te fazer mal enquanto eu estou aqui." Vendo esse teatrinho, Evelina zombou bruscamente: "Onde estão Demi e Elora Gibson? Desde quando estranhos ditam regras nesta casa?" Ponderando que essa não era a Evelina gentil que todos conheciam, a expressão de Esme se enrijeceu. Como a mulher havia ficado com uma língua tão afiada do nada? Indignada, Margot retrucou: "Quem é a estranha aqui? Você é a única que não pertence a este lugar!" Se virando para Cary, ela continuou: "Ouviu o que essa mulher disse para Esme? Você não pode deixá-la nos intimidar assim!" Com uma graciosidade ensaiada, Esme suspirou suavemente. "Não tem problema. Evelina não tem pais para lhe ensinar boas maneiras. Não é culpa dela, coitada. Cary, não a culpe por esse pequeno desentendimento, por favor." Evelina revirou os olhos, irritada com essa insinuação. Cary sequer notou a ira de Evelina, com olhos apenas para Esme. Se aproximando de Esme, Cary a abraçou com carinho e então olhou friamente para Evelina, dizendo, sua voz incisiva: "Se acha que causar problemas te concederá alguma vantagem, está completamente enganada. Sua atitude é patética. Peça desculpas a Esme agora mesmo!" Capítulo 4 A fúria de Demi Sem sequer olhar para Cary, Evelina respondeu secamente: "Acho que você deveria olhar para si antes de querer me dar um sermão." Decidida a fugir dessa discussão inútil, ela passou por eles rapidamente, não querendo deixar Demi esperando. "Pare!" A raiva de Cary aumentou e ele estava prestes a repreendê-la novamente, mas as palavras se dissiparam enquanto seus olhos observavam a figura dela se afastando. O vestido sob medida envolvia as curvas de Evelina com perfeição, seus cabelos caindo pelas costas elegantes, realçando seus ombros esbeltos e cintura definida, detalhes que ele, por alguma razão, havia ignorado até então. Cada passo confiante que ela dava irradiava força, postura e elegância. Até o mero contorno do seu corpo violão era cativante, a ponto de permanecer na mente do homem por um longo período. Foi então que a realidade o atingiu dolorosamente: essa mulher extraordinária estava prestes a se tornar sua ex-esposa, mas ele não havia a tocado nem uma vez. Notando o olhar intenso de Cary, Esme sentiu uma onda de irritação crescer dentro de si e se afastou bruscamente dos braços dele, saindo furiosa. Margot entrou em pânico, puxando a manga da camisa do irmão desesperadamente. "O que está fazendo, Cary? Você deixou Esme chateada, e agora ela está indo embora!" Cary piscou, momentaneamente desorientado, e quando recuperou os sentidos, Margot já estava correndo atrás de Esme. Dentro da mansão, Demi estava sentada solitária na sua cadeira de madeira ornamentada, olhando para a porta ansiosamente. Ao ver Evelina, ela logo se animou, se levantando para recebê-la com afeto. "Evi, minha querida, você tem tolerado tanto nesses últimos dias." "Não se preocupe, Demi." Se aproximando às pressas, Evelina a ajudou a se sentar novamente, depois se ajoelhou ao seu lado e começou a massagear cuidadosamente seus joelhos doloridos. "O tempo está esfriando. Suas articulações estão incomodando de novo?" Com um suspiro profundo, a idosa respondeu: "A mesma dor de sempre, querida. Ninguém a alivia como você. Seu cuidado é insubstituível." "Você me trata como parte da família por todos esses anos. Isso é o mínimo que posso fazer em retribuição", respondeu Evelina com sinceridade. Sua gentileza genuína só intensificou o pesar de Demi, que lamentou num tom brando: "Como aquele i**ota do meu neto conseguiu deixar escapar uma joia dessas?! Ele merece uma surra." Balançando a cabeça levemente, Evelina a consolou: "Fique tranquila, Demi. As coisas vão se acertar." "Evi, meu amor. será que você poderia dar outra chance a Cary? Por mim?", a idosa pediu com uma voz que faria qualquer um se compadecer. "Esperei três longos anos para ele reconhecer minha dedicação, mas ele nunca deu valor. Outra chance não mudaria nada", Evelina respondeu num tom brando. Ela já havia dado inúmeras chances, mas Cary desperdiçara todas elas. Agora, finalmente era hora de se libertar disso. Demi suspirou pesadamente, a tristeza evidente no seu tom. "Talvez seja só o destino. Nossa família não tem a sorte de manter alguém como você." Seus olhos se encheram de lágrimas. Nesse momento, Margot e Esme entraram, conversando alegremente com a mãe de Cary, Elora Gibson. Ao vê-las, Demi ficou furiosa, pegou a xícara de café na mesinha por perto e jogou violentamente aos pés de Esme. Fragmentos da porcelana se espalharam por todo lado, o café respingando nos saltos luxuosos de Esme e no tecido delicado do seu vestido. Um grito agudo escapou dos lábios de Esme, que olhou para o caos diante dela, completamente horrorizada. Embora sua aparência fosse discreta, cada peça do seu traje havia sido meticulosamente escolhida em butiques exclusivas. Seu vestido, por si só, tinha um preço elevado, criado para exalar uma elegância recatada e graciosa. Como era de se esperar, a mãe e a filha Gibson, que pouco conheciam sobre moda, não sabiam do valor do vestido. "Por que fez isso, vovó?", Cary exclamou e avançou rapidamente para proteger Esme mais uma vez, enquanto lançava um olhar sombrio para Demi. Mesmo assim, a idosa permanecia ferozmente impassível. "Como ousa perguntar? Se não fossem as palhaçadas dessa mulher, você teria sofrido o acidente e perdido a visão?" O fato de Esme ter quase arruinado irreversivelmente o futuro brilhante do seu neto era mais doloroso do que ela ter abandonado o noivado. Demi sempre tinha um orgulho enorme de Cary, mas, além de prejudicar seu neto, Esme também afetou todo o legado da família Gibson. "Já expliquei isso inúmeras vezes. Esme não foi responsável por aquele acidente. Por que não pode confiar em mim?", disse Cary, exasperado. Seu olhar acusador se dirigiu para Evelina, que confortava Demi em silêncio, acariciando as costas dela para ajudar na respiração. Só podia ser essa mulher causando problemas novamente, contaminando a mente de Demi. Incapaz de se conter, Cary perguntou firmemente: "Evelina, você estava contando mentiras para a vovó, arranjando encrenca pelas nossas costas?" Aproveitando a oportunidade, Elora, que sempre desprezava a origem humilde de Evelina, disparou suas palavras perversas: "É claro que ela estava! Essa órfã faria qualquer coisa para se agarrar à nossa família. Ela pode agir com essa gentileza toda, mas por baixo da superfície, é totalmente d**prezível!" Antes que Evelina tivesse a chance de se defender, Demi interrompeu severamente: "Já chega! Evelina é a neta que eu mesma escolhi. Como você se atreve a desrespeitá-la bem diante dos meus olhos? Está desafiando minha autoridade sem qualquer pudor?" "Demi, não quis.", Elora gaguejou, seu rosto se empalidecendo. Vendo a mãe prestes a chorar, Cary tentou protegê-la: "Vovó, pare de brigar com minha mãe, por favor. Sei que você não quer que eu deixe Evelina." Ele se virou e pegou a mão de Esme com convicção, entrelaçando seus dedos nos dela. "Mas isso é inegociável. Esme é quem eu amo, a única que pode ter um futuro comigo." "Excelente! Maravilhoso! Absolutamente perfeito!", exclamou a idosa amargamente, cada palavra marcada por um sarcasmo severo, enquanto a ira percorria seu corpo frágil. Reagindo rapidamente, Evelina pegou um frasco de medicamento para o coração e o deu a Demi. Após uma breve pausa para recuperar a compostura, a idosa disse com fria certeza: "Então me deixe ser clara. Se você se divorciar de Evelina, terá que entregar dez por cento das suas ações do Grupo Gibson a ela. E Esme? Enquanto eu estiver nesta Terra, ela nunca mais colocará os pés na minha casa." "Vovó, você não pode dizer.", começou Cary, seus olhos arregalados. Com uma autoridade ferrenha, a idosa bateu a mão frágil contra o braço da cadeira, gerando um ruído agudo, e exclamou, determinada: "Já deixei claro e minha decisão é definitiva! Se você me contrariar, perderá seu lugar nesta família!" Capítulo 5 Impostora "Vovó, você está falando sério? Entregar dez por cento das ações para Evelina?" Margot protestou, a indignação marcando sua voz. "Ela não passa de uma órfã acolhida." Seu discurso foi silenciado pelo olhar incisivo de Demi, que a fez recuar acanhadamente e se encolher como uma criança repreendida. Então, Elora soluçou num tom baixo: "Demi, Cary é seu neto." Com um bufar desdenhoso, a idosa retrucou rispidamente: "Não tenho só um neto. Se ele insiste em perseguir o amor cegamente, vamos ver até onde vai o dinheiro dele." Ela queria expor a dura realidade a Cary: já que Esme o abandonou quando ele mais precisava, sem dúvida desapareceria quando ele ficasse sem dinheiro! Esme era o problema em pessoa, certamente não o tipo de mulher que ficaria ao lado dele nos momentos difíceis! Com o corpo tenso, Cary contraiu o maxilar fortemente, suas têmporas pulsando pela raiva reprimida. Direcionando sua indignação a Evelina, ele perguntou rancorosamente: "Satisfeita agora?" Embora estivesse comovida com o apoio de Demi, Evelina mantinha a calma, amparando a idosa para que sua respiração se estabilizasse. Demi lutava contra problemas crônicos de pressão arterial, um coração fraco e articulações doloridas sensíveis às mudanças sazonais. Se Evelina não estivesse preocupada que esses parentes ingratos pudessem levá-la a um ataque cardíaco, já teria ido embora. "Senhora!" De repente, um servo aflito entrou na sala e anunciou, ofegante: "O senhor Russell. ele chegou!" "Traga-o aqui." Demi se endireitou rapidamente, recuperando a compostura para receber seu ilustre convidado. Já Margot, começou a se agitar ansiosamente, por pouco não tropeçando no próprio pé. "Mãe! Como estou? Meu cabelo está arrumado? Maquiagem impecável?" Com um orgulho maternal, Elora tranquilizou sua filha calorosamente: "Você está deslumbrante, meu bem. Completamente perfeita." Apesar das palavras gentis, sua mente estava obscurecida pelo desejo profundo de que Evelina não estivesse lá. Se virando bruscamente, a mulher perguntou: "Vamos receber um convidado importante. Não é melhor sair pela porta dos fundos?" Ainda abraçada a Demi, Evelina abriu um sorriso sereno, imperturbável com a pergunta ofensiva. "Ah, obrigada por me lembrar de algo. Na verdade, Cary e eu ainda não nos divorciamos oficialmente. Em termos legais, ainda sou a esposa dele, e integrante legítima desta família." Lançando um olhar indiferente para Esme, que ainda chorava melodramaticamente no peito de Cary, ela continuou: "Já a senhorita Barton, não passa de uma a**nte. Companhia inadequada para receber um convidado respeitável." "Como se atreve?!", Esme ofegou, as lágrimas escorrendo pelo seu rosto num choro ensaiado. Cary deu um passo à frente, sua expressão furiosa. "Cuidado com as palavras, Evelina! O senhor Russell veio só por causa de Esme, a única pessoa capaz de recuperar a visão da sobrinha dele." Suas palavras interromperam os movimentos de Demi, que se virou lentamente, a surpresa evidente no seu rosto. "Quem você disse que era capaz de recuperar a visão da sobrinha do senhor Russell?". O que acontecerá a seguir? O número de capítulos exibidos aqui é limitado. Por favor, clique no botão abaixo para baixar nosso aplicativo e ler mais capítulos. (Ao abrir o aplicativo, você irá automaticamente para este livro.) &4&

Durante cuatro años de matrimonio, su esposo estuvo obsesionado con otras mujeres. Por fin, ella se dio por vencida y decidió divorciarse. Planeaba encontrar a otro hombre para pasar una sola noche ap**ionada, pero su de**o no se cumplió. Inesperadamente, el hombre con el que había bromeado terminó enredándose con ella. ===== El celular de Stella Russell se iluminó con un mensaje, acompañado de un montón de fotos. En las imágenes se veía ropa esparcida descuidadamente, dos personas abrazándose con fuerza, sábanas desordenadas y un reflejo borroso en un espejo empañado. Ella ya había visto ese tipo de cosas antes, así que no le pareció nada nuevo. Además, le bastó con echar un vistazo a la mano que sostenía la muñeca de la mujer para darse cuenta de que se trataba de Marc, su esposo. Ella llevaba casada con ese hombre cuatro años. Cuando su mirada se posó en la fecha en que esas fotografías fueron tomadas, sintió un nudo en el estómago, pues eran del mismo día que su aniversario de bodas. Marc le había prometido que pasarían la noche juntos, pero llevaba tres días sin volver a casa. Su asistente la llamó para informarle de que su cónyuge tenía un asunto urgente que atender. "¿Urgente?", había repetido Stella, con una risa fría. Y ahora podía ver la naturaleza de su urgencia. meterse en la c**a de otra. De repente, cerró el mensaje y marcó un número de su lista de contactos. "Stella", dijo la persona al otro lado de la línea, que contestó casi inmediatamente. "Ya he tomado mi decisión sobre el proyecto de investigación confidencial", dijo con calma. "¿Quién es el candidato?". "Yo". Se hizo un pesado silencio antes de que su interlocutor respondiera con una voz aguda y afilada: "Stella, no bromees. ¡Sabes muy bien lo que implica eso! Apenas estés en el proyecto, no hay vuelta atrás. No tendrás contacto con el mundo exterior, ni podrás mantener relaciones personales. Se te enlistará oficialmente como desaparecida, se borrará todo sobre tu pasado, y se te dará una nueva identidad. Así que pregúntate: ¿estás realmente lista para alejarte de tu familia, de Marc?". La aludida miró la foto enmarcada que colgaba cerca de ella. Hubo una época en la que sonreír le provocaba calidez, pero ahora le rompía el corazón. Además, las promesas de su marido, que antes le parecían dulces, ahora sonaban vacías. "Ya tomé mi decisión", afirmó en voz baja. "Mañana iré a llenar los formularios". Acto seguido, colgó sin darle a la otra persona la oportunidad de responder. No quería escuchar más. Ya lo había decidido. En ese momento, un auto se detuvo afuera. Momentos después, Marc Walsh entró a la casa, tan alto como siempre. Se aflojaba su corbata negra mientras se dirigía directamente al baño. Lanzó perezosamente su saco sobre el perchero. La prenda todavía llevaba el sugerente aroma de FIRE2, el último perfume femenino de la marca Vlexoot. Capturaba la esencia audaz y ap**ionada, aparentemente todo lo que ella ya no representaba. Minutos después, salió del baño tras darse una ducha. Las gotas de agua todavía se deslizaban por su cuerpo, cubierto únicamente con una bata gris. Esta estaba amarrada laxamente, dejando al descubierto sus marcados pe**orales y ab**minales. El cabello húmedo caía alrededor de su rostro, y el vapor a su alrededor solo lo hacía parecer más frío, brusco. Como el heredero de la familia Walsh, Marc lo tenía todo: buen aspecto, prestigio y dinero. Y hubo una época en la que ella se había sentido atraída a él por todo eso, pero ahora solo le desagradaba. "¿Por qué me miras así?", inquirió el hombre entre risas con una voz suave y traviesa mientras la rodeaba por la cintura. "Cariño, ¿me has echado de menos?", preguntó, deslizando su mano por el costado de su mujer. Ella se erizó ante el co**acto y se apartó rápidamente. "¿Qué pasa? ¿Estás enojada conmigo?", preguntó él, con el ceño fruncido, deteniéndose a medio movimiento. Stella inhaló profundamente, para estabilizarse. No iba a desperdiciar energía en otra discusión. Reprimiendo el dolor en su corazón, se inclinó y sacó una caja de la cómoda, que le entregó a su esposo. "Ten. Un regalo". Adentro se encontraba los papeles del divorcio, que ella ya había firmado. Ese era su regalo final. "Tendrás que adivinar la contraseña para abrirlo", prosiguió sin emoción. Marc miró la caja con desinterés y creyendo que se trataba de otro de sus extraños juegos, la dejó sobre la mesa. Luego atrajo a la mujer hacia sí, recargando la cabeza en su hombro. "Tú eres el único regalo que de**o", declaró. Stella se tensó involuntariamente. Al notar su reacción, su cónyuge soltó una risa baja. "¿Todavía enojada porque me perdí nuestro aniversario? El trabajo ha sido una locura", mintió, mientras le daba un b**o en la mejilla. Luego la soltó, sacó una pequeña caja de su abrigo y se la entregó. "¿Te gusta?". En su interior había un pasador delicado y chapado en oro; claramente se trataba de una pieza personalizada y elaborada con esmero. "La mandé hacer especialmente para ti. Siempre te han gustado cosas así, ¿verdad? Póntelo", dijo con esa voz familiar, que era una mezcla de afecto y control. En el pasado, ese tono había sido suficiente para derretir la determinación de la chica. Todos en Choria creían que Marc amaba a su esposa. Hasta la misma Stella lo había creído. Si no hubiera sido por las fotos guardadas en su celular, podría haberse sentido conmovida por su regalo. La am**te de su esposo, que salía en las imágenes, tenía unos veinte años. Lucía bonita y segura de sí misma, con sus ojos coquetos y cabello largo y ondulado recogido con el mismo pasador que ahora estaba frente a ella. Ese peinado dejaba al descubierto su elegante cuello, lleno de ch**etones. "Solo hay uno como este en el mundo. Te gusta, ¿verdad?", insistió Marc, alzándole suavemente el pelo, y rozándole la piel con sus dedos ásperos, de una forma demasiado familiar e íntima. Stella perdía la paciencia rápidamente y poco le faltó para clavarle el pi**he pasador en el pe**o. Mirándolo a los ojos con una expresión más fría de lo habitual, le preguntó: "¿Así que el único en el mundo?". Él notó que algo iba mal, pero apenas ella sonrió, con su suavidad habitual, sus dudas desaparecieron. "Si realmente es único, entonces sí, me encanta", declaró la mujer, cerrando la caja con calma. "Tengo trabajo que hacer esta noche. Vete a dormir", agregó, escapando de su abrazo y apretando la caja firmemente, sin dedicarle otra mirada. Marc sintió que una corriente fría traspasaba su bata abierta y, por alguna razón, lo dejó sintiéndose extrañamente vacío. Esa noche, ella parecía más fría de lo habitual. Sin embargo, al ver sobre la mesa el extraño regalo que le había dado, recuperó la calma. Al fin y al cabo, entendía los sentimientos de Stella mejor que nadie. Ella lo amaba tanto, tanto que nunca lo dejaría realmente, sin importar lo que él hiciera. Ni ahora, ni nunca. De repente, su celular comenzó a vibrar una y otra vez dentro del bolsillo de su bata. Cuando finalmente lo revisó, se encontró con mensajes atrevidos y coquetos en la pantalla, que le cerraron la garganta en el acto Tras responder escuetamente, borró todo y lanzó el dispositivo a un lado, antes de caer en la cama. El suave y familiar aroma que persistía en las sábanas calmó sus nervios. Pronto, se quedó profundamente dormido. Mientras tanto, en el estudio, Stella le sacó una foto al pasador y la envió a una boutique dedicada a la reventa de artículos de lujo. "Vende esto. Lo antes posible", indicó. Luego mandó un número de cuenta y agregó: "Deposita el dinero aquí". Esa era la cuenta oficial de instituto. Incluso algo manchado todavía podía ser utilizado para un buen propósito. A la mañana siguiente, cuando Marc abrió los ojos, descubrió que Stella ya estaba completamente vestida. Se apoyó sobre los codos y le hizo señas para que se acercara. "Ven aquí. Dame un abrazo", le dijo, con la voz ronca y suave por el sueño. Ella dejó de abotonarse la blusa. Inhaló profundamente, y mantuvo una expresión compuesta. "Surgió algo urgente en el instituto. Tengo que irme ahora. No tuve tiempo de preparar el desayuno, así que tendrás que arreglártelas hoy tú mismo". Acto seguido, agarró su bolso y salió como anoche, sin mirar atrás. Marc se quedó congelado a medio movimiento, sintiendo que volvía la sensación de vacío en su pe**o. Se frotó levemente las cejas, tratando de deshacerse de ella. Antes, por muy ocupada que estuviera, Stella nunca se perdía una mañana a su lado. Siempre se aseguraba de que el desayuno estuviera listo justo a tiempo. Luego lo despertaba suavemente, le pedía un abrazo y le daba un b**o de buenos días con la sonrisa más dulce. Pero todo había cambiado ese día. "Stella", la llamó su esposo cuando ella abrió la puerta. En ese momento, Stella sintió como si algo agudo le desgarrara profundamente el pe**o. "¿Sí?", preguntó con una mirada firme, girándose para verlo. Marc la contempló por un largo rato. Al verla igual de normal que siempre, se dijo que todo estaba en su cabeza. "Asegúrate de comer, incluso si las cosas se ponen difíciles. Y no te quedes despierta hasta tarde. El trato de Marina Horizon tuvo un contratiempo, así que toda esta semana trabajaré hasta tarde. No me esperes". "De acuerdo", contestó ella, con una sonrisa. En ese momento, la luz del sol caía sobre el rostro de Stella, haciendo que le brillaran los ojos; además, sonreía cálidamente. Al verla, Marc sintió que el corazón le daba un vuelco, pues le recordó a la chica que alguna vez le había quitado el aliento. "Cuando el trabajo se calme, vayamos a la Isla Midstream. Para compensar la luna de miel que nunca tuvimos", dijo él, en un tono más suave. La mujer sintió que su corazón, ya dolido, volvía a romperse. Cuando estaban organizando su boda, Stella había elaborado una lista de los lugares a los que viajarían juntos, uno para cada aniversario, como si fueran lunas de miel. Había creído que se mantendrían enamorados para siempre, pero ese año, Marc había llegado a ese lugar a otra mujer. Y ella tenía las fotos que probaban su infidelidad en su celular. "Claro. cuando las cosas se calmen", respondió finalmente, bajando la mirada. Con eso, se dio la vuelta y salió. No quedaba ni un ápice de calidez en sus ojos. Él no lo sabía, pero nunca tendrían la oportunidad de realizar ese viaje. Capítulo 2 Atrapado con las manos en la masa Stella condujo su modesto Volkswagen negro hasta la puerta del Instituto de Investigación Hookwood. Apenas entró al edificio principal de oficina, Lainey Lewis, una colega antigua, se le acercó y la agarró de la muñeca. "¿En serio has venido a presentar la solicitud? Stella, ¿qué está pasando? No respondiste a mis mensajes. No puedes tomar una decisión así por capricho. Este proyecto no es un experimento cualquiera. Antes de tomar una decisión, debiste haberlo discutido con Marc". Stella sintió un fuerte dolor en el pe**o, pero permaneció en silencio. En lugar de responder, desbloqueó su celular, buscó una conversación en WhatsApp y le extendió el aparato. En la pantalla aparecieron decenas de mensajes pr**vocativos e imágenes su**rentes. Y todos habían sido enviados más de una vez. Había una foto en particular que dejaba poco a la imaginación. "¡Ese ca**lla! Si no fuera por las patentes que le diste en su día, ni siquiera habría sobrevivido al lanzamiento. ¿Y ahora se atreve a engañarte? Regresaré a tu casa contigo. Juro que haré que te pida perdón de rodillas", exclamó Lainey, con la ira ardiendo en sus pupilas, tras echarle un vistazo al celular y empujarlo de vuelta a las manos de su amiga. "No, eso no será necesario", respondió su interlocutora, agarrándola rápidamente del brazo. "¿Cómo que no? Después de lo que ha hecho, ¿te vas a quedar de brazos cruzados y dejar que se salga con la suya?", preguntó la otra, con la voz temblorosa. "No, nunca", respondió Stella, guardando el celular en el bolsillo de su abrigo. "Pero confrontarlo directamente sería demasiado fácil. Quiero que sufra. que realmente se arrepienta de todo". Lainey no dijo nada más, pues conocía bien a su compañera: en el laboratorio, era brillante; en su vida diaria, completamente honesta. Sin embargo, si alguien la llevaba más allá de su límite, ella no se quedaría sin reaccionar. Regresaría cuando menos lo esperaran, con precisión y fuerza. Juntas, caminaron hacia la oficina administrativa. Allí, el llenado de los formularios ocurrió sin problemas. Con unas cuantas firmas y unos pocos sellos, el asunto quedó finiquitado; solo faltaba la aprobación final. Antes de irse, Stella se ofreció a ayudar en un seminario académico organizado por el instituto, así que recolectó los materiales necesarios. A las 3:30 p.m., el evento en el Hotel Grace había concluido. Ella, sosteniendo una carpeta contra su pe**o, avanzó del vestíbulo al estacionamiento. En el camino, una risa familiar llegó hasta sus oídos. "Vamos, sé buena". En ese momento, Stella se tensó y se giró lentamente. La traición la impactó con la fuerza de un rayo. Marc tenía su brazo alrededor de una mujer de cabello largo y cintura delgada, a la que guiaba hacia la entrada del hotel. "Te extrañé. te extrañé tanto", dijo la desconocida, en un tono dulce e íntimo inclinándose sobre Marc. Acto seguido, deslizó sus labios desde el lóbulo de su oreja hasta el cuello del hombre, embarrándole la piel con su labial rojo. Él soltó una risa baja y cariñosa, antes de apretarla más contra sí; la agarraba de la cintura con firmeza. Stella sintió una opresión en el pe**o y se le nubló la vista. Se dio cuenta de que esa de**arada había seguido a su esposo hasta el hotel. Los ni siquiera pudieron esperar a que se hiciera de noche. Entonces, a través de la puerta giratoria de cristal, la pareja se miró a los ojos. Marc tenía las pupilas oscuras y llenas de de**o, mientras que las de Stella irradiaban tranquilidad y calma, aunque había un destello de burla en ellas. De repente, el ambiente entre los dos se tensó. La am**te también la vio, pero en lugar de parecer sorprendida, sonrió con suficiencia y volvió a be**r a Marc, aunque esta vez más profunda y deliberadamente, como si estuviera marcando su territorio. Stella sintió que la bilis le subía por la garganta; el estómago se le revolvió por las náuseas. Se dio la vuelta, pues no quería presenciar ese espectáculo más tiempo. Llegó hasta la puerta de su auto, pero antes de que pudiera entrar, una mano se lo impidió desde atrás. Marc la había seguido. En ese momento estaba sin aliento, y el olor del perfume audaz de la mu**rzuela aún se aferraba a él, lo suficiente para que su esposa se sintiera mal. "¡Suéltame!", exclamó Stella, intentando zafarse de su agarre y abrir la puerta, pero él la superaba en fuerza. Marc no dijo nada, simplemente la agarró por la cintura, la empujó hacia el asiento trasero y se deslizó también. Sus afiladas facciones parecían tensas, y en sus ojos titilaba una mezcla de ansiedad e impaciencia. "Stella, por favor, déjame explicarte lo que pasó". "Límpiate el labial de la boca antes de empezar a hablar", soltó ella, en un tono helado, retrocediendo lo más que pudo, pues no tenía un lugar a dónde huir. A su esposo se le cayó la cara de vergüenza. Se llevó la mano hasta la boca sin pensarlo, mientras un destello de pánico aparecía en sus pupilas. "El acuerdo de Marina Horizon está peligrando. Yo he estado preocupado por el financiamiento, así que contacté a Nova Holdings. Haley Smith es la hija de uno de los miembros directivos de esa empresa. No habla bien nuestro idioma y había estado be**endo, así que vine para asegurarme de que regresara sana y salva a su hotel", dijo. Luego se inclinó sobre su esposa y le habló con el tono suave que utilizaba cuando quería encantarla: "Ella es de Achury. Y tú sabes que la gente de su país es muy relajada. Te juro que seré más cuidadoso a partir de ahora. No te enojes, ¿de acuerdo? Te lo compensaré". "Entonces. ¿Así es como aseguras las inversiones? ¿Acercándote a las hijas de tus socios?", inquirió ella, clavándole su mirada fría y dura. Stella habló con una calma escalofriante, demasiado compuesta para estar enojada. No hubo gritos ni lágrimas. Sus palabras tranquilas le quitaron cualquier excusa a Marc, pues cualquier cosa que dijera carecería de sentido. De golpe, él volvió a sentirse vacío y, frustrado, se quitó la corbata para poder respirar mejor. "Stella, vamos. Solo lo hago por trabajo. ¿En serio vas a montar un escándalo por esto?", se defendió. La aludida casi se rio, pues ni siquiera había alzado la voz. ¿Acaso esa era su forma de pedirle que le mostrara las fotos de su infidelidad para que viera lo que era un verdadero drama? El amor que había albergado por tantos años hacia su marido ahora la quemaba por dentro. "Marc, si ya te has cansado de mí, sé honesto. No me aferraré a ti. Te daré el divorcio que tanto deseas". ¿Qué necesidad tenía de soportar su doble vida? ¿Por qué tenía que aguantar sus mentiras? Apenas esas palabras salieron de su boca, su esposo la agarró con fuerza del hombro, y clavando su mirada, tan fría como el hielo sobre ella, declaró: "No vuelvas a decir eso nunca. Prometimos que, sin importar lo que pasara lo resolveríamos. El divorcio no es una opción. Ni siquiera lo menciones". '¿Resolverlo? Él ya estuvo con otra persona. ¿Qué queda por arreglar?', reflexionó Stella. En ese momento, se sentía atrapada en una red de espinas. Con cada respiración, estas la cortaban más profundo. De repente, el celular de Marc sonó. Este lo revisó, frunció el ceño y rechazó la llamada. Sin embargo, su esposa había visto el nombre en la pantalla: "Cariño Salvaje". Antes de que él pudiera guardar el dispositivo, este volvió a iluminarse, aunque ahora eran notificaciones de WhatsApp las que aparecían en la pantalla. Y el remitente estaba registrado como "Bebé Ardiente". "Bebé, no aguanto más el dolor". "Te necesito. Ven ahora". "Estoy sa**rando. ¿moriré?". Los tres mensajes, escritos en Achure, llegaron uno tras otro. Capítulo 3 Solo una amiga Parecía que Marc creía que ella no sabía leer Achure en absoluto, pues sin molestarse en ocultar la pantalla, escribió "Voy en camino", antes de apagar su celular. "Stella, tengo algo urgente que atender. Si no puedes ayudarme, al menos mantente al margen. Y pórtate bien, ¿de acuerdo?", dijo suavemente mientras le ac**iciaba la cabeza como si fuera una niña. Luego se dio la vuelta y se alejó sin mirar atrás. Ella simplemente se quedó allí sentada, dejándolo ir. Le parecía que algo en su interior se había roto, y el dolor que sentía era tan grande que la entumeció por completo. Dejó los materiales de la conferencia en el instituto para que los archivaran y luego se dirigió a su casa sin decir nada más. Marc no regresó en los tres días siguientes; ella no lo llamó ni una sola vez. Ya no había nada que decir entre ellos. Mientras esperaba la aprobación final para unirse al proyecto secreto, se mantuvo ocupada organizando sus pertenencias y haciendo cualquier cosa para evitar que su mente colapsara. El cuarto de almacenamiento era un altar a sus años juntos: allí estaban las notas escritas a mano de su primera confesión, las piezas desiguales de cerámica que hicieron durante su primera cita, una pequeña piedra con forma de corazón de una expedición nocturna a la montaña y filas de fotos enmarcadas por año. Incluso las cámaras Polaroid estaban organizadas de las más antiguas a las más nuevas. Stella siempre había sido sentimental y guardaba todas esas cosas con la esperanza de que, cuando ella y su esposo fueran viejos, se sentaran a verlas y se rieran del pasado. Sin embargo, ahora todo le parecía una broma cruel del destino. Sin dudarlo, lanzó los recuerdos al fuego y los vio arder. Después, alineó los regalos caros, que incluían diamantes, relojes de lujo, delicados collares e incluso el anillo de bodas, les sacó fotos y se las mandó a su contacto en la boutique de reventa para que los vendiera todos. Al ver el joyero vacío, comprendió finalmente que, sin importar lo brillante que fuera el amor, este perdía todo su valor apenas caía sobre él la mancha de la traición. Dos días después, recibió la noticia de que le habían aceptado en el proyecto de investigación secreto. Tenía diez días tranquilos antes de que comenzar a trabajar en él. Con la intención de abastecerse de lo esencial, se cambió de ropa y se dirigió al centro comercial. Justo cuando bajaba por la escalera mecánica con las bolsas en la mano, vio una escena que la dejó paralizada. Allí estaba Jazlyn Walsh, su siempre crítica suegra, aferrada al brazo de la am**te de su esposo, Haley, a la que le sonreía como si fueran amigas de toda la vida. La tranquilidad de su rostro desapareció de golpe. Junto a ellas estaba Marc, el mismo hombre que había desaparecido durante días, deslizando con ternura una pulsera de diamantes en la muñeca de su otra mujer. El trío parecía la familia perfecta. Una en la que ella no estaba incluida. Cuando Haley asintió con deleite, Jazlyn elogió su gusto con un brillo en la mirada y, casualmente, entregó una tarjeta negra para pagar. Stella sintió que ese momento estaba cargado de una amarga ironía, pues esa tarjeta era suya: estaban gastando su dinero. Ella había obtenido esos privilegios, grandes descuentos, acceso anticipado a nuevas colecciones, etc., gracias a su cercana amistad con el director de la marca. Lo que se suponía que debía ser un gesto considerado para acercarla a Jazlyn ahora se usaba para complacer a la am**te de Marc. Por eso, la arrancó de la mano de la sorprendida vendedora y dijo con calma: "Lo siento. Esta tarjeta ya no es válida". "Señora, es una tarjeta premium. No expira y no puede ser cancelada.", respondió la empleada, visiblemente confundida. "¿Ah, sí?", comenzó Stella, rompiéndola en dos y lanzando los pedazos al bote de basura cercano, sin pestañear. "Ahora está cancelada". "¿Qué te pasa? ¿Si te das cuenta de que nos estás dejando en vergüenza?", siseó Jazlyn, quien incapaz de contener su furia, y le dio una fuerte bo**tada a su nuera. La familia Walsh tenía una reputación impecable y siempre se había elogiado a Marc por su talento en las finanzas. Cuando Stella y Marc empezaban a salir, Jazlyn había tratado a la chica con indiferencia. Y después de la boda, su frialdad hacia ella solo creció. Por mucho que Stella intentara ganarse su aprobación, su suegra nunca le dedicó ni una sonrisa. Siempre se había quedado callada, pues no quería poner a Marc en una situación difícil, pero esa paciencia, que había construido sobre el amor, finalmente se había agotado. Ya no tenía razón para tolerar el maltrato. De repente, dos fuertes ca**etadas aterrizaron directamente sobre el rostro de Marc, y resonaron en el aire. Inmediatamente, el lugar se sumió en el silencio. Ese era Marc Walsh, el hombre aclamado en los círculos financieros como una leyenda, pero ahora estaba allí, con las mejillas rojas, tras haber sido ab**eteado a plena luz del día. "¡Stella!", gritó Jazlyn, furiosa. Acto seguido, se arremangó la blusa, como si estuviera dispuesta a tomar represalias. "Si me vuelves a poner una mano encima, golpearé a tu hijo el doble de fuerte. ¿Quieres ver?", contestó la aludida, con la barbilla en alto, manteniéndose firme en su postura. "¡Tú! ¡Tú.!", exclamó su suegra, tan furiosa que se llevó la mano al pe**o, en busca de aire. "¡Marc, mírala! ¿Cómo puedes permitir que actúe?" "Dime, Marc, ¿no tenía toda la razón para ca**etearte?", le espetó Stella, mirándolo fijamente. El hombre tensó la mandíbula y endureció su expresión. Luego la agarró de la muñeca y murmuró entre dientes: "Ya basta. Tranquilízate. Estás montando un espectáculo". De repente, Haley se lanzó a los brazos de Marc, deslizando sus manos por su cintura, mientras se quejaba del alboroto que estaba causando Stella. Se aferró a él como la hiedra, llamándolo "querido" una y otra vez, como si quisiera fundirse con su piel. Marc la consoló con suaves palabras pronunciadas en murmullos cargados de ternura. Al verlos tan cercanos e íntimos, Stella se rio con ironía. Entonces, habló en un perfecto Achure, con un tono fluido y afilado. "Si tienes el descaro de ser la am**te de alguien, al menos no te hagas la inocente. Estás ac**tándote con el esposo de otra mujer y ni siquiera te atrevas a negarlo. Y si no entiendes Achure, podemos cambiar; hablo dieciséis idiomas. Elige uno, y yo te seguiré. Si pierdo la discusión, admitiré la derrota". Haley se sonrojó profundamente. Estaba claro que nunca había imaginado que su rival pudiera hablar tan bien en su idioma natal. ¿No había dicho Marc que su esposa solo era una simple empleada de oficina? "Stella. ¿cuándo aprendiste Achure?", preguntó Marc con tono rígido y el semblante sombrío. Esas palabras cayeron sobre su esposa como un cu**illo, profundizando su herida abierta. "Marc, ¿de verdad me amas?", lo confrontó, con una amarga sonrisa. Luego, con un tono que chorreaba sarcasmo, remató: "Sigue disfrutando de tu pequeña sesión de compras. No me interpondré en tu camino". Y con eso, se dio la vuelta y se alejó. Marc se movió rápidamente para seguirla, pero Jazlyn y Haley se aferraron a cada uno de sus brazos, deteniéndolo. "¡Simplemente divórciate! ¿Cómo se atreve a ponerte una mano encima?", espetó su madre. Ya le había dicho esas mismas palabras en innumerables ocasiones, aunque su hijo siempre la había ignorado. Pero, por alguna razón, en ese momento las sintió diferentes. Se le metieron bajo la piel. "Esto es entre ella y yo", murmuró, deshaciéndose de la sensación y corriendo tras su esposa. Por suerte, logró alcanzarla justo cuando llegó a su auto. "Stella", la llamó. "¿Qué quieres, señor Walsh? ¿Ya terminaste de jugar a la casita con tu salvaje amiguita?", respondió ella, con una expresión de disgusto, pues apenas él le tocó la muñeca, sintió náuseas. "Haley es solo una amiga. ¿Por qué estás tan celosa? ¿No puedes ser madura por una vez? ¿En serio tenías que humillarnos en público?", la cuestionó él, con el rostro torcido por la frustración. 'Claro. De alguna manera, al final todo es mi culpa. Qué conveniente', pensó la mujer, soltando una risa seca cargada de incredulidad. "Déjame ver si entendí. Incluso si te encuentro con tu am**te en la c**a, ¿debería sonreír, cerrar las cortinas y quedarme afuera para proteger el apellido de la familia?", escupió. "¿Cuántas veces tengo que repetírtelo? ¡Ella es solo una amiga!", se defendió Marc, apretándole con más fuerza la muñeca. "¿Solo una amiga?", soltó Stella, en un tono bajo, cargado de ironía, mientras lo miraba de arriba abajo. Luego, su mirada se volvió juguetona, aunque había una chispa juguetona en sus pupilas, como si fuera se**cción o venganza. "De acuerdo. Entonces yo también me buscaré un amigo. Y me aseguraré de que hagamos todo lo que Haley y tú han hecho", declaró. Después, inclinándose hacia él, le susurró con veneno en la voz: "Y tú, querido esposo, no te pongas celoso. Eso no sería justo, ¿o sí?". Capítulo 4 ¿Quieres ser mi aventura de esta noche Las últimas palabras de Stella fueron más dolorosas para Marc que un golpe. La forma en que ella lo llamó "esposo" estaba cargada de intención: no solo le estaba recordando su relación, sino que era más como una advertencia. Como si le estuviera diciendo que podía encontrarse a alguien más fácilmente. "No te atrevas", respondió él, en voz baja y cargada de furia, mientras le apretaba con fuerza la muñeca. Su agarre era tan fuerte que parecía que podía romperle el hueso, pero no era nada comparado con el dolor en su pe**o. Ella sentía como si le hubieran atravesado el corazón con un cu**illo y, con cada respiración, notaba cómo se hundía más en su pe**o. "Entonces sabes que te pasaste", susurró, mirándolo a los ojos, con una expresión de incredulidad y dolor. Marc se quedó paralizado durante un segundo y luego apartó la mirada, como si sus palabras lo hubieran quemado. "Ya te dije que Haley y yo no cruzamos ninguna línea. Pero si quieres ir y buscarte un hombre, eres libre de hacerlo". A su esposa le ardía la muñeca, y sentía el dolor extendiéndose por su brazo, pero nada superaba su corazón roto. "Tú lo dijiste. Así que cuando suceda, no te atrevas a hacerte la víctima", sentenció, dedicándole una sonrisa burlona. Sin decir nada más, se dio la vuelta, y metió al carro, cerrándolo de golpe con un portazo. "¡Stella!", gritó Marc, corriendo tras ella y golpeando la ventana. Antes de que pudiera abrir la puerta, Jazlyn y Haley lo alcanzaron y cada una lo agarró de un brazo para detenerlo. La despechada no lo dudó: aceleró y los dejó atrás, mientras las llantas de su auto chirriaban contra el asfalto. El b*r estaba bañado por luces de neón y h**o denso, y lleno de gente que trataba de escapar de su soledad. Stella estaba despatarrada en un asiento del rincón, ya un poco ebria. Había visto la traición con sus propios ojos y ahora, cada amarga verdad se estrellaba contra ella, y la cortaba como si fuera un cu**illo. El dolor se mezclaba con recuerdos que anteriormente habían sido hermosos. "Disculpa", dijo una voz profunda y grave, sacándola de sus pensamientos. La mujer volvió en sí, parpadeó y levantó la cabeza. Se encontró con un hombre, alto y sereno, cuyas largas y elegantes piernas estaban enfundadas en un pantalón negro a la medida. Su chaqueta estaba abierta, revelando una camisa negra impecable, metida cuidadosamente por dentro del pantalón, que resaltaba su cintura delgada y bien tonificada. Se percató de su cuerpo fuerte y su pe**o amplio. Tenía una mandíbula afilada, labios bien formados y unos ojos que parecían ver a través de ella. El atractivo que irradiaba era peligroso. Sin pensarlo dos veces, ella lo jaló hacia el sofá y jugueteó con su corbata. Su aliento, cálido y dulce, impactó en el hombre. "¿Quieres ser mi ac**tón de esta noche?", susurró Stella con audacia, mientras le rozaba ligeramente el pe**o con los dedos. Con un destello se**ctor y juguetón en la mirada, añadió: "Confía en mí, lo disfrutaríamos". Sabía que estaba perdiendo el control, dejando que su dolor se apoderara de ella, pero no podía detenerse. El desconocido la miró con una expresión inescrutable, sin mostrar el más mínimo de**o. Ella se sintió ridícula, como si estuviera haciendo una escena. La excitación que había estado formándose en su interior desapareció en un segundo. '¿Y si él ya tiene pareja? ¿Realmente estoy a punto de convertirme en alguien como Haley?', se preguntó, sintiéndose enferma, con una amarga sonrisa en los labios. Dejó que su cabeza descansara suavemente contra el pe**o del hombre, tratando de recomponerse. Por culpa de Marc, estuvo a punto de convertirse en la clase de mujer que no soportaba. "Lo siento. bebí demasiado", murmuró, y regresó a su asiento. Una vez allí, se acomodó en un rincón y se terminó su be**da de un solo trago. No se movió hasta que el hombre se paró y se fue. Solo entonces se levantó tambaleante y desapareció en la oscuridad. Esa noche, Marc no volvió a casa. Por su parte, Stella, se refugió en la tranquilidad y la paz que sentía. A la mañana siguiente, ella fue directamente al centro de investigación. Aunque ya le habían aprobado la participación en el proyecto, todavía tenía que terminar unos trámites. "Oye Stella, ¿escuchaste? Este proyecto captó seriamente la atención de los superiores. Un VIP se unirá a nosotros: es superrico, viene de una familia poderosa, y aún está soltero. ¿No te causa ni un poco de curiosidad?", soltó Lainey, quien había estado organizando los archivos del proyecto, con una sonrisa traviesa. "¿Por qué lo haría?", respondió Stella con indiferencia y sin el menor interés, mientras seguía mirando sus notas de investigación. El Instituto de Investigación Hookwood tenía una fuerte reputación, y había visto a muchos herederos ricos ir, solo para mejorar su imagen. "Pero este tipo está en otro nivel", insistió la otra, inclinándose sobre el escritorio de su amiga. "¡Vamos! Con tu apariencia y encanto, podrías tener a cualquier hombre comiendo de la palma de tu mano. Apenas comience la investigación, tus registros desaparecerán, así que tu matrimonio con Marc quedará borrado, como si nunca hubiera sucedido. Solo imagínalo: entrar con alguien poderoso e increíblemente guapo, para que tu ex vea exactamente de lo que se perdió. Dime que eso no se sentiría increíble". "Eso es mezquino. Marc perderá mucho más que eso", respondió Stella, levantando por fin la cabeza; sus ojos estaban claros y fríos. Justo en ese momento, alguien llamó a la puerta. Era un coordinador administrativo que les informó de que era la hora de dirigirse a la sala de juntas para conocer al resto del equipo que se uniría al proyecto. "¿Crees que el VIP ya haya llegado?", preguntó la emocionada Lainey. Acto seguido, agarró a su amiga de la muñeca y prácticamente la llevó corriendo a la sala de juntas. "Espera, ni siquiera he guardado mis cosas", la detuvo Stella, sosteniendo su carpeta, mientras intentaba seguirle el ritmo. Cuando finalmente llegaron, ella se sentó tranquilamente en un rincón y se concentró en sus archivos. No levantó la vista hasta que se escuchó una ronda de aplausos en la sala. Alzó lentamente la cabeza y se encontró con la intensa y poderosa mirada de un hombre. Ella sintió que el corazón le daba un vuelco. ¿Cómo era posible que fuera él?. ¿Qué sucederá en adelante? Los capítulos disponibles son limitados aquí, haga click el botón abajo para instalar APP y disfrutar leyendo más contenidos maravillosos. (Al abrir el APP, directo accederá a este libro) &5&

Her face bore scars, and she endured a lifetime of hatred and bullying, even from her mate—who kept her only to expand his power, then coldly discarded her once he succeeded. Heartbroken and drunk, she met the first man to call her beautiful, sharing a night with him. She thought it was salvation, but he dragged her into a dark world she never wished to enter. ===== "You used me! Mating with me was your ladder to power, Roderick! Your Pack climbed the ranks because of me! Now that you've achieved your ambition, you don't need the ugly girl anymore, is that it? But you were willing to mate with me a year ago!" I sobbed, crying to my mate who just rejected me. "Oh, spare me!" Roderick rolled his eyes. "Don't act like you didn't know I'd have left you at some point. Hold on, did you really think I'd have made you the Luna of my Pack? I can barely stand the sight of you, Lyric. How do you expect me to take you to Alpha meetings and present you to others? You are disgusting!" "But I did not give this scar to myself!" I cried bitterly. "And you promised you'd take me to the best doctors. You didn't do any of that, Roderick! It'd have helped!" "What? Even your own family doesn't care enough to take you to doctors, and you think I would? Quit, dreaming, Lyric and get out of my Pack!" Tears blurred my vision. It wasn't the first time I was being called ugly, but it hurt more each time it came from Roderick. I knew Roderick had no love for me when my family paired me with him a year ago. For a year, we lived like strangers despite being mated. I was still a vi**in as he could not even bring himself to touch me. It wasn't my fault I was ugly. I was burnt with a silver-base branding iron when I was a kid, leaving a huge scar by the side of my face. I still didn't know who was responsible for it, but I've had to grow up with this sting of rejection. Even my own family hated me and were embarrassed by my appearance. But I thought Roderick would be different. I thought he'd love me. Apparently, in a world where ranks mattered the most to Pack Leaders, deceit was bound to happen. I glared at him. I'd truly loved this man and wished he'd love me back. But now, I wish he'd suffer for what he did to me. "You are a monster," I gritted the words. "And I hope you pay for this someday." He threw back his head and laughed, a hollow sound. "Cu**ed Lyric, how exactly is that going to happen? I am currently the third most powerful Alpha now. My Pack is up the ranks while your family is beneath me! There is nothing you can do to me anymore. You have always been and will always be worthless! "Listen, I have rejected you already, and you have accepted. Although, there is one final formality left, but as far as I'm concerned, you're not longer anything to me. So, get your disgusting face out of my pack! This instant, before I have the guards throw you out!" His glare was icy, and before I could respond, he walked out. After I managed to pull myself together, I left Roderick's Pack and decided to head home-to my father's Pack. I hadn't been home since I moved into Roderick's Pack, and I hoped they'd be willing to take me in. My family had never really liked me. Everything started falling apart after my mother left-abandoning me when I was four. My father chose a new mate and suddenly didn't have enough time for me. Then, I got my scar and he became even more distant. The guards let me through the gate, but when I rang the bell of the lounge, my stepsister and her mother opened up. To my surprise, they wouldn't let me in. "Go back to Roderick and beg him some more, Lyric. There is no room for you here," Nora said after I explained everything to them. Despite my attempt to get them to pity me, letting them understand I had nowhere else to go, they ordered the guards to see me out. They've always taken me to be a disgrace to the family and were happy when I left for Roderick's Pack. Now, they didn't want me back. By evening, I was seated in a b*r, my favorite b*r-Faceless Drunk. Over here, they mixed portions strong enough to get a wolf drunk, and you didn't have to worry about being recognized and judged as every customer made use of masks. It had been my favorite b*r for years. If people had to see my face, they'd think I was getting drunk because I was ugly. "You're too ugly." I'd heard those words too many times, I could recite them in my sl**p without missing a beat. But above all, it was Roderick's betrayal that cut deep. It was even more painful that I could not do anything for him. His Pack was very powerful now, and I was an ugly, rejected girl who didn't even have a family to return to. Nobody could ever want me. What was the point of living? I emptied the last of my drink and was trying to stand when someone spoke from nowhere: "A refill for the lady, please." I turned in surprise to find a man taking the seat beside me. The ba**ender nodded and proceeded to get a refill. I furrowed my brows in surprise as I looked at the newcomer. I couldn't see his face as he was wearing a mask just like me, but something about the way he appeared told me he was sophisticated. His suit was a Mason Étoile brand, and his watch was an Aristo Tempus watch. An average Wolf couldn't afford these things. "You've been coming here to drink alone for some time now," he said, surprising me. His voice. It was soothing and impossible to ignore. I lowered my eyes, feeling a little ashamed. How can he even tell? "I don't know what you're talking about." "Your mask." He tipped his chin toward me. "You've never changed it." Oh. "That means you also come here a lot." "I do. It's not quite up to my standard, but it's my favorite place. I like it when I don't get judged by anyone." The barman returned with my drink. I thanked the newcomer before drinking from my glass. "From the look of things, you must be troubled. I am, too. So, why don't we make a deal, Miss? Have fun for the night and go our separate ways by morning?" I looked at him in shock. He was offering a one-ni**t affiar! "But y-you don't even know me," I muttered shyly. "I do not need to. It is simply for fun." There was something about the way he spoke. I could tell he was a man who didn't care about the feelings of others and was only out to get what he wanted. "Although, I must warn you," he asked. "It will be a long night. I have. problems fi**shing on a woman. I never. So, like I said, it is simply for the fun of it." Huh? He could not cl**ax during in**macy? But I heard that was the best part of it. How could he enjoy in**macy if he had never fi**shed on a woman before? The thought of it was sad. Despite how absurd it sounded, a part of me was te**ted. I'd always been curious about intimacy. No one has ever liked me because of my scar, not even my mate-ex-mate. After much conviction from the newcomer, I gave it a thought. "Can we keep our masks on?" You'll hate me just like the others if you see how ugly I am. "Sure." He shrugged. "Your wish is my command, Princess." Princess? My stomach churned. Oh, no. He didn't know I looked like a monster. If he knew, he'd run off like the others. I was tempted to cry. Sometimes, I really did wish I were treated like a 'Princess.' Chapter 2 LYRIC'S POV 02 We left the b*r together, heading to his ho**l as he called it. We drove off in his Arcanis GT. It was one of the most expensive cars in the world. Whoever this man was, he was filthy rich. Could he possibly be an Alpha? A part of me had been tempted to ask questions, but none of it mattered. We were simply going to m**e l**e and never see each other again. It was the best night of my life. The stranger had been shocked to know I was a vi**in. The entire session, he kept asking if I was fine and needed him to be more gentle. For the first time, someone cared about my feelings. But something unusual happened during the process. Everything had been going so fine until he suddenly jerked and came with a deep gr**n. I was shocked, but we were both in the moment and could not ask questions. He got off me almost immediately, sitting on the edge of the b*d. "That is strange," he muttered to himself. I was equally confused. He looked at me, and from how long it was, I could tell he was staring at me like I was a puzzle. "Who are you?" He ran a finger along my jaw. The touch was electric. I swallowed hard. I am just an ugly girl who has been abandoned by everyone she's ever come across. To my surprise, he took off his mask. My mouth fell open in shock at the face before me. Good Moon! If he wasn't the most stunning man I'd ever met! He was too good-looking. I could never have someone like him. He was too good for me. I pulled the duvet further to conceal my body. "You should've told me you were a vi**in at the bar," he said. What did it matter? I didn't care anymore. Slowly, his hand reached for my face. Realizing what he had in mind, I gasped and recoiled. "No." I shook my head, gripping the duvet tight. "Why? You've seen my face." Still, I shook my head. "Our deal still stands. There's nothing to be afraid of." He added. You don't understand! You'll hate me if you see my face. The night was going too smoothly. I didn't want anything to ruin it. "I'm ugly." I mumbled, dipping my head. He seemed surprised. He reached for my face again and this time, I didn't try to stop him. This was my fate. He pulled off the mask, put a finger under my chin and tipped my head up to meet his gaze. Tears glistened in my eyes as I stared into his silver charming eyes. He was staring right at my face, at my scar. He was going to run away now. I shivered and closed my eyes when he ran a finger along the scar. What was he doing? "What happened?" His tone was soft, his fingers still ca**ssing my face. I met his gaze and so far, there was no resentment in his eyes. "S-Someone attacked me." I swallowed. "I was abducted and blindfolded while they hurt me. I've visited a lot of doctors, but none have been able to help." Seconds passed. He didn't take his eyes off me. "You're beautiful," he murmured. I frowned. What was he talking about? "You really think the scar makes you ugly?" I shook my head, pulling my face away from his grasp. "I am ugly. Everyone tells me." More to my surprise, he pulled me in beside him, wrapping his arms around my shoulder. "Until tonight, I don't think I've ever met a lady as stunning as you, Princess." My heart quickened as I listened to his heartbeat with my head on his ch**t. Uncontrollably, a tear escaped my eye. He was lying. He only wanted me to feel better. "Do you think we could adjust our deal? I'd love to spend another day with you," he said, shocking me to the core. What!? This was not possible. "I-I-" "Please." My heart melted instantly. For the first time in my life, I was being begged to stay. Not leave. I buried my face in his ch**t as I responded: "I'd love to.". But like everyone else, he lied to me. Like everyone else, I was deceived. By morning, he was gone. I woke up and couldn't find him. There was no note, no trace that he had even been with me aside from the ache in-between my legs. And to make it worse, someone showed up at the door, asking me to leave. "The man I came with last night, do you think he'd come back?" I asked the man, my heart racing in my ch**t. "No. It was his idea to get you to leave. He said he doesn't want to see you anywhere near this property. Please, leave this instant," the man said and left. And just like that, my heart was shattered all over. But surprisingly, it hurt more than when I had been rejected by Roderick. Chapter 3 LYRIC'S POV 03 "I'm sorry, ma'am; but I'm here to pick someone. I can't give you a free ride, if that's what you're asking." I struggled to hold back my laughter as I listened to Rufus, one of my father's oldest guards say, his eyes darting past my shoulder, looking out for the person he had been assigned to pick from the airport. "I know. You have been sent to pick Lyric Harper, right? It's me, Rufus." His eyes narrowed with suspicion. "You still haven't told me how you know my name. And. And how can you be Lyric? It's not possible." He shook his head. "Lyric is-" "Ugly?" I finished for him, a broad smile on my face. He frowned as he shook his head. Back then, Rufus was the only one that had never been able to call me ugly. He was among the very few that had cared about my feelings, and even now, to a stranger, he still couldn't call me ugly. I laughed. "Well, would it help if I reminded you that your favorite soup was butternut squash and you and little Lyric used to play Chutes and Ladders?" Recognition beamed in his eyes. His jaw dropped in astonishment. "Seraphis have mercy! Lyric, it's really you!" He opened his arms, and I didn't hesitate to fall in for a warm hug. Back then, Rufus and I barely had time together, but he always made the few times we met worth it. He was the closest thing I had to a parent. "How is this possible?" He inquired after asking how I was. "Your face. My goodness! You look gorgeous! You've only been gone for five years and. I-I can't believe this." "It's a long story, Rufus. But for now, let's just say fates decided to smile on me." "Oh, Lyric! You do not know how happy I am to see you. I am sure your father must be delighted seeing you're not.un-beautiful anymore." I laughed at his attempt not to use the word 'ugly' on me. Well, as for my father, I rolled my eyes in my head. I felt a little sad that I was forced to return here after five years because of him. My life was perfect in Draconis. "Here. I'll take this to the car," Rufus said, taking my luggage. "You do that and I'll meet you in the car. I need to pick up an extra luggage. Don't worry, I'll be quick." I turned around and had barely taken three separate Rufus called my attention, "You dropped something." Looking at the floor, I found the scanned image. My heart jumped into my throat as I quickly crouched to retrieve it. Rufus watched with me with surprise. Obviously, he had seen the X-ray and would be wondering why the h**l something of that nature had been in my back pocket. Oh, Lyric. You couldn't be a little careful? "It's-It's not mine," I cleared my throat, hoping my lie was plausible. I mean, who carried X-ray photos of fetuses in their back pocket? Tucking it back into the pocket, I hurried away. I had my hands crossed over my ch**t as I waited at the collecting center. My extra luggage would be brought to me at any moment. As I waited idly, disturbing thoughts ran through my mind. Father wanted me home for two reasons. The first was to completely cut ties with Roderick. In our world, when two wolves were getting mated, they tied a ribbon as a sign of their union and had it stored in a temple. So, when they wanted to part ways, there were two steps involved. First, they'd have to denounce themselves as mates with the words of their mouths, and secondly, cut the ribbon together. After Roderick denounced me as his mate, we didn't get the chance to see each other again. Circumstances happened that pulled me away. But now, he was desperate to finish the final steps. Apparently, he'd chosen a new mate but couldn't accept her when he was still partially bound to me. Well, I'd been looking forward to the day when I get to end things with the as**ole. He was my past, and the st**id ribbon was the final thing holding us together. "Excuse me, Ms. I'd like a moment of your time, please," someone said behind me. I turned to see a well-built man in a black suit and dark shades over his eyes. I didn't need anyone to tell me he was a guard. "Can I help you?" I furrowed my brows. "Kind of. The Alpha over there demands an audience with you." I looked to where he pointed-a mini b*r-but couldn't see the man he was referring to. His face was shielded by a counter. I fought the urge to roll my eyes. These days, it was tiring. It was obvious there would never be a day where I'd step out without garnering attention from the opposite gender. "I'm in a hurry. Tell him I'm sorry." I responded. The guard's jaw tightened. "You can't ignore him." I read the unspoken words from his tone: He's a powerful Alpha. You can't simply ignore his request. But I really wasn't interested in meeting anyone. "I'm sorry. I really am." I looked away. It was disrespectful to ignore an Alpha's call. In a world where ranks mattered, he could be one of the powerful ones and could punish me severely, but I really wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone. "It's Alpha Roderick of Nightshade." The guard added as if to entice me. But he had no idea, he had just reopened old wounds. My eyes moved to him, then quickly flicked to the b*r where the man was seated. Roderick? As in my ex-mate Roderick? The one I was here to end things with? No way. My ch**t tightened with pain and it was all I could do to keep my emotions intact. "More reason not to see him," I mumbled, turning away. "Did you say something?" "I said I am not seeing him." I gritted the words, my nails digging into my palms. The guard gave me a disapproving stare before walking away, and I released a shaky breath. Now, where the h**l was my luggage? I met one of the workers and demanded an update, and he assured me it'd be here any minute. Unfortunately, they were not fast enough as shortly, I saw Roderick approaching me. Chapter 4 LYRIC'S POV 04 Roderick Fletcher. The one man I'd hoped would love me but never did. The mind was a bi**h. I thought I was over Roderick's betrayal and wouldn't feel a thing when I met him. But watching him as he approached me, looking like he was the one in charge made my eyes rim with tears. I sniffled and looked away, forcing the tears back in. "So, I had to come over to speak to you myself," he leaned against the counter beside me. "How daring." My throat was tight, unable to find any words. I feared there would be a crack in my voice if I managed to speak. Three guards hovered beside him, their eyes darting around. Roderick looked sophisticated, like he'd obviously been having a good life. What was he even doing here? Was he picking someone? "What's the name?" He tilted his head as he asked. I said nothing, won't even look at him. "Hello?" "I don't feel like disclosing my name to strangers," I finally managed. My voice was tight. His eyes beamed with amusement. And here was a man who never smiled at me when we were together for one year. "Let's just say I'm overly excited today," he sighed. "I'm here, waiting for a certain bi**h to arrive." When I gave him a puzzled look,he added, "Ex-mate. We are through with the first step and just have the tiny little step to go. I'd finally be free of her." I scoffed. He was unbelievable. "I'd have done this sooner, you know? But the horrid girl has been missing for years. Stressed us the h**l out to find her." He spoke with raw disdain. "What makes you call her horrid?" I found myself asking before I could stop. He chuckled. "Trust me, honey; she's a monster. If you see her, you'd have the same opinion. She's the ugliest thing I've ever seen." Something hot exploded in my ch**t. It was all I could do not to let my emotions rush out. No. This was not the right place. But Roderick was the true monster. He had no idea he was standing before the very woman he despised. What would proud he do if he gets to know? It made sense why he was waiting at the airport. He clearly wanted to drag me to the temple to cut the ribbon. Well, I wouldn't let him humiliate me in public. Not again. Fortunately, my luggage finally arrived. "Sorry for the delay, ma'am," the young man said as he rolled it to me. Not looking at Roderick, I made to leave. That must have surprised him. "I'd love to speak to you some other time. Your contact, if you don't mind." For a moment, I stood with my back to him, contemplating my words. I turned around when I found the most polite one I could give; "Even if I have to give up my number to save myself from you, I wouldn't do it. Alpha." When my words sank in, surprise danced in her eyes, followed by a hint of hurt. Something blossomed in my ch**t. It was pride. So, I rolled my luggage away, leaving him standing there in shock. ****†****† Rufus and I arrived home to the party. It was my stepmother's birthday party. Not that I had any intention of attending-may the moon forbid it-I just arrived at a coincidentally perfect time. I wasn't dressed for the party. Had my simple jeans and shirt on with my hair in a ponytail. Yet, when I entered the hall, heads turned in my direction. I felt awkward for a moment. The whole attention thing was still new to me. I never knew I could receive so much compliments until I was free of my scar. Now, people could hardly stare at me without telling me how beautiful I was. My stepsister, Nora, walked up to me with a smile. "Hi! You're a little late for the party. What's your name?" Typical Nora. From young, she's always wanted to be friends with the hot girls. She despised me so much as I brought a 'stain' to her name. A scarred lady being her sister. Five years ago, she had slammed the door inh face, not letting me in despite my pleas. Now, she was being all nice. "I'm not here for the party," I answered her coldly and looked away, scouring around for my father. I found him in a corner with my stepmother and some guests. He was the reason I was here. I needed to know what was so urgent aside from cutting ties with Roderick. He had his eyes on me, staring suspiciously. I went toward him. "Hey! Who are you?" Nora came after me, sounding a little hurt. But I ignored her until I reached father. My father was a well known Alpha, hence the party filled with dignitaries. I did well to bow my head to them as I stood before father. "Who are you?" My stepmother asked. I met her gaze with a smirk. "Am I that different that you can't recognize me?" I looked to father. "What about you, father? Am I too different?" Audible g**ps rippled around me. Nora's hand went over her mouth. "It's not possible," she muttered, shaking her head. "Lyric?" Father's eyes were filled with shock and recognition. "Who's this impersonator?" My stepmother snapped. "Do you think we lack knowledge of what Lyric looks like? You think we'd fall for this scam?" I focused my gaze on dad. "I'm only here 'cause you said there was something important you needed to talk to me about. If you don't mind, I'd like for us to have that conversation now." Father took me to his study, leaving numerous shocked persons behind who couldn't utter a word. I wouldn't deny how good it felt to know I was the reason they were speechless. They couldn't call me ugly. As a matter of fact, I'd never be called ugly by anyone, ever again. "What happened to you, Lyric? Your scar was impossible to get rid of," Father asked. "I don't wish to discuss it now." Or the horrible things that happened within five years. I was still trying to run from them. "Just tell me why you needed me here." "Yes, that." his countenance soured. "You have no idea how happy I was when. I found you after searching for years. You just. vanished." He sighed. "We have a problem, Lyric. Our Pack is in a deep mess with Darkspire. I-I made some mistake and lost a lot of money-a whole lot-making me indebted to Darkspire." Okay, I did not like where this was headed. Darkspire was a generational wolf pack, known to produce only the strongest Alphas. The Alphas that always ranked first in the hierarchy system. They were avoided as much as possible as they were known to be vicious. One did not get tangled with them for any reason. "If word of this gets out, we'd be doomed. We'd go down the ranks, and coming from a pack that was used to being at the top, believe me, it is not a good thing for us. But they're willing to let it go." I furrowed my brows. It didn't make any sense. I sensed a huge 'But' coming. "But they need a Luna from this family, for just a year." Chapter 5 LYRIC'S POV 05 It had to be a joke. Or at the very least, not what I was thinking. Father's eyes turned more serious as he moved toward me. "I thought of offering Nora to him, but she's already with someone else, and the Alpha King might become furious if he thinks we're trying to offer him someone else's woman. This is the reason you're the only choice we have, Lyric. And. you have no idea how perfect it is that you have your face back. Initially, I had been worried we'd have issues with the Alpha King accepting you, but now, I am confident he'll be thrilled." "Hold on," I scoffed, placing a hand on my thigh. "Please don't tell me you made me travel all the way from Draconis just to be told that I am about to be sacrificed to a demon." No wolf was stranger to the name ' Darkspire'. Even me who knew little of Pack matters still knew how dangerous they were and nobody wanted to have anything to do with them; not in this life, not in another. "Alpha Jaris is not a demon," Father said with surprise. "But that is exactly what he is. Years ago, you said the same thing." Alpha Jaris Dreadmoor was the most vicious man I'd ever heard about. Tales of how he had conquered his enemies-and sometimes, his friends-were no news to the Pack. Being from a family that produced only the strongest Alphas, he was currently the Alpha King of Darkspire, a man everyone feared and didn't wish to end in his bad books. I didn't know what he looked like. I'd never been privileged enough to meet someone like Jaris Dreadmoor. Not that I ever wanted to. "There are rumors that he k**led his own father and brother!" I raised my hand in the air. "How do you want me to be with someone like that?" "Those are mere speculations, Lyric. Besides, you'll only be with him for a year." "You don't need a year to k**l someone, dad. All it takes is a minute, tops. But for someone like Jaris, I'm sure half a minute would do. Besides, why does it even have to be for a year?" From what I heard, Darkspire didn't have a Luna yet since Jaris' rise to ascension. But if he wanted to take up a Luna, wouldn't it be long term or something? Why was he only asking for a year? "Honestly, I don't know, Lyric." "And you don't care," I cut in, pain edging toward my heart. "All you care about is giving him a Luna so you can get the problem off your back. You don't care about the problem you're putting on mine." For a fraction of a second, wonder flashed across his face. The Lyric he knew would never argue with him. She'd have humbly agreed to anything he wanted. Well, let's just say I got to know my worth when I realized how beautiful I was. This Lyric was tired of being people's puppets. Father came close enough to take my hand. This time, he looked so troubled, I feared he might go on his knees. "Lyric, please." He gave my hand a little squeeze. "This is the last I'll ask of you as your father. Just do this for me, for only a year. And I promise, you'll make me the happiest father." ***** Hours later, I stood in my room-or what used to be my room-staring at my reflection in the mirror. I was wearing a long red dress with my hair falling over my shoulder. I was fully ready to meet Alpha Jaris, even though I'd rather I don't. Something didn't feel right. Him wanting a Luna for only a year.it was wrong. But father had nearly gone on his knees begging me earlier. I could disappoint him. Besides, before he got mated to his second wife, there were times he'd been good to me. I tried to resist the te**tation as I stared at the drawer before me. But failing woefully, I still opened it and retrieved the scan. My heart fractured completely, old wounds reopening. It was the one picture in the world that had the power to k**l me every single time I looked at it, yet it was like a d**g to me. I was addicted and could barely go an hour without touching it. Feeling it. A tear dropped from my eye as I glided my finger across the images outlining the shapes of the unborn babies in the womb. Five years, yet still the best thing that's happened to me. And the worse. But I'd rather hold onto the fact that it was the best. It hurt so bad staring at them, but I couldn't stop. The sound of someone trying to open my door broke into my thoughts. I jerked back to reality and quickly hid the picture. I'd made sure to lock the door a while ago, not wanting anyone to see me with the photo. Getting the door, I found Nora, fuming. "How did you get rid of your scar?" Her voice blared with indignation. "And what exactly is your plan? You want everyone to see the beautiful you, don't you?" I rolled my eyes, my earlier pain dissolving temporarily. "Please, don't tell me you knocked on my door just to whine about how good I look. What, you really thought I'd look that heinous forever?" Her glare turned even icier. "Well, just so you know, this won't change a thing between you and Roderick. Soon, he'll be here, both of you would go to the temple and finish your breakup." It dawned on me instantly. Oh, no. "Wait," I blinked. "You and Roderick?" A triumphant smile played on her lips. "Years ago, things didn't work between us. But now, he's ready to choose me." Well, if Roderick wasn't a bigger ba**ard. "Ugh, you disappoint me, Nora. Using my leftovers?" I tsked. "Considering you've always thought yourself the pretty one, I expected better from you." A tense glare pulled her brows together. She opened her mouth to say something, but I caught her off. "You don't have to worry. I'm done with Roderick and can't wait to fully end things with him." I slammed the door in her face. A while later, father and I arrived Darkspire in one of his luxury cars. The Pack, which was known to be the biggest and wealthiest, was just as beautiful as people said. I was dazzled by the sight and couldn't believe for a moment that I'd be Luna here. Alighting our car, father and I were led into one of the buildings by some maids while his guards remained outside. The Grand Luna-Jaris' mother-was in the large living room to welcome us. "Bennett! I am so glad you made it," the Luna said, her eyes holding little amusement. "Greetings, Luna." I dipped my head. She regarded me with surprise. "Is this your daughter?" She asked dad. "Well, bless Seraphis, she's gorgeous!" I couldn't help my smile. Luna Isolde, during her time, was a formidable Luna. She had ruled beside her late husband with an iron fist, destroying everyone who dared cross her path. I'd always wished to meet her. "Please, come sit while we wait for Alpha Jaris. He'll be joining us shortly," she showed us to the couch. Her version of 'shortly' turned out to be almost an hour later. Father and I were already exhausted and kept staring at the door, wondering how long it'd take the Alpha to arrive. Wasn't he aware he'd be having guests? His. new Luna? At a point, Isolde looked angry and left. When she returned, she reassured us he'd soon be here. And indeed, he did come. The air shifted in the room the second the door opened, revealing a man and two others behind him. The Luna drew in a breath of relief as she rose to her feet. Father and I did same. It was easy spotting who the Alpha was as the two other men flanked him. But the moment I had a clear view of his face, my world shattered. No. No. Horror gripped my ch**t, squeezing it until I felt pain. This had to be some twisted joke. Because how in Selene's name was I staring at the face of the very man that had ruined me five years ago?. What happens next? Available chapters here are limited, click the button below to install the App and enjoy more exciting chapters (Automatically jump to this novel when you open the app) &3&