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Mesmo desconfiado de que a esposa ainda mantinha laços com o ex-namorado, ele declarou que só aceitaria o divórcio se ela estivesse com uma doença grave. Para se livrar do canalha, ela forjou um falso laudo médico. Quando se reencontraram após o divórcio, ele viu a mulher agonizando em um leito hospitalar e enlouqueceu! ===== A noite já ia alta enquanto Rosanna Williams permanecia de**ada, of**ante, os olhos perdidos no teto e as bochechas ainda queimando. Oliver Marshall, seu marido, havia voltado de mais uma reunião regada a bebida -- dessa vez, com uma energia incomum. Na c**a, ele não conteve o ímpeto, chegando a cinco vezes seguidas, deixando-a completamente ex**sta. Na quarta vez, eles nem sequer se preocuparam com proteção. Na última, os olhos dele ardiam com uma f**e que a fez se esquecer de tudo. Era como se eles tivessem mergulhado juntos em um redemoinho de calor e descontrole. A pa**ão era intensa no processo, mas no final, caberia a Rosanna enfrentar sozinha as consequências. Oliver, aos vinte e oito anos, era o retrato da juventude bem-sucedida: dominava os negócios com a mesma intensidade com que do**nava o quarto. Nos três anos de casamento, ele sempre fora cuidadoso, e Rosanna, no começo, também não pensava muito em filhos. Mas nos últimos seis meses, algo dentro dela mudara. O de**jo de ter um bebê com ele surgiu como uma chama silenciosa. Oliver não era apenas bonito, mas também sabia exatamente o que fazer na c**a. Bastava um sussurro ro**o, uma provocação bem colocada, e ela se desarmava por completo. Fazia um ano que Rosanna percebeu que seus sentimentos por Oliver haviam mudado. Do nada, tudo o que era frio se tornou intenso. Ela havia se apaixonado por ele. No entanto, o carinho de Oliver para com ela só aparecia na c**a. Fora dali, Oliver era o mesmo homem distante e gelado de sempre. "Não se esqueça de tomar as pílulas an**concepcionais. Uma gr**idez só complicaria as coisas", Oliver disse, a arrancando de seus pensamentos. Rosanna apenas acenou com a cabeça, sentindo o estômago afundar. Ela sabia que estava ov**ando, mas considerando a em**iaguez dele, mesmo que ela en**avidasse, não poderia ficar com o bebê. Mesmo assim, as palavras frias do marido feriram mais do que ela queria admitir. Oliver vestiu o pijama e seguiu para o banheiro. Rosanna o observava desaparecer pela porta antes de finalmente desviar o olhar. O silêncio foi interrompido pelo toque agudo de um celular. Rosanna pegou o aparelho e encarou a tela, onde o nome "Millie" piscava. Millie Rogers, a secretária de Oliver, era sempre gentil e graciosa. Todos elogiavam Millie, que supostamente largara um emprego de ouro em Klenridge apenas para trabalhar ao lado de Oliver. Oficialmente, ela era apenas sua secretária, mas os rumores diziam que eles eram am**tes. Antes que Rosanna pudesse reagir, a mão de Oliver surgiu repentinamente, pegando o celular da sua mão. "Millie", ele disse, a voz carregada de calor e afeição. Rosanna sentiu o estômago virar. Nunca, em três anos, ele havia falado com ela assim. Seu tom com ela era sempre frio e cortante. "Oliver, alguém está me as**diando. Por favor, venha me buscar. Estou no Clube Zero.", a voz de Millie, visivelmente aflita, ecoou do outro lado da linha. Rosanna ouviu tudo. "Estou indo. Vou pedir para um amigo ir na frente. Se tranque em algum lugar seguro. Chamou a polícia?", Oliver respondeu, sério, enquanto se dirigia ao closet. Ao mesmo tempo, Rosanna tremia de raiva. Ela nem se preocupou em calçar os chinelos enquanto o seguia. Cerca de um mês antes, ela mesma experimentara o desespero: em plena gravação externa com a equipe da TV, a van tentou evitar um caminhão e acabou despencando numa vala. Felizmente, ninguém morreu, mas todos saíram feridos. A perna de Rosanna ficou machucada e sa**rando muito. Apavorada e com dor, ela ligou para Oliver, mas o mesmo estava em um jantar naquele momento. Apesar de ouvir seus soluços, ele disse friamente: "Se está conseguindo ligar, não deve ser tão grave." Em seguida, ele desligou sem pensar duas vezes. Mas agora, ali estava ele, correndo para os braços de Millie, mesmo bêbado, e sem pestanejar. O comportamento do homem deixava claro o quanto ele amava sua am**te. Com o celular ainda no ouvido enquanto murmurava palavras reconfortantes, Oliver vestiu o casaco e caminhou até a porta. Rosanna não conseguia ouvir Millie claramente, mas podia ouvir seus soluços. Parando na frente da porta para impedir a saída do marido, mo**eu o lábio e disse: "Você be**u demais. Não pode dirigir assim." "Está com ciúmes ou preocupada comigo?", ele questionou, erguendo o queixo dela com os dedos e um brilho nos olhos. Enarando-o, Rosanna respondeu com voz suave e firme: "Estou preocupada com você." "Guarde sua falsa preocupação", Oliver retrucou, a soltando sem qualquer carinho. Antes que ela pudesse responder, Oliver a empurrou de lado, a fazendo perder o equilíbrio e cair no chão. Ele passou por ela como se nada tivesse acontecido e saiu. O silêncio preencheu a casa. Rosanna ficou no chão, sentindo uma amargura que parecia lhe retorcer as entranhas. Doía por dentro, mas nem chorar ela conseguia. Seu rosto estava pálido, os olhos vermelhos, segurando as lágrimas com uma força que já não tinha. Ela permanecia ali até que as pernas adormecessem. Quando finalmente se ergueu, não queria voltar para o quarto. Ela se encolheu no sofá, olhos fechados, os pensamentos girando como um furacão. De repente, o som de seu celular tocando rompeu o silêncio, a puxando de volta à realidade. Pensando que poderia ser Oliver ligando, ela se levantou rapidamente e correu da sala para o quarto, atendendo a ligação sem pensar duas vezes. "Rosanna! Seu marido acabou de causar um escândalo no Clube Zero por causa de Millie! Ele quebrou uma garrafa de ce**eja na cabeça de um cara! Tinha sa**ue por toda parte! Foi uma loucura!" Era Leah Ahmed, sua melhor amiga, do outro lado da linha. Rosanna mal conseguiu reagir, murmurando um simples: "Ah." Ela não estava surpresa, pois sabia até onde Oliver iria por Millie, e se Leah dissesse que ele havia ma**do alguém, talvez ela nem se espantasse. O Clube Zero era o reduto dos ricos e poderosos em Qegan, onde Oliver costumava festejar com os amigos. Leah continuou: "Um bê**do encurralou Millie perto do banheiro e te**ou agarrá-la. Disseram que ela estava com ma**as no pe**o e a ca**inha já estava pu**da para baixo. Ainda bem que ela teve o reflexo de se trancar no banheiro feminino." As palavras de Leah começaram a se perder no fundo da mente de Rosanna, que nem sequer percebeu quando a ligação terminou. A mulher ficou ali, imóvel, segurando o celular com tanta força que os dedos ficaram brancos. Como ela poderia não sentir raiva disso? Tentando manter a calma, ela rolou a tela em busca de distração, mas as manchetes sobre a briga de Oliver já inundavam a internet. As pessoas o chamavam de herói apaixonado, um homem corajoso que enfrentava qualquer um por amor. Rosanna sentiu o estômago embrulhar. Ela não aguentava mais, então guardou o celular e apagou o abajur ao lado da cama. Cercada pela escuridão, ela sentiu seus pensamentos se tornarem mais nítidos. Nos três anos de casamento, Oliver jamais reconhecera o relacionamento deles em público, preferindo se cercar de mulheres em clubes, como se fosse solteiro. E Millie, confiante de sua posição privilegiada, fazia questão de lembrá-la disso. Agora, ela se via questionando seu casamento com Oliver, uma união que já estava apodrecendo por dentro. O som da porta se abrindo interrompeu o turbilhão de pensamentos. Rosanna olhou o relógio: cinco e meia da manhã. Oliver voltou, mas não entrou no quarto e seguiu direto para o escritório. Rosanna respirou fundo, saiu da cama, caminhou até a porta do escritório e bateu. Nenhuma resposta. Então, ela bateu novamente, dessa vez girando a maçaneta para abrir a porta e entrando. "Eu te deixei entrar?", Oliver indagou rispidamente, incomodado com a interrupção repentina. Rosanna ficou em silêncio por um instante, o coração acelerado. Em seguida, ela o encarou com firmeza, a voz carregada de certeza ao dizer: "Vamos nos divorciar." Capítulo 2 Encontro inesperado O escritório estava mergulhado em penumbra, iluminado apenas por uma lâmpada fraca que lançava sombras suaves sobre o rosto de Rosanna. Seu semblante revelava uma tristeza silenciosa, entrelaçada com uma determinação irredutível enquanto ela mencionava o divórcio. Ela não alimentava mais nenhuma esperança nesse casamento. Do outro lado da sala, Oliver a fitava com intensidade. "Rosanna, você tem noção do que está dizendo?" "Tenho. Quero o divórcio." Rosanna desviou o olhar, tentando esconder o tremor que denunciava o caos dentro dela. O rosto atraente de Oliver assumiu uma expressão irônica e ele acendeu um ci**rro com calma cruel, deixando que a fu**ça girasse ao seu redor como uma cortina de desprezo. As feições marcadas ficaram ainda mais rígidas sob a névoa, e seus olhos, escuros como a noite, permaneciam vazios. Rosanna engoliu em seco, sufocando a amargura. "É melhor terminarmos agora do que seguir presos a um casamento sem amor." "Você se esqueceu do nosso acordo pré-nupcial? Meus bens sempre são meus. Se nos divorciarmos, você sairá sem nada." Oliver deu uma longa tragada no ci**rro. Rosanna respondeu com um sussurro: "Eu sei." Durante anos, o que a mantinha ali era a esperança frágil de que ele mudasse, de que algum sentimento verdadeiro brotasse entre eles. Mas a forma como ele defendia Millie, sem qualquer constrangimento, destruíra qualquer afeto que ainda poderia existir. "Três anos atrás, o Grupo Marshall fez um investimento de mais de cem milhões em Jiford, como presente de casamento para você. Esse projeto ajudou Preston a subir ao topo do governo local. Ainda nem tive lucro, mas você já quer fugir?", ele prosseguiu, com frieza calculada. As palavras atingiram Rosanna como um golpe direto. O nome de Preston Burton, seu padrasto, a sacudiu. Ela sabia que aquela manobra havia sido fundamental para que ele derrotasse os concorrentes e conquistasse o cargo atual. O divórcio não era uma decisão impensada, pois ela ponderara sobre isso há muito tempo. Mesmo que sentisse falta das raras vezes em que Oliver lhe mostrava gentileza, a ideia de ele bater em alguém por Millie partia seu coração. Rosanna não aguentava mais. "Você e a senhorita Rogers podem ficar juntos agora. Não vou mais atrapalhar." Ela esboçou um sorriso tênue, camuflando a dor sufocante que ameaçava transbordar. "Millie e eu nunca sentimos que você estava no nosso caminho", Oliver respondeu, soprando anéis de fu**ça, alheio à ferida que suas palavras abriam. O modo como ele pronunciava o nome de Millie, como se fosse sagrado, fazia Rosanna se encolher por dentro. Para ela, Oliver só demonstrava ternura nos raros momentos de in**midade -- o resto era sempre frieza e indiferença. Com os dentes cerrados, ela disse: "Cansei de viver assim. Cansei de não ser tratada com respeito." O tom sarcástico voltou à voz de Oliver: "Você parece ter esquecido como se tornou minha esposa. Acha mesmo que tem direito de exigir respeito?" Rosanna foi lançada de volta àquela noite chuvosa e humilhante de três anos atrás. A lembrança ainda lhe causava náusea. Ao perceber o silêncio dela, Oliver continuou: "Desde o começo, você sabia exatamente como esse casamento funcionaria, mas ainda assim tramou para se casar comigo, e Preston só conquistou o que tem hoje por minha causa. Se eu não quiser o divórcio, você fica. Ponto final. Eu não me importo se você é tratada com respeito ou não." Rosanna empalideceu, e seu corpo inteiro tremeu. Então, na mente de Oliver, o casamento deles não era nada mais do que um negócio. No começo, ela também pensava assim, mas, com o tempo, as coisas mudaram. Dois anos ao lado dele a fizeram de**jar mais -- algo verdadeiro, algo que ele nunca teve a intenção de oferecer. E era por isso que agora ela precisava esmagar o que restava desse sentimento tolo. Felizmente, ainda dava tempo. Oliver apagou o ci**rro no ci**eiro e se retirou. Pouco depois, o som do chuveiro vindo do banheiro preencheu o silêncio. Rosanna sentiu o coração afundar. Três anos de casamento, e nunca saíram juntos para um passeio, não assistiram a um filme, nem sequer dividiram uma refeição com tranquilidade. A única proximidade real que conheciam era dentro do quarto. Durante os dois primeiros anos, tudo o que existia entre eles era silêncio e frieza. No terceiro, Oliver ensaiou pequenas gentilezas -- uma palavra amável aqui, um presente inesperado ali, coisas que a fizeram, sem perceber, começar a se apegar. Rosanna aprendera até a cozinhar para ele, mesmo não sendo algo natural para ela. O café da manhã era seu único pretexto para prolongar alguns minutos ao lado dele. Era patético, mas ela fazia mesmo assim. Porém, Millie sempre dava um jeito de destruir qualquer esperança que surgisse. Se Oliver realmente se importasse, por que mantinha o casamento deles em segredo? Quando Oliver terminou o banho, foi direto para o quarto de hóspedes, como sempre. No dia seguinte, Rosanna, ex**sta, ainda se levantou cedo e preparou o café favorito dele antes de sair para o trabalho. Na TV Qegan, onde atuava como âncora de notícias financeiras, ela mantinha uma imagem impecável. Apesar de a emissora não ter mais o mesmo prestígio de antes, seu programa seguia com audiência alta, e isso a tornava uma figura conhecida em Qegan. Logo após bater o ponto, Rosanna começou a sentir fraqueza. Ela abriu a gaveta, pegou alguns biscoitos que havia trazido de casa e comeu, se sentindo um pouco melhor. Sua dieta era rígida, pois ganhava peso com facilidade, especialmente no rosto. Para se manter pronta para as câmeras, ela tinha que seguir uma dieta rígida. Todos os dias, a jovem se alimentava de forma simples: ovos, legumes, carne magra -- o suficiente para manter a forma, mesmo estando magra demais para sua altura. Com a glicose baixa, ela dependia de pequenas doses de açúcar para se manter em pé. À medida que o Natal se aproximava, sua rotina se tornava mais intensa. Além dos programas ao vivo -- como Notícias Financeiras -- e gravados, agora havia ensaios para a gala de fim de ano. Enquanto almoçava no refeitório, ela escutou colegas cochichando e descobriu que a briga de Oliver no clube havia se tornado viral. Tremendo, ela pegou o celular e checou as redes sociais. Ali, Oliver e Millie eram retratados como um conto de fadas moderno -- o bilionário charmoso e a garota simples. Milhares de comentários pediam que ele se casasse com Millie. O apetite de Rosanna sumiu, e ela mal conseguiu terminar o almoço calculado. Na saída do trabalho, ela passou na farmácia para comprar a pí**la do dia se**inte, escolhendo com cuidado a que prometia menos efeitos colaterais. Mas, ao se dirigir ao caixa, encontrou Oliver. Para piorar, ele não estava sozinho. Millie o acompanhava, enfaixada teatralmente na testa e com feridas visíveis nas mãos. A expressão de sofrimento que ela exibia parecia feita sob medida para despertar pena. Eles riam juntos, conversando baixo, como um casal apaixonado. Mesmo já tendo presenciado cenas parecidas, Rosanna sentiu seu coração se apertar. "Oliver", sua voz saiu firme, contida, lutando contra a emoção. Oliver mal a olhou, seus olhos caindo sobre a caixa de pílulas. "Leve mais de uma. Não quero surpresas." Essas palavras dele cortaram fundo, mas com Millie ali, Rosanna não teve escolha a não ser manter a compostura. "Não se preocupe. Não haverá nenhuma", ela respondeu, abrindo um sorriso rígido. As pessoas costumavam dizer que os filhos eram fruto do amor, mas para Oliver, eles não passavam de surpresas indesejadas. Ou talvez só os filhos dela fossem vistos dessa forma. Se fossem de Millie, tudo seria diferente. "Que coincidência encontrar você aqui, senhorita Williams. Essas pílulas mexem com os hormônios, sabia? Até as melhores marcas podem adiantar a menopausa", Millie disse, com doçura venenosa. Ela sabia muito bem que Rosanna era casada com Oliver, mas insistia em chamá-la de "senhorita Williams", e ele permitia. Rosanna não respondeu e apenas se virou para concluir a compra. Se Millie era tão especial assim, por que ele ainda não tinha oficializado a separação? Afinal, três anos haviam se passado desde o casamento, e qualquer influência que Preston tivesse tido já se esgotara. "Oliver bebeu demais ontem à noite e ficou mal o dia inteiro. Você, como esposa, não deveria ter cuidado melhor dele?", Millie acrescentou, num tom de falsa preocupação. Rosanna se virou devagar, fitando Millie nos olhos. "Então você sabe que sou a esposa de Oliver, senhorita Rogers." Capítulo 3 Está decidido Rosanna mantinha a postura firme, os olhos cravados em Millie com a frieza de quem já não tolerava mais ser provocada e traída. "Senhorita Rogers, como funcionária de Oliver, você conhece perfeitamente o nosso relacionamento. E mesmo assim, continua forçando os limites e me provocando. É ingenuidade ou tem segundas intenções? Está tentando conseguir alguma coisa?" "Sinto muito, senhorita Williams. Quero dizer, senhora Marshall", Millie se corrigiu às pressas, com um ar constrangido, levando a mão à boca como se tivesse cometido um deslize imperdoável. "Foi um engano. Por favor, não me leve a mal." Ela parecia frágil e indefesa, como uma garotinha acuada. Mas Rosanna não se deixou enganar. Ela sabia exatamente o que essa atuação significava: a velha tática de se fazer de vítima para arrancar a simpatia de Oliver. "Dispenso seu pedido de desculpas. A coitada aqui é você, não é? Sempre a vítima", Rosanna zombou. "Oliver, a senhora Marshall ainda está magoada comigo. Talvez seja por causa do que aconteceu ontem à noite no clube. Você poderia me ajudar a explicar as coisas para ela?", Millie pediu a Oliver. Arrepiada dos pés à cabeça com o tom meloso da voz dela, Rosanna olhou para Oliver, esperando alguma reação. Ele tragou o ci**rro com calma, os olhos frios como pedra. "Não há nada que precise ser explicado." "Tenho medo que ela pense que estou me metendo entre vocês dois, que sou sua am**te", Millie acrescentou, com um toque ensaiado de inocência. Sem hesitar, Oliver disse: "Millie, vá buscar meu remédio. Não perca tempo com conversas inúteis." Ficou claro que, aos olhos dele, Rosanna não passava de uma figura irrelevante. Silenciosamente, Rosanna deixou a farmácia. Dentro do carro, suas mãos tremiam sobre o volante. Foram necessárias duas tentativas fracassadas antes que o motor finalmente ligasse. Repetidamente, ela disse a si mesma para não se irritar. Três meses antes, durante um exame de rotina, os médicos haviam identificado um pequeno nódulo de dois milímetros em seu s**o esquerdo. Ela tinha um retorno agendado para a manhã seguinte. Curiosa e um tanto apreensiva, ela havia perguntado a Leah, sua ginecologista e amiga, por que uma mulher da sua idade desenvolveria algo assim. Leah respondera que a maioria das doenças surgia do estresse e da raiva. E no caso de Rosanna, ela acreditava que estar sempre irritada por causa de Oliver era a razão de sua doença. Na hora, Rosanna zombara da ideia, mas, no fundo, ela sabia que Leah estava certa. Porque, se fosse honesta consigo mesma, os últimos três anos foram um longo e doloroso desgaste. Ela se irritava com Oliver constantemente. Se os sentimentos tivessem permanecido tão distantes quanto no início, talvez nada disso a afetasse. Mas o problema era exatamente esse -- ela passara a se importar. Enquanto o céu escurecia, ela dirigia sem rumo, como se fugisse de si mesma. Só então percebeu o quanto estava sozinha, pois, além da Vila Nexus, não havia outro lugar para onde pudesse ir em toda Qegan. A Vila Nexus -- o suposto lar que dividia com Oliver -- não lhe pertencia. Antes do casamento, ele a fizera assinar um contrato pré-nupcial, dando-lhe apenas o direito de morar ali temporariamente. Dada a forma como Oliver a tratava, toda vez que ela entrava na Vila Nexus, se sentia menos como esposa e mais como inquilina. Voltar seria encarar mais uma noite em uma casa fria e silenciosa. Oliver quase nunca do**ia lá, sempre envolvido em eventos sociais, chegando só pela manhã. Para não enlouquecer com o vazio, ela se enterrava no trabalho. Se não fosse pela necessidade de comprar a pí**la do dia se**inte, ela ainda estaria no escritório agora. Quando finalmente retornou, ela foi recebida pelo cheiro forte de ci**rro impregnando o ar. Oliver estava na sala de estar, de costas, junto à janela de vidro que ia do chão ao teto, falando ao celular. Sua postura era altiva e controlada, a voz baixa, mas surpreendentemente gentil. "O doutor Griffiths garantiu que não ficará cicatriz na sua testa. Mas, se ainda estiver preocupada, posso levá-la a Klenridge depois de amanhã, para consultar um especialista. E mesmo que fique uma marca. não vai mudar nada para mim." Rosanna se lembrou da gaze branca na testa de Millie mais cedo. Ela não precisava adivinhar com quem ele falava -- com certeza era Millie. O alívio que sentira ao vê-lo em casa evaporou. Sem dizer uma palavra, ela guardou a bolsa, pendurou o casaco e foi direto para o banheiro. Lá, lavou o rosto e começou a aplicar o hidratante, quando notou Oliver parado à porta. "Amanhã, às oito, a amiga da minha mãe chega em Qegan. Preciso que você vá buscá-la no aeroporto", Oliver disse friamente. Rosanna conteve um suspiro. Sempre que ele a procurava espontaneamente, era para pedir algum favor. "É uma amiga de longa data da minha mãe, além de uma parceira de negócios. Tire alguns dias de folga e mostre a cidade para ela. Tudo o que você gastar, eu cubro." Sem esperar resposta, Oliver se virou e caminhou em direção ao escritório, como se o assunto estivesse encerrado. Rosanna sentiu o coração apertar. Lágrimas surgiram nos cantos de seus olhos enquanto ela ia ao escritório e dizia: "Arranje outra pessoa. Tenho outros compromissos amanhã." "Está tudo resolvido. Karl cuidará da direção e das refeições. Só preciso que você a acompanhe." Oliver nem levantou os olhos do computador, pois não a levava a sério. Enquanto o encarava, Rosanna sentiu a raiva crescendo em seu pe**o. "Tenho uma consulta médica de retorno amanhã cedo." "Retorno de quê?", Oliver perguntou. "Do nódulo que encontraram no meu s**o esquerdo. Te contei sobre isso. Amanhã é o retorno." "É só um nódulo pequeno. Esperar dois dias não vai mudar nada", ele disse, sem desviar os olhos da tela. Rosanna respirou fundo. "Demorei meses para conseguir essa consulta. Não vou remarcar." Oliver respondeu com indiferença: "Você e minha mãe nunca se deram bem. Se conseguir se entender com a amiga dela, talvez isso ajude. Está decidido." Rosanna quase protestou, mas quando encarou o olhar firme dele, cedeu. Após uma longa pausa, ela murmurou: "Tudo bem." Depois de voltar para o quarto principal, ela percebeu que as lágrimas já escorriam. O celular tocou e, ao reconhecer o número na tela, ela recusou a chamada sem hesitar. Logo em seguida, apareceu outro número, da cidade de Jiford. Sem nem piscar, ela bloqueou o número. Oliver permanecia no escritório a noite inteira, não pisando no quarto principal nem uma vez. Na manhã seguinte, quando Rosanna acordou, ele já estava pronto para sair. Ele tinha olheiras profundas, o que sugeria que mal do**ira. Ainda assim, sua presença continuava impecável, os movimentos contidos e elegantes. "Karl estará esperando por você na garagem em trinta minutos", ele disse, checando o relógio. O homem lhe lançou um breve olhar antes de se afastar em direção à porta. Foi então que ela disse, quase num sussurro: "A senhorita Rogers é melhor anfitriã do que eu. Talvez devesse deixá-la receber a amiga da sua mãe." Oliver parou, mas não olhou para trás. "Você ainda é minha esposa. Se Millie fosse recebê-la, isso só alimentaria os rumores de que temos algo além do profissional." Então era isso. Ele a estava usando como escudo -- não por respeito ou carinho, mas para proteger a reputação de Millie. Rosanna sabia que quem conhecia seu estado civil já comentava sobre o escândalo no Clube Zero, onde ele agredira um homem por causa de Millie. A porta se fechou atrás dele, e uma lufada de vento frio invadiu o ambiente. A caminho do aeroporto, Rosanna se virou para Karl Price, o assistente de Oliver, e perguntou como o marido pretendia lidar com os rumores crescentes sobre ele e Millie. Mas Karl sorriu com a mesma expressão ensaiada de sempre e deu de ombros, fingindo ignorância. Não importava o quanto ela insistisse, ele não dizia nada. Eles esperaram até às nove no aeroporto. Então, Karl recebeu uma ligação e, após uma breve conversa, franziu a testa. "Mudança de planos. Ela adiou a viagem. Vem na próxima semana." Rosanna sentiu a raiva subir em ondas, mas conteve a expressão por causa de Karl. Então, eles foram para o hospital. Após fazer o check-in, ela se deparou com uma longa fila, onde havia pelo menos uma dúzia de pacientes à sua frente. Sem outra opção, ela esperou. Quando finalmente teve acesso aos resultados do ultrassom, não entendeu as imagens, mas as palavras estavam lá, em negrito. O nódulo em seu s**o esquerdo havia crescido -- de dois milímetros para dois e meio. Esse crescimento de meio milímetro em três meses, para Rosanna, parecia uma sentença. Seu coração disparou, e o medo tomou conta de vez. Capítulo 4 Custo e benefício Enquanto aguardava para ser chamada pelo médico, Rosanna tentava conter a inquietação que crescia dentro de si. Mesmo sabendo, no fundo, qual era a verdade, uma dúvida insistente se repetia em sua mente: se o diagnóstico fosse ruim, será que Oliver sentiria alguma tristeza por ela? A consulta seria com o doutor Gregg Scott, chefe do Departamento Ga**ctóforo do Hospital Harmony. Conhecido por sua objetividade, olhar clínico afiado e mais de trinta anos de experiência, Gregg era do tipo que não dourava a pílula. Ele a cumprimentou com um aceno breve, se sentou diante das imagens do exame e começou a analisá-las com atenção minuciosa por trás das lentes espessas dos óculos. "Houve um aumento de 0, 5 milímetros nos últimos três meses. Não posso descartar completamente a possibilidade de malignidade." Rosanna sentiu um calafrio subir pela espinha, enquanto perguntava: "Tem certeza?" "É possível que a imagem não esteja cem por cento precisa. Se o crescimento tivesse sido mais expressivo, poderíamos afirmar com mais convicção. Mas, com apenas meio milímetro de alteração, ainda é difícil dizer com certeza." "E qual seria a probabilidade de ser maligno?", Rosanna insistiu, tentando manter a voz firme, apesar do rosto empalidecido. "Mesmo que o aumento seja real, ainda está abaixo de um centímetro, então deve estar tudo bem. O mais prudente é repetir o exame daqui a um mês. Se houver novo crescimento, partiremos para uma biópsia", Gregg disse enquanto tirava os óculos para esfregar os olhos cansados. Depois de uma pausa, ele acrescentou gentilmente: "Uma boa saúde mental vai ajudar mais do que parece. Coma bem, du**a direito, e evite se apegar a pensamentos que te desestabilizem. Um bom humor contribui mais para o corpo do que muita gente imagina." Rosanna ouviu cada palavra com atenção absoluta. Depois que Gregg lhe entregou as prescrições de dois medicamentos, ela seguiu para a farmácia, determinada a manter a serenidade. Assim que entrou no saguão da farmácia, deu de cara com as últimas pessoas que gostaria de ver: Oliver e Millie. Seu coração acelerou, mas ela desviou o olhar imediatamente e levou a mão ao pe**o numa tentativa inútil de se acalmar. Ela não ia deixar que a dupla afetasse seu humor. No segundo seguinte, Millie começou: "Senhorita Will. quero dizer, senhora Marshall, está se sentindo mal? Conheço alguns médicos excelentes, se quiser, posso apresentá-la." "Não será necessário." Rosanna ergueu o queixo e passou por eles com firmeza, sem olhar para trás, sentindo um certo orgulho por nem sequer encarar Oliver. Como Karl já havia partido após levá-la ao hospital, ela saiu do prédio e começou a procurar por um Uber. Mas o trânsito do horário de almoço transformava tudo em um caos. Ela atualizava a tela sem parar, e nenhum motorista aceitava a corrida. Foi então que ouviu, à sua esquerda, o som inconfundível de uma buzina familiar. Ela congelou por um instante, mas não se moveu. Rosanna sabia de quem era o carro. Em Qegan, poucos veículos desse modelo e marca circulavam. Um deles pertencia a Oliver. Mesmo que fosse ele, ela não queria vê-lo, especialmente se Millie estivesse lá dentro. Era mais seguro fingir que não ouviu nada. No entanto, a buzina soou novamente. "Entre", veio uma voz que ela conhecia bem, firme e impositiva. Como se essa voz ainda tivesse o poder de atravessar todas as barreiras que Rosanna tentava construir, ela não pôde evitar, então virou a cabeça e viu que Oliver estava ao volante, o rosto parcialmente à mostra pela janela entreaberta. Millie não estava com ele. "Entre", Oliver repetiu, num tom que não aceitava recusa. Como se estivesse hipnotizada, Rosanna entrou no carro e ocupou o banco do passageiro. A porta se fechou com um estalo, a janela subiu e o carro arrancou assim que o sinal abriu, mergulhando no trânsito barulhento da cidade. Se não tivesse encontrado Millie antes, talvez ela mesma tivesse puxado assunto. Mas agora, o silêncio era a única resposta possível. Foi Oliver quem o quebrou, minutos depois. "Você já recebeu os resultados?" Rosanna encostou a cabeça no vidro e fechou os olhos, se recusando a responder. "O nódulo cresceu ou diminuiu? O que o médico disse?", Oliver pressionou. Rosanna permanecia calada, como se não tivesse ouvido. A luz fria do inverno invadia o carro, desenhando sombras sobre o rosto de Oliver, que tentava manter a compostura apesar do incômodo evidente. Vinte minutos depois, eles estacionaram diante da Vila Nexus. Assim que o carro parou, Rosanna abriu a porta e correu direto para os portões sem olhar para trás. Na pressa, ela nem percebeu que um papel havia escorregado do bolso do casaco. Oliver saiu do carro, pegou o papel dobrado e o abriu. Era o relatório do exame de ultrassom. Após ler e reler a observação "Recomenda-se retorno em um mês", a sensação de frustração se instalou e ele acendeu um ci**rro, deu algumas tragadas rápidas e o esmagou contra o chão antes de pegar o celular. Quando a ligação foi completada, uma chamada de Karl surgiu na tela. Ele recusou, terminou o que estava fazendo e só então retornou para Karl. "Senhor, rastreei o pacote que a senhora Marshall recebeu ontem. Como nos anos anteriores, ele foi enviado de Jiford para Ekadence e só depois para Qegan. Quanto ao remetente original. continua sendo o senhor Burton", Karl revelou. "Entendi." Oliver desligou sem emoção. O vento cortante passou por ele, levando embora qualquer traço de calor que ainda restasse em seu olhar. Na noite anterior, Rosanna havia estendido sua licença de meio dia para dois dias completos, com o intuito de acompanhar a amiga da mãe de Oliver. Assim que chegou em casa, cancelou sua licença no sistema interno da emissora. Ela sempre levava o trabalho a sério. Como âncora de notícias, não precisava cumprir horário, contanto que suas entregas e cotas fossem cumpridas. Mas Rosanna se cobrava muito mais do que isso. Sem família na cidade, com apenas Leah como amiga e alguém imprestável como Oliver como marido, ela precisava se apoiar em si mesma, e sua carreira era seu maior alicerce. Em apenas dois anos, ela havia deixado de ser uma repórter comum para se tornar uma das principais âncoras da emissora, trabalhando até tarde, abrindo mão de folgas e transformando intervalos em turnos extras. Por isso, quando ela pediu a extensão da licença, o diretor Kyle Watson estranhou e até perguntou se estava acontecendo alguma coisa. Agora, em casa, Rosanna trocou de roupa, vestindo um pijama confortável. Caminhou até a cozinha, retirou uma refeição pronta da geladeira e, depois de aquecê-la, adicionou duas colheres generosas de azeite -- algo que não fazia há tempos. As palavras do doutor Gregg ecoavam em sua mente e, até ter um diagnóstico conclusivo, ela não iria mais se negligenciar. Ela comeria os carboidratos que havia jurado evitar, desfrutaria do fast-food que uma vez baniu de seu prato e, mais importante, pararia de desperdiçar um único suspiro com Oliver, o homem que poderia estragar seu humor em minutos e mantê-la irritada por horas. Ele que fizesse o que quisesse longe dali. Ela estava cansada de se importar. Quando Oliver entrou na casa, encontrou uma cena que o surpreendeu. "Abandonou a dieta para ficar bem na câmera? Os resultados te abalaram?", ele perguntou, lançando um olhar para o prato. Rosanna seguiu comendo, como se ele fosse invisível. "Eu vi o resultado. O nódulo tem apenas 2, 5 milímetros. Não há com o que se preocupar. Você está calada desde que saímos do hospital. Está me ignorando de propósito porque está chateada comigo?", Oliver perguntou enquanto colocava o papel sobre a mesa. Rosanna largou o garfo, respirou fundo e respondeu com frieza: "Não estou chateada com você. Só não estou com vontade de conversar." Millie levara uma pancada e, imediatamente, e Oliver estivera pronto para levá-la para Klenridge, atrás do melhor especialista da região. E ela? Tinha um nódulo crescendo dentro do próprio corpo, mas seu suposto marido nem sequer mexeu um dedo para conseguir um atendimento melhor para ela. Em vez de ajudar, ele estava discutindo com ela. O rosto de Oliver se suavizou, como se tivesse captado algo no tom dela. "O que o médico disse exatamente?" "Está tudo no relatório, e você já leu", Rosanna respondeu, contendo sua raiva, embora ainda houvesse um tom de desagrado em sua voz. "Não estou perguntando o que está escrito. Quero saber o que ele te disse. Você é minha esposa. Tenho o direito de saber se está com uma doença grave", Oliver retrucou, segurando o pulso dela com firmeza. Rosanna estremeceu diante do toque dele e o encarou nos olhos. "Que tipo de marido age assim e ainda se considera cuidadoso?" Oliver soltou uma risada sem humor. "Cuidadoso? Você já tem quem cuide de você. Eu sou um homem de negócios, Rosanna. Tomo decisões com base em custo e benefício." Toda a raiva que Rosanna vinha reprimindo emergiu com força. "Então, me diga, senhor Marshall, o que exatamente pretende fazer?" "Faça suas malas. Você vai comigo para Klenridge para um check-up completo. E se encontrarem algo sério. vamos nos divorciar", Oliver declarou enquanto emoções indecifráveis transbordavam de seus olhos. Cada palavra cortou Rosanna como uma lâ**na. Em seu momento mais frágil, até o próprio marido estava disposto a descartá-la. Isso era dolorosamente patético. Capítulo 5 Pérolas Os olhos de Rosanna se encheram de lágrimas. Suas mãos, pendendo ao lado do corpo, estavam cerradas em punhos, com as unhas cravando dolorosamente nas palmas. Ela sempre sabia que Oliver não gostava dela de verdade, mas jamais imaginara que ele pudesse ser tão cruel. Nesse momento, ela se lembrou de uma história que circulava na internet pouco tempo atrás: um homem vendeu tudo o que possuía e assumiu diversos empregos apenas para pagar o tratamento da esposa, diagnosticada com uremia. Ao lado dessa narrativa comovente, seu próprio problema parecia insignificante -- um pequeno nódulo de 2, 5 milímetros, ainda sem confirmação de malignidade. E, mesmo assim, Oliver já demonstrava pressa em se livrar dela. "Esqueça Klenridge. Vou marcar um médico aqui mesmo. Fazer a biópsia em Qegan amanhã será mais rápido", Rosanna disse, piscando para conter as lágrimas e lutando para manter a voz firme apesar das emoções que sentia. Oliver segurou o queixo dela com força, os olhos cortantes como lâ**nas. "Está com tanta pressa para se livrar de mim assim?" "Não é isso que você quer?", Rosanna retrucou, mo**endo o lábio com força. O gosto metálico de sa**ue se espalhou por sua língua, e a dor repentina tornou difícil até mesmo respirar. Os olhos de Oliver se tornaram sombrios, carregados de um veneno frio enquanto ele a empurrava contra a parede. "Depois de três anos compartilhando a mesma c**a comigo, você acha mesmo que aquele homem ainda vai querer você de volta?" As palavras dele atingiram Rosanna como lâ**nas afiadas, cortando antigas feridas que ela passara muito tempo tentando cicatrizar. Ele continuou: "Nem consegue me olhar nos olhos porque sabe que está errada. Fica me traindo em pensamento o tempo inteiro! Aquele sujeito te traiu três anos atrás e você ainda pensa nele? Que patético!" Rosanna permanecia em silêncio. Ela se sentia como se todas as emoções dentro de si tivessem sido apagadas, como se tivesse se tornado apenas um corpo vazio. Os lábios de Oliver deslizaram do lóbulo da orelha até a bochecha, e então se pressionaram contra os seus.. 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&

Tout le monde s'attendait à ce que le magnat des affaires mette à la porte cette femme divorcée sans vergogne, mais elle a calmement dévoilé ses multiples identités. L'homme arrogant et de sang-froid l'a réellement soutenue, choquant tellement les spectateurs qu'ils se sont alignés pour s'agenouiller et implorer la pitié ! ===== « Mme Gibson, souhaitez-vous réagir au fait que votre mari se soit rendu aujourd'hui à l'anniversaire de Marilee Jenkins et y ait déclaré qu'il allait demander le divorce ? » « Selon la rumeur, Marilee Jenkins serait non seulement le premier amour de M. Gibson, mais aussi la véritable fille de vos parents, tandis que vous n'en seriez pas la fille biologique. On dit que vous auriez bénéficié de l'affection de leurs parents toutes ces années et que vous auriez épousé l'homme qui, en réalité, lui était destiné. Vous vous sentez coupable à ce sujet ? » La fête d'anniversaire était bondée, et Alexia Gibson s'est retrouvée complètement coincée. Les journalistes se sont rapidement approchés d'elle, lui mettant des caméras et des microphones sous le nez, tandis que les flashs des appareils photo crépitaient de toutes parts, ne lui laissant aucun répit. « Vos parents viennent de vous révéler que vous n'êtes pas réellement leur fille et ont cessé de vous soutenir financièrement. Sans emploi depuis deux ans et vivant comme une femme au foyer, comment comptez-vous subvenir à vos besoins désormais ? Mme Gibson, avez-vous quelque chose à ajouter ? » Alexia est restée immobile, figée sur place. Son esprit était encore sous le choc de tout ce qu'elle venait d'entendre. Marilee Jenkins était donc à la fois la véritable fille de ses prétendus parents et le véritable amour de son mari. Et elle ? Elle était l'épouse de Roger Gibson sur le papier, mais clairement, elle n'était qu'une plaisanterie pour tout le monde. Il y a des années, le couple Jenkins l'avait sortie d'un quartier délabré à l'étranger, affirmant qu'elle était leur fille perdue depuis longtemps. Mais ne s'étaient-ils vraiment pas donné la peine de faire un simple test ADN avant de l'accueillir ? Pourquoi n'avaient-ils découvert cette erreur que maintenant ? Le corps d'Alexia s'est raidi. Son regard s'est posé sur l'homme qui se tenait à côté d'elle. Cependant, Roger ne lui prêtait aucune attention. Il regardait Marilee, comme s'ils étaient seuls dans la pièce. D'une voix tendue, elle a demandé : « Pourquoi ? Tu ne m'as même pas prévenue. » Le visage de Roger était froid comme de la pierre. « Maintenant, tu le sais. C'est tout ce qui importe. C'est terminé, Alexia. Tu n'as jamais été assez bien pour moi. Et notre mariage ? Ce n'était qu'une transaction. La seule femme que j'ai jamais aimée, c'est Marilee. Et tu sais pourquoi je ne t'ai jamais touchée après le mariage ? Parce que tu me répugnes. Tu es comme un plat pourri, complètement immangeable. » Ses yeux l'ont balayée de haut en bas, pleins de mépris. Ses vêtements simples, ses lunettes démodées. Tout en elle contrastait avec le monde luxueux et raffiné dans lequel il évoluait. Avant même que ses paroles cruelles ne soient complètement assimilées, Alexia a levé son verre et lui a jeté le ch**pagne au visage. La boisson l'a éclaboussé fortement, trempant son visage et son costume coûteux. Il est resté là, stupéfait, tandis que le liquide coulait de ses cheveux et le long de son visage. « Un plat pourri ? C'est toi qui m'as dit que tu voulais une femme au foyer ordinaire. Papa et maman m'ont dit qu'ils voulaient une fille obéissante, qui ne surpasserait jamais personne ! » Sans hésiter, elle a lancé le verre par terre. Le bruit sec a immédiatement fait taire toute la salle. Le visage de Roger est devenu rouge de honte. Il a serré les mâchoires. « Tu es devenue folle ? » Depuis la scène, le couple Jenkins lui hurlait dessus. « Alexia, c'est l'anniversaire de Marilee, ce n'est pas le moment de faire ton cinéma ! » Les gens dans la foule levaient les yeux au ciel et murmuraient qu'elle était folle. Aucun d'entre eux ne se rendait compte de ce qu'elle avait sacrifié pour les deux familles pendant toutes ces années. Se frayant un chemin à travers la foule, Alexia est allée directement vers la sortie. Les journalistes l'ont suivie comme un flot. Elle les a tous repoussés, aveugle à la pluie battante, sourde aux murmures et aux jugements qui l'entouraient. À ce moment-là, tout ce qu'elle voulait, c'était s'enfuir, loin du bruit, des regards et de l'humiliation. Mais alors qu'elle venait de se frayer un chemin à travers la foule et de sortir, un groupe de fans déchaînés de Marilee l'ont bousculée violemment, et elle a glissé, tombant sur la route mouillée. Marilee était une star de premier plan dans le monde du divertissement. Sa fête d'anniversaire était retransmise en direct, et des tonnes de fans s'étaient rassemblés à l'extérieur. Dès qu'ils ont vu Alexia sortir, la foule s'est déchaînée, hurlant comme des animaux sauvages qui venaient de trouver quelque chose à attaquer. « Alexia, tu as du culot de venir à la fête d'anniversaire de Marilee. Tu n'as aucune pudeur ! » « Tu n'es même pas la vraie fille. Retourne dans le taudis d'où tu viens, ou tu es trop accro à l'argent des Jenkins ? » « Roger va divorcer, et tu penses toujours que c'est normal de montrer ton visage à Marilee ? Pour qui te prends-tu ? » « Dé**ge ! » Alexia gisait là, sur la chaussée mouillée, figée pendant une seconde, tandis que leurs paroles méchantes résonnaient tout autour d'elle. Elle a lâché un rire sec et amer. Tout n'était qu'une vaste plaisanterie. Un mariage détruit, une famille froide, et maintenant ils l'avaient laissée totalement humiliée. À quoi bon avoir fait semblant pendant si longtemps ? Elle avait gardé la tête baissée, tout enduré, et c'était tout ce qu'elle obtenait au final ? Une vague d'impuissance l'a submergée. Elle a fermé les yeux, ne se souciant même plus de la pluie glaciale qui la trempait. À travers le bruit et le chaos, une voix flatteuse s'est fait entendre. « M. Mason. » La salutation polie a été suivie par des pas fermes et réguliers qui se rapprochaient sous la pluie. Quelques instants plus tard, un parapluie noir est apparu au-dessus d'elle, fendant silencieusement la pluie et lui offrant un abri contre la tempête. Chapitre 2 Le retrouver alors qu'elle était au plus mal Levant lentement les yeux, Alexia a croisé un regard vif et intense. Les réverbères clignotaient sous la pluie. Waylon Mason était là, grand et intimidant, avec une forte présence qui mettait les gens mal à l'aise. Derrière lui, une rangée de voitures de luxe garées le long de la rue attirait tous les regards. Ses assistants se tenaient de part et d'autre de lui, et l'un d'eux tenait un parapluie au-dessus de sa tête. Mais le parapluie que Waylon tenait était incliné de manière à ne couvrir qu'Alexia. Waylon s'est avancé lentement, se penchant vers elle. Avant qu'elle n'ait le temps de réagir, l'homme a levé la main et a retiré les lourdes lunettes à monture noire de son visage. Ses yeux brillants et magnifiques étaient maintenant pleinement visibles. Il la regardait avec un sourire narquois. « Ça fait des années, Alexia. Regarde-toi, dans quel état tu es. As-tu enfin cessé d'être cette fille folle d'amour, ou continues-tu à rêver de rêves inutiles ? » Chaque mot la blessait davantage. Les yeux d'Alexia se sont mis à pleurer, et le peu de force qui lui restait s'est effondré sous le ton dur de sa voix. Elle a ouvert la bouche pour répliquer, mais avant qu'elle n'ait pu parler, Waylon l'a soudainement prise dans ses bras devant tout le monde, la protégeant de la pluie et de tout ce qui les entourait. Il s'est dirigé vers la voiture noire qui attendait à proximité, la portant dans ses bras tandis que les gardes du corps s'écartaient rapidement pour leur laisser le passage. Tout le bruit et les commentaires grossiers autour d'eux se sont estompés. Tout le monde est resté là, abasourdi, les regardant partir, le choc se lisant sur leurs visages.. À l'intérieur de la voiture, Alexia tenait sa robe boueuse et trempée entre ses mains tremblantes. Elle a baissé les yeux et a demandé, d'une voix rauque : « Waylon, pourquoi fallait-il que tu te montres maintenant ? » Pourquoi maintenant. alors que toute sa vie s'écroulait ? En réponse à sa question, Waylon a penché la tête, puis a tendu la main pour lui prendre le menton, lui relevant doucement mais fermement le visage. Sa voix était calme, mais comportait une pointe de froideur. « Pour quelle autre raison ? Je suis venu voir comment allait la femme que j'aimais le moins. » Ses yeux se sont assombris, un sourire narquois se dessinant sur ses lèvres. « Alors, Alexia, est-ce que tu te souviens de ce que je t'ai dit il y a sept ans ? » Bien sûr qu'elle s'en souvenait. Waylon était l'enfant chéri de la famille Mason. Son rival le plus redoutable à l'époque. La dernière fois qu'ils s'étaient vus, c'était à l'aéroport, sept ans auparavant. Ce qui devait être un adieu avait tourné à la pire des disputes. Waylon avait toujours détesté la manière dont elle implorait la famille Jenkins de l'accepter et s'accrochait à Roger comme si elle n'avait aucune dignité. Et elle ne supportait pas son ego et la façon dont il jugeait toutes les personnes qui lui étaient chères. À l'époque, il l'avait clairement avertie ; rechercher l'approbation de personnes qui ne l'accepteraient jamais vraiment ne mènerait qu'à la déception, la laissant sans rien à la fin. Mais elle avait été trop optimiste pour s'en rendre compte. Elle s'était dit : « Peu importe s'ils ne m'aiment pas maintenant. Si je travaille avec acharnement et que je les fais passer avant tout, ils finiront par m'accepter. » Ils avaient voulu qu'elle épouse Roger, alors elle avait consenti. Ses frères ne voulaient pas qu'elle devienne trop puissante, alors elle avait fait semblant d'être naïve et ordinaire. Mais en coulisses, elle éliminait discrètement leurs menaces et protégeait les familles Jenkins et Gibson. Alors que Waylon lui tenait fermement le menton, ses larmes chaudes sont tombées sur sa main, coulant le long de ses jointures. Son expression vacillait. La froideur s'est évanouie pendant une seconde. Puis, il l'a lâchée. La voix d'Alexia tremblait, encore éraillée par la pluie. « Waylon, tu avais raison. Ils m'ont abandonnée après m'avoir exploitée. Pendant plus de vingt ans, je leur ai tout donné. J'ai été si st**ide. » Il a fallu beaucoup de temps avant que Waylon ne reprenne enfin la parole : « Tu n'étais pas st**ide. Ils n'en valaient tout simplement pas la peine. » Mais Alexia n'a pas répondu. Il s'est tourné vers elle et a vu qu'elle dormait profondément. Plus tard dans la nuit, Alexia a soudain développé une forte fièvre. Santino Blake, le médecin personnel de Waylon, a été tiré du lit par un simple appel et a dû prendre ses affaires et se précipiter tard dans la nuit. Fort de ses années d'expérience, Santino a rapidement procédé à un examen complet. Il s'est tenu près du lit, regardant le visage pâle et fatigué d'Alexia, et a poussé un léger soupir. Chapitre 3 Notre Luna est de retour Santino a jeté un coup d'œil par-dessus son épaule et a aperçu Waylon sur le balcon, une ci**rette brûlant lentement entre ses doigts. La fu**e s'enroulait en spirales paresseuses, jetant un voile fantomatique sur les traits anguleux de Waylon, les adoucissant à chaque expiration. Waylon ne fumait que rarement. Santino se souvenait d'une seule autre fois où Waylon avait f**é de la sorte, il y a deux ans. Santino est sorti et l'a rejoint. « Son état est stable maintenant. Elle a juste pris froid en restant sous la pluie et a très mal supporté le choc. Je lui ai fait une piqûre et donné des médicaments, elle va s'en remettre. » Une brève pause a permis à Santino d'observer le ciel nocturne. « J'ai regardé les gros titres. La famille Jenkins ne s'est pas contentée de la renier : elle l'a humiliée publiquement, en plein milieu de l'anniversaire de Marilee. » La voix de Santino était chargée de colère. « Ils n'ont pas fait de test ADN avant de la ramener de l'étranger ? Tout ça sent le coup monté. » Une vibration soudaine l'a fait sursauter ; le téléphone d'Alexia vibrait sur la table de chevet. Waylon est entré à grands pas, déterminé à mettre fin à l'appel, mais le nom qui clignotait sur l'écran l'a arrêté net. Une lueur sombre a traversé son regard lorsqu'il a pris et mis le haut-parleur. Des cris ont immédiatement éclaté, trahissant clairement la colère de son interlocuteur. « Alexia, tu as ignoré tous mes appels et tous mes messages. Qu'est-ce que tu essaies de faire au juste ? Faire semblant d'avoir disparu ne t'aidera pas. Demain, tu signeras les papiers du divorce, et ce sera fini. J'ai montré suffisamment de patience. Arrête de te mettre en travers du chemin de Marilee et moi. Tu as vécu aux crochets de la famille Jenkins assez longtemps. Si tu as encore un peu de dignité, pars pour de bon, c'est le moins que tu puisses faire pour Marilee. Ne t'inquiète pas pour ta part, tu auras ce qui te revient. C'est bien que tu aies pris soin de ma grand-mère et de ma mère ces dernières années. Mais ne dépasse pas les limites. Apprends à t'arrêter quand il le faut. Pourquoi tu ne me réponds pas ? Où es-tu ? » Le silence qui régnait au bout du fil a finalement mis Roger mal à l'aise. Sa confiance a faibli et ses mots ont perdu leur mordant. Santino priait intérieurement pour que quelqu'un intervienne et mette fin à ce qui se passait, sentant la panique monter alors que les choses échappaient de plus en plus à son contrôle. Dès que Roger a commencé à parler, Santino a remarqué que le visage de Waylon s'était assombri. Son regard s'est refroidi et toute trace de chaleur a disparu, laissant place à une atmosphère glaciale et étouffante. Santino avait du mal à rester debout, ses genoux menaçaient de se dérober sous lui. L'expression de Waylon est devenue dure, son sourire teinté de cruauté. « C'est comme ça que tu lui parles, hein ? » Tous les muscles du corps de Roger se sont tendus, son instinct lui criant un avertissement. Sa voix est devenue prudente. « Qui es-tu ? Où est Alexia ? » Waylon a posé son regard sur le lit où Alexia reposait, respirant faiblement mais régulièrement. Sa réponse est venue sous forme d'un murmure doux, presque perdu dans la tension. « Elle dort. » Il a laissé un court silence s'installer avant d'ajouter : « Et elle est ici avec moi. » La seule chose qui lui a répondu était le bruit explosif de la fureur à travers le téléphone. La voix de Roger a retenti au bout du fil. « Qu'est-ce que tu viens de dire ? Qui es-tu ? » Une lueur d'amusement s'est allumée dans les yeux de Waylon tandis qu'un petit rire lui échappait. « Détends-toi. Tu comprendras. à condition que tu vives assez longtemps. » Sans un mot de plus, il a raccroché. Au matin, la pluie avait cessé, laissant place à un soleil radieux qui illuminait les fenêtres alors qu'Alexia se réveillait. Elle a pris son téléphone et a découvert une avalanche d'appels manqués et de messages furieux de Roger. Sans réagir, elle a fait défiler les nombreux messages, puis a laissé tomber l'appareil sur les draps. Pour l'instant, une douche chaude était plus importante. La vapeur embuait le miroir de la salle de bain alors qu'elle regardait son reflet. Quelque chose avait changé : ses yeux, autrefois ternes, brillaient désormais d'une lueur qu'elle n'avait pas vue depuis longtemps. Pour la première fois depuis longtemps, elle a essayé de sourire, et cette fois, le sourire a atteint ses yeux, sincère et vivant. Elle avait l'impression qu'une fièvre avait brûlé toute sa confusion, débarrassant son cœur d'une vieille douleur et d'une loyauté st**ide envers ceux qui ne la méritaient pas. Elle n'allait plus jouer les idiotes. Elle n'allait plus faire semblant que tout allait bien. Cette triste histoire était révolue. Enveloppée dans une serviette après la douche, elle a parcouru ses contacts et s'est arrêtée sur un nom qu'elle n'avait pas utilisé depuis des années. Son appel a à peine sonné une fois avant que le chaos n'éclate à l'autre bout du fil. « Luna ! Enfin ! Dis-moi, les rumeurs sont-elles vraies ? Tu vas finalement divorcer ? » Des rires et des cris ont fusé en arrière-plan, ses amis ne faisant aucun effort pour cacher qu'ils écoutaient. Alexia a répondu calmement : « Oui, je vais signer l'accord de divorce aujourd'hui. » La fête battait son plein au bout du fil. Sifflets, acclamations, tintement de verres. Ses amis étaient clairement en train d'organiser une fête endiablée. « Tu as mis du temps à sortir de ta transe ! Fini la déprime des femmes au foyer. Notre Luna est de retour ! » « Le divorce est la meilleure chose qui te soit arrivée ! Roger ne te méritait pas. Dis-moi quand tu veux, je m'occuperai de lui moi-même ! » « Et ne me lance pas sur cette famille Jenkins surestimée. Sans toi, ils se seraient effondrés lors de la crise de l'année dernière. Luna, nous sommes prêts quand tu l'es, le Jardin d'Éden est avec toi. » Leurs rires et leur soutien ont fait naître un sourire sincère sur les lèvres d'Alexia. « Dans ce cas, j'ai besoin d'une voiture. » Sans perdre une seconde, une voix masculine s'est interposée, pleine d'excitation. « Juste une voiture ? Pour ton grand retour ? Dis-moi où tu veux aller. Je vais envoyer le champion en titre venir te chercher ! » Chapitre 4 Refuse-t-elle de divorcer L'appel venait à peine de se terminer lorsque le léger clic de la porte a attiré l'attention d'Alexia, qui a redressé brusquement la tête. Waylon se tenait là, dans l'embrasure de la porte, sa grande taille projetant une ombre, son expression ne laissant rien transparaître lorsque leurs regards se sont croisés. Aucun d'eux n'avait prévu une telle rencontre. Tout juste sortie de la douche, les cheveux d'Alexia collaient à ses joues, son peignoir glissait sur ses épaules, sa peau était rouge et ses yeux encore embrumés par la chaleur. Le parfum léger du shampoing flottait dans l'air, sucré et impossible à ignorer. Le regard de Waylon l'a balayée, s'attardant juste assez longtemps pour faire rougir ses joues, avant qu'il ne détourne calmement les yeux. « Prépare-toi. Le petit-déjeuner est sur la table. » Quelques instants plus tard, Alexia est apparue habillée, accueillie par l'arôme d'un petit-déjeuner magnifiquement présenté. La faim a pris le dessus sur la fierté ; elle s'est assise sans faire semblant, terminant la majeure partie du repas avant de faire une pause pour reprendre son souffle. Waylon l'a laissée manger en paix sans dire grand-chose, ne rompant le silence qu'après qu'elle a presque fini son assiette. « Tu as besoin d'un avocat ? » Elle a posé sa tasse de café, les yeux fixés sur lui. « Alors, tu es au courant. » Un sourire amusé s'est dessiné sur ses lèvres, mais son regard est resté froid. « Y a-t-il quelqu'un qui ne soit pas au courant dans cette ville ? » En goûtant l'amertume du café, Alexia a grimacé un instant, mais elle s'est rapidement ressaisie. « Je peux m'en occuper. » Au moment où les mots ont quitté sa bouche, elle s'est rendu compte qu'il pourrait penser qu'elle était trop têtue pour admettre qu'elle avait besoin d'aide. Après tout, aux yeux de la plupart des gens, les femmes qui se faisaient larguer étaient pathétiques. « Tu me crois quand je te dis ça ? », a-t-elle demandé. Un sourire narquois s'est dessiné sur le visage de Waylon, ses yeux se plissant avec un éclat complice. « Pourquoi je ne te croirais pas ? Alexia, c'est lui qui aurait dû s'effondrer. » Ce regard inébranlable la maintenait immobile, même si elle lui a rendu un petit sourire sincère en retour. « Tu as toujours su choisir les mots qu'il fallait. » Une fois le petit-déjeuner terminé, Alexia s'apprêtait à partir. Arrivée à la porte, elle s'est arrêtée et s'est retournée. « Merci », a-t-elle dit doucement, sa gratitude indéniable. Elle n'oublierait jamais sa gentillesse. Dix minutes avaient passé depuis leur rendez-vous, et la patience de Roger commençait à s'épuiser alors que lui et Marilee attendaient Alexia dans un club privé. « Pourquoi n'est-elle pas encore là ? Refuse-t-elle de divorcer ? » Marilee s'est blottie contre lui, la voix mielleuse, en faisant la moue. « Tu n'as pas oublié notre projet de shopping, n'est-ce pas ? Tu m'as promis de m'offrir une robe après ça. » Roger a répondu par un grognement. Le banquet organisé par la Chambre de Commerce ce week-end serait l'occasion idéale pour présenter Marilee, le moment de son retour ne pouvait être mieux choisi. Toutes les personnalités influentes de la ville seraient présentes, les yeux rivés sur le retour très attendu de Waylon. Le simple fait de penser à Waylon suscitait un léger malaise sur le visage de Roger. Le soutien ouvert de la Chambre de Commerce à Waylon juste avant l'élection de son nouveau président n'était pas vraiment une bonne nouvelle pour la famille Gibson. Un soudain tumulte près de la porte a détourné l'attention de Roger. Il a tourné la tête, et à ce moment-là, l'atmosphère de la pièce semblait changer. Tous les regards se sont tournés vers une silhouette qui entrait avec une grâce naturelle. Alexia est entrée, sa robe cramoisie épousant chaque courbe de son corps, ses talons murmurant sur le sol ciré. Chaque pas dégageait une assurance et une confiance tranquille. La teinte écarlate, cette lueur incomparable. elle ressemblait à un lever de soleil incarné. À chaque pas qu'Alexia faisait, le sourire de Marilee se crispait, jusqu'à disparaître complètement lorsqu'Alexia s'est assise en face d'eux. Roger ne pouvait pas non plus cacher son choc ; ses yeux restaient rivés sur les traits d'Alexia, maquillés avec art. « Tu. » Les mots étaient coincés dans sa gorge, visibles dans le petit mouvement nerveux de sa pomme d'Adam. Aucun des témoins ne reconnaissait en elle la femme de la veille : les lunettes disproportionnées, la chemise à carreaux qui bâillait sur ses épaules, les cheveux encore ruisselants. La fille pitoyable d'hier avait été remplacée par quelqu'un de totalement différent, confiant, méconnaissable. Alexia n'était pas surprise par leur réaction. Elle savait qu'elle était belle, mais elle avait simplement choisi de ne pas le montrer. Les leçons de son enfance avaient toujours mis l'accent sur la modestie, le fait de rester à l'écart des projecteurs, de ne jamais trop attirer l'attention. Le mariage n'avait fait que resserrer la bride. Des années passées à s'occuper de la grand-mère de Roger et à essuyer les reproches d'une belle-mère qui avait entendu des histoires sur sa soi-disant jeunesse débridée. Même ses cheveux ou la couleur de ses vêtements n'échappaient pas à l'examen minutieux. Chaque détail avait été censuré jusqu'à la soumission la plus terne. Les robes aux couleurs vives n'avaient jamais trouvé leur place dans son placard, qui ne contenait que des vêtements amples et insignifiants. Mais ce chapitre était désormais derrière elle. Avec une assurance tranquille, Alexia a appelé un serveur, commandé une te**ila et commencé à feuilleter l'accord de divorce, sans se laisser perturber par l'attention qu'on lui portait. Marilee a été la première à retrouver son sang-froid, affichant un doux sourire. « Alexia, j'espère que tu vas bien après hier. Les journalistes nous ont tous pris au dépourvu. On m'a dit que tu avais glissé sur la pluie. Ça a dû être pénible dehors. » Chapitre 5 La regarder s'effondrer La patience a disparu du visage de Marilee alors qu'elle attendait une réaction, mais Alexia ne la regardait même pas dans les yeux. Au lieu de cela, elle a tourné son attention vers Roger. « La fortune des Gibson part en fumée ? C'est tout ce que je vaux ? » Une ombre a parcouru le visage de Roger. « C'est ce que dit le contrat prénuptial, donc c'est tout ce à quoi tu as droit. » Avant même leur mariage, il avait fermé toutes les portes menant à la fortune familiale, s'assurant qu'elle ne trouverait jamais de faille. Se rendant compte qu'Alexia l'ignorait ouvertement, Marilee est intervenue : « Tu reçois plus qu'il n'en faut, Alexia. Au fond, c'était l'amour ou l'argent que tu voulais de Roger ? » Alexia refusait toujours de la reconnaître, ne lui accordant même pas un regard. « Avec une somme aussi dérisoire ? Garde-la précieusement, tu auras besoin de chaque centime quand l'empire Gibson s'effondrera. » À ces mots, la patience avait quitté le visage de Roger. « Alexia ! » Soudain, les yeux de Marilee se sont remplis de larmes et sa voix est devenue fragile, comme si son cœur allait se briser. « S'il te plaît, Alexia, ne rends plus la vie difficile à Roger », a-t-elle sangloté. L'attention de la foule s'est tournée vers elle alors que des sanglots et des reniflements remplissaient la pièce. Marilee a porté la main au délicat diamant rose qui ornait son cou. « Tu ne l'as peut-être jamais su, mais Roger et moi nous aimons depuis des années. Il m'a donné ce collier le jour de ton mariage, c'est un symbole de son dévouement. Le jardin de cerisiers en fleurs chez vous ? Roger l'a construit juste pour moi, dans l'espoir de me faire sourire. Tu m'as volé ma vie. Tout ce que tu possèdes aurait dû m'appartenir. Ne crois-tu pas qu'il est temps de lâcher prise et de partir tranquillement, sans rien demander de plus ? » Un silence gênant s'est installé dans la pièce. Il était rare de voir une maî**esse agir de manière aussi effrontée, exigeant que la femme parte les mains vides. Finalement, Alexia s'est tournée vers Marilee et l'a regardée dans les yeux, la voix plus froide que la glace. « J'ai volé ta vie ? C'est moi qui suis allée voir la famille Jenkins pour les supplier de m'accepter ? C'est moi qui ai refusé le test ADN et qui me suis vantée d'être leur vraie fille ? C'est moi qui ai couru après Roger, désespérée de me marier ? » Chaque question acérée brisait le silence, chacune assez tranchante pour couper. Le visage de Marilee a perdu toute couleur et son corps s'est raidi sous le regard glacial d'Alexia. Sans perdre une seconde, Alexia a porté le coup de grâce. « Va blâmer tes propres parents st**ides. » Cela a fait perdre à Marilee toute retenue. « Sans eux, tu serais encore en train de fouiller dans les ordures. Tu mènes une vie luxueuse depuis vingt ans. Sans eux, tu ne serais qu'une misérable. » Alexia a éclaté d'un rire sec. Son regard s'est posé sur les traces de piqûres effacées sur son poignet. « Si c'est ça, le luxe, j'ai dû passer à côté. La douleur, par contre ? Il y en avait toujours assez pour tout le monde. » L'incrédulité se lisait dans les yeux de Marilee, dont les mots tremblaient de mépris. « Mensonges ! Tu as grandi dans la saleté et tu n'es qu'une ordure. Si mes parents n'étaient pas intervenus, tu ne serais plus là aujourd'hui. Un gang t'aurait fait subir son bon vouloir et t'aurait laissée dans le caniveau. » Le reste n'est jamais sorti de sa bouche. Une gi**e cinglante a retenti, résonnant dans la pièce. Stupéfaite, Marilee a pressé ses doigts tremblants sur la marque rouge enflée, sans voix. Un sourire froid s'est dessiné sur les lèvres d'Alexia. « Il n'y a rien que je déteste plus que les gens qui n'ont jamais appris les règles élémentaires de la décence. Que je fasse partie ou non de la famille Jenkins, je serais toujours ici, moi-même. Mais toi ? Sans cet accord de divorce, tu n'es rien d'autre qu'une maî**esse sans ve**ogne. » Sans attendre de réaction, Alexia a lancé l'accord de divorce signé directement sur Marilee, le touchant avec une précision brutale. « Considère ça comme mon cadeau d'adieu. » Les bords frôlant son front, Marilee a tressailli et a laissé échapper un cri de surprise. Alexia a observé la panique qui ébranlait le sang-froid de Marilee, remarquant les tics nerveux sur son visage. Faisant semblant de s'inquiéter, elle a penché la tête en proposant : « Tu veux que j'appelle une ambulance ? » Cette question a cassé le peu de retenue qu'il restait à Marilee. « Pourquoi tu ferais ça ? », a-t-elle rétorqué. Alexia lui a lancé un regard empreint d'une fausse inquiétude. « On dirait que tu ne vas pas très bien mentalement. » La voix de Marilee a craqué lorsqu'elle a crié : « Je ne suis pas malade ! » Même Roger s'est retourné, incertain et mal à l'aise, alors que son déni strident remplissait la pièce. Sans se laisser perturber, Alexia a laissé sa réponse dégouliner de venin, touchant chaque nerf. « C'est drôle. Ceux qui se sentent mal cherchent souvent à convaincre les autres qu'ils vont bien. Il serait peut-être temps de prendre rendez-vous chez un psychiatre. Et avant que j'oublie. beau collier. Mais franchement ? Les pierres sans valeur ne sont pas très prisées de nos jours. » Le visage de Marilee est devenu livide, submergée par la colère et l'humiliation. Sans crier gare, elle s'est effondrée dans les bras de Roger. La colère a creusé des rides profondes sur le visage de Roger alors qu'il serrait Marilee contre lui, lançant un regard noir à Alexia. « Je n'aurais jamais imaginé que tu pouvais être aussi cruelle. Ce n'est pas parce que tu portes ma bague que tu peux dire ce que bon te semble ! » Avant qu'Alexia n'ait le temps de répliquer, une voix familière a brisé le silence, empreinte de moquerie. « Waouh ! Tu oses parler à ma déesse comme ça ! Ce n'est pas juste parce que tu as été son mari que tu te sens si important ? » Un murmure collectif a traversé la foule, toute l'attention se tournant vers la porte. Là, grand et dangereusement beau, un homme est entré, rayonnant de charme à chaque pas. Que se passe-t-il ensuite? Le nombre de chapitres affichés est limité. Appuyez sur le bouton ci-dessous pour installer notre application et lire les chapitres suivants. (Accéder automatiquement à ce livre en ouvrant l'application) &4&

"She was framed and lost everything, becoming a despised dandy. She spent three years in prison, learning to be calm and calculating. After being released from prison, she transformed herself into a mysterious investor, secretly making plans and gradually disintegrating the family that had pushed her into the abyss. Until one night, she made everyone understand: this seemingly weak woman was actually the manipulator's palm." ===== Chapter 1 Four Years After Her Imprisonment Inside Wront Prison, the July heat hung so heavy that it was hard to breathe. Just as she let her sleeve drop to cover the glaring scar on her arm, Maia Watson -- once known as Maia Morgan -- heard a correctional officer call out, "Maia, someone from the Morgan family is here to pick you up!" Her hand froze midway through the motion. Hearing "Morgan family" again was like tasting something bitter and familiar all at once. She had once been the daughter of the Morgan family. Everything fell apart four years ago, when the police knocked on their door and announced they'd tracked down Richard Morgan and Sandra Morgan's real daughter -- Rosanna Morgan. In the blink of an eye, Maia's identity was ripped away. She was branded a fraud, a fake. Her real parents had died long ago. To keep up appearances, the Morgans made a show of acceptance. They told the world that they still saw Maia as family. But anyone who had watched them for seventeen years would know better. Richard and Sandra had always been preoccupied with business ventures. Maia had been more like a guest in their home than a daughter. Then Rosanna came back, and suddenly, their entire world revolved around her. Then came the incident with Radiant Jewels. Rosanna stole a prized treasure and pinned the blame on Maia. It was an obvious setup, but the Morgans didn't care. They believed Rosanna without question. In fact, they helped her. They made public accusations and did it with such ease that Maia never stood a chance. Radiant Jewels belonged to the Cooper Group. The Coopers weren't just powerful. In Wront, they were practically royalty. The Morgans couldn't risk offending them -- not for someone who wasn't even their real daughter. They erased Maia's name from the Morgan family, told the public that she was taken in from a struggling family called the Watsons, and sent her straight to prison. At the memory, Maia's knuckles tightened until her nails bit into her skin. She had survived four years behind bars for a crime Rosanna committed. And now, that sentence was over. She was finally getting out. Just beyond the prison gates, the crowd of reporters buzzed with restless energy. Heat rippled through the air, and impatience showed on every face. Then, at last, the massive gates creaked open. Maia walked out into the sunlight, dressed in the same plain outfit she wore the day she was locked away. The second Sandra caught sight of Maia, her face lit up like she had just spotted a long-lost child. She rushed over, surrounded by a swarm of reporters waving microphones and flashing cameras. Maia watched the entire spectacle and nearly rolled her eyes. "Maia, my dear daughter, I came to bring you home," Sandra said, her voice catching as tears shimmered in her eyes. Even a few of the reporters nearby couldn't help but murmur in sympathy at the emotional performance. Unfazed, Maia stared her down and said coldly, "You must be mistaken, Mrs. Morgan. I'm not your daughter." Sandra stiffened where she stood. She quickly recovered and painted sorrow across her face. "How could you say that, Maia? I was the one who raised you. You lived under my roof for more than ten years. I've never once stopped thinking of you as my daughter." Maia's lips twitched into a cold smirk. "Is that right? Then remind me -- four years ago, when you framed me and cast me out, didn't you call me a Watson? You let me go to prison without a second thought. I stopped being your daughter the day you erased me from your family." Framed? To top it off, they said she wasn't even a Morgan -- she was a Watson? Maia's few words hit like a bomb. Reporters traded stunned looks, then chaos broke loose as they rushed forward, shoving microphones closer, eager to catch every word. With cameras pointed her way, Sandra had no room to lash out. Her face tightened, but she forced down the anger bubbling inside. Right then, a voice sliced through the commotion. "Maia! What kind of lies are you feeding everyone? The treasure from Radiant Jewels was found right in your bag -- you were caught red-handed! How dare you claim you were framed? You spent four years behind bars, and we still dragged ourselves through this heat to pick you up. And this is how you thank us? You sound like someone spitting at the hand that once fed you!" Jarrod Morgan was the one speaking -- the oldest son of Sandra and Richard. Maia had always thought of him as a big brother. But when the truth was twisted against her, he turned on her without hesitation to defend Rosanna, even going as far as shoving her to the floor. She had landed hard. Her arm struck the sharp corner of a table, ripping her skin open and leaving behind a scar that never truly faded. That infamous jewel? Rosanna had slipped it into Maia's bag while she was washing her hands in the restroom. At the time, Maia had genuinely believed that Rosanna meant well. She had seemed warm, honest, and eager to be friends. That was why, when Rosanna offered to help, Maia handed her the bag without a second guess. The thought that someone so soft-spoken and sweet could harbor such petty cruelty had never crossed Maia's mind. The reason behind it was that she saw Maia as a threat. Afraid that Maia might become more beloved in the Morgan family, Rosanna decided to eliminate her. That was the day Maia's eyes were opened to the truth about the Morgan family. Since then, her heart had been hardened by betrayal. "She must still be upset with me. That's why she's twisting everything." Rosanna clung to Jarrod, her voice trembling as her lashes fluttered through misty eyes. "Maia, I swear I never came back to steal your place in the family. Please don't hate me for this." Tears spilled down her cheeks as her slender frame shook. Jarrod couldn't stand to see her cry. He pulled her close and said, "This isn't on you, Rosanna. Maia stole a life that was rightfully yours for seventeen years. She's the one who did wrong. If she can't admit it, then maybe more time behind bars will teach her." "That's enough!" Sandra gave him a sharp look, flicking her eyes toward the hovering press. With this many cameras rolling, she couldn't afford to lose control. Facing the press, she quickly put on a diplomatic smile. "It's been four years since Maia lived with us. She's clearly still adjusting, and I can understand her emotions. If she can acknowledge her mistakes and show some changes, she'll always be part of my family." Part of her family? Maia let out a laugh that was anything but amused. She arched a brow and looked her dead in the eye. "Mrs. Morgan, didn't you sign off on the paperwork that cut all ties between us? Is that it? You're saying you actually want me back in your family now?" Chapter 2 Her Husband Sandra's face darkened instantly. Back then, in order to cut off any connection with Maia, the Morgans had forced her to sign a severance document -- with a representative from the Cooper Group as witness, just to clear their name from any future accusations. It had been an act of desperation, not dignity. A swarm of reporters rushed in, shoving microphones toward Sandra. "Mrs. Morgan, is this true? You once said you wouldn't abandon Maia, that she was still your daughter even after reuniting with your biological child." Trying to keep her composure, Sandra mustered a smile that barely held. "That's… not true. Of course not." With a sly grin, Maia said, "So, Mrs. Morgan, do you have the nerve to call someone from the Cooper Group and find out if that severance document exists or not?" "Maia, don't go too far! The people from the Cooper Group aren't someone we can just summon at will!" Jarrod shouted, his anger flaring from the sidelines. With a smug tilt of her brow, Maia glanced his way. "So you're admitting you won't call them." Jarrod was left speechless. The image they had worked so hard to maintain was starting to fall apart, and Sandra scrambled to play the sympathy card. Her body shook with a sudden cough, loud and dramatic. Catching on quickly, Rosanna hurried to her mother's side and rubbed her back in gentle circles. "Mom, what's wrong? Are you okay?" Her gaze then shifted to Maia, filled with exaggerated grievance. "She's been worried sick ever since you were locked up. She cries every night, Maia. The doctor warned us that her health is getting worse. And if you still care -- even a little -- for everything she did for you growing up, don't make this harder. Just come back with us." Maia felt nauseated by Rosanna's pretentious act. Come back with them? Those words used to bring comfort to her. But now, they meant nothing anymore. The last thing she wanted was to get caught up with them again. There was no mistaking the resolve etched across her face. "That girl you all knew -- she died four years ago. And the Morgans were the ones who buried her." Maia said her piece, then strode through the crowd and walked away without looking back. The moment she was gone, Sandra dropped to the ground, putting on a show of sobs like her heart had just shattered. She took a dramatic, deep breath before collapsing in a faint. Panic erupted instantly as gasps and shouts filled the scene. Wasting no time, Jarrod lifted Sandra into his arms, while Rosanna trailed right behind him. The second the car doors shut and the cameras were behind them, Sandra's eyes snapped open, and she straightened up without effort. Had she not faked that collapse, everything might've unraveled beyond repair. This whole mess, in her mind, traced back to one person -- Maia. They had shown up at the prison, making a public effort to welcome her back with grace. And how did she respond? By dragging the entire Morgan name through the dirt in front of a crowd. There wasn't a single ounce of gratitude in that girl. "She's outrageous! We gave her everything and she turns on us like this!" Jarrod cursed angrily, gripping the steering wheel. The warmth in Sandra's face vanished, replaced by a sudden chill in her eyes. A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "No money. A criminal record that sticks to her like glue. She's got nothing to her name. Without us, she's done. There's no doubt Maia will return -- and when she does, I'll have more than enough ways to handle her!". Later that afternoon, Maia stood alone in front of City Hall in Wront, with some documents required for marriage registration in her handbag. There was still time before her appointment, so she leaned casually against a tree, eyes downcast, thoughts drifting far from the present. Back when she first stepped into prison four years ago, the torment seemed relentless, etched into every corner of her memory. one night, when she was nearly beaten within an inch of her life, someone had stepped in to save her. It wasn't a guard. It was a woman -- an inmate with more influence than anyone else. Her cell looked more like a private suite, and even the correctional officers stayed out of her way. Most inmates feared her and kept far out of her path. But for some reason, she had taken an interest in Maia. She offered protection -- but it came with a condition. If Maia wanted that safety, she had to accept a marriage agreement and carry out a task afterward. Back then, trapped in a nightmare with no way out, Maia had no room to refuse. Survival meant sacrifice. Without hesitation, she agreed to the deal and pledged her loyalty to the woman who'd saved her. Fulfilling that promise had become her top priority now that she was free. That meant going through with the marriage agreement she'd accepted in prison. Not far away, a stretch Rolls-Royce Phantom was parked in the shadows. "Is that the one your aunt picked for you to marry, sir?" asked Brad Curtis, Chris Cooper's special assistant. The view through the car window revealed a woman with lowered eyes and a slim frame. Dressed in a plain white shirt and low-rise jeans, she moved with ease. When she stretched, her slim waist showed for just a moment. There was a boldness in her silence. An edge of defiance that didn't ask for approval. Pretty as she was, her past carried a criminal record that couldn't be ignored. Brad couldn't understand why Zoey Cooper had pushed for this match. What could she possibly see in a woman who had served time? Even more puzzling was the fact that Chris hadn't objected. Reclining in the back seat, Chris rested his arm with easy confidence, his rolled-up sleeve showing off a well-toned forearm. His eyes, narrowed slightly, settled on the woman's exposed waist, and an amused glint danced across his face. Without a word, he shoved the car door open and stepped out. "Are you Miss Maia Watson?" Maia turned when she heard someone call her name. She stood still for a second, caught off guard. A man in a fitted black shirt stood before her, tall enough to block the sun from her face. He looked unreal. Handsome in a way that made her pause. Each feature flawless, almost sculpted. Could this really be the illegitimate son of the Cooper family Zoey had mentioned? The one with a bad reputation and a trail of reckless rumors following him? A flicker of discomfort ran through her chest. "Are you. Mr. Chris Cooper?" she asked, uncertain. He gave her a small nod. Her eyes wandered back to him, studying every detail. His clothes were simple, but something refined clung to him. That faint smile hovered on his lips, never quite touching his eyes, leaving just enough mystery to stir her curiosity. "You've been staring for a while now, Miss Watson." Chris let out a soft laugh. Snapping out of it, Maia quickly turned her head, realizing just how obvious she'd been. "My bad… Should we head inside?" she asked, trying to recover. Together, they made their way into City Hall. When they came back out, a marriage certificate rested in Chris' hand. "I'll keep my end of the bargain, Mr. Cooper. Once Zoey's request is fulfilled, I won't stick around. I'll file for divorce right after," Maia said. Feelings weren't part of their arrangement, and she wasn't delusional. Most men wouldn't sign up for a life with someone who had a prison record. Chris tilted his head, casting her a look. Her dark hair danced in the breeze, and while her face was striking, there was something clear and honest in her eyes. Instead of answering her directly, he asked, "Is my aunt doing okay in there?" Thrown off by the change in topic, Maia answered quickly, "She's healthy. Nothing bad has happened to her." After a short pause, she pressed her lips together. Truth be told, Zoey didn't just survive in prison -- she thrived. It was practically her comfort zone. "Glad to hear it." Chris didn't ask anything more. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a sleek credit card, and handed it to her. "Here. A little something to welcome you in." Maia shook her head, hands raised in protest. "That's not necessary. I've got my own money." Sure, they were now legally married, but it was still their first day meeting. And from what Zoey had shared, Chris might've had the Cooper name, but he was treated like an outsider. His standing in the family and at the Cooper Group was practically nonexistent. From what she'd heard, he held no serious job title and spent most days drifting aimlessly. She figured that he probably didn't have much saved up either. The thought of accepting anything from him made her uncomfortable. But Chris didn't waver. He took her hand, placed the card firmly in her palm, and didn't let go. His eyes locked onto hers -- cool, enigmatic, and impossible to read. "We just completed the marriage registration, which technically makes me your husband now. That gives you every right to use my money. Or is it that you're turning it down because you're not ready to admit I'm your husband?" Hearing that word -- husband -- sent a faint flush across Maia's otherwise composed features. "I'm not saying that." Maia began, trying to explain, but her voice trailed off before she could land on the right words. Without another word, she took the card and gave him a quiet, polite thank you. Seeing her relent, Chris showed a smile of approval. "So, where are you heading? I'll give you a ride." At that moment, a weight settled in Maia's chest. Her plan was to return to the Morgan family home. It wasn't the house she cared about. What mattered was the bracelet -- the last gift to her from her grandmother, Vicki Morgan. Back when Richard and Sandra treated her like an afterthought, Vicki had been the one constant. She had taught Maia everything from table manners to standing tall in a crowd. Though no blood tied them together, Vicki's love had been as real as any grandmother's. Maia knew, without doubt, that if Vicki had still been alive, she would've defended her with everything she had. That thought brought a quiet ache Maia didn't show. Still, she shook it off and gave Chris a calm smile. "There's something I need to handle, Mr. Cooper. I'll be fine on my own." "No problem. Just call if you need anything." He handed her his number, then stayed behind as she walked off. When her silhouette finally disappeared around the corner, he glanced down at the marriage certificate still in his hand. A knowing smile curved his lips. Divorce? Not happening. Nobody could guess how long he'd been waiting for this moment. Chapter 3 Returning To The Morgan Estate Again Maia stood outside Vista Villas, her finger pressing the doorbell of the Morgan estate. She had picked this time carefully -- she remembered how afternoons were usually quiet, each family member off chasing their own distractions. When the door creaked open, it was Tricia Scott, the longtime housekeeper. Her eyes flew wide at the sight. "Is that really you, Miss Morgan? I. I can't believe you're here!" The moment the words spilled out, Tricia covered her mouth with her hand, instantly regretting them. The title belonged to Rosanna now. As far as the Morgans were concerned, Maia didn't exist anymore. And if Rosanna happened to hear how Tricia had spoken to Maia, the fallout would be brutal. With a quiet, measured tone, Maia said, "I'm just here to pick up a few of my things." Then she walked in as if she'd never been gone. Just as she'd expected, the place felt empty -- eerily so. No voices, no footsteps. As she made her way toward the stairs, Tricia rushed after her in a fluster. "Miss. uh, Maia, what exactly are you looking for? I can help you search." "It's alright, Tricia. Everything I need should still be in my room. I'll just be a moment." But before she could take another step, Tricia blocked her path. Her gaze darted everywhere but Maia's face. "Well, um… about that…" A crease formed on Maia's forehead. Something didn't sit right. Her voice lost its calm edge. "Tricia, what happened?" With her shoulders sinking, Tricia finally gave in. A weary sigh escaped her. "Miss Morgan cleared everything out after you were imprisoned. And your old room -- it's not yours anymore. It's just a storage room now." Maia froze. Her eyes grew wide, disbelief settling in. "Everything?" So was the bracelet that Vicki had given her thrown away, too? A slow, regretful nod from Tricia confirmed what Maia had feared. The truth hit Maia hard, sudden and brutal, like a lightning strike. Someone like Rosanna wouldn't have had the guts to toss out her things unless Richard and Sandra were in on it too. Trembling from head to toe, Maia clenched her fists tight. That bracelet had been Vicki's last gift to her -- a symbol of love in a house that had offered her none. Anger swelled inside her, fierce and uncontrollable. She had tried to walk away from the Morgan family, to leave the past buried. But now, all that anger came roaring back. From behind, a voice she hadn't missed in the slightest cut through the room. "I knew you'd show your face again, Maia!" Maia turned to look. Jarrod was there, standing a short distance away, that same smug grin plastered across his face. Rosanna was by Sandra's side, gripping her arm as if playing the dutiful daughter for the cameras no one could see. Without saying another word, Tricia slipped out of the room, sensing the tension. Jarrod closed the space between them, towering slightly over Maia as he looked down with smug contempt. "You were really bold outside the prison this morning. What's the deal now? Sneaking back in like this? Let me guess. With a record like yours, no one's gonna hire you. So you came crawling back. We're the only ones still willing to throw you a scrap, aren't we?" With a lifted brow and a voice filled with sarcasm, he said, "Here's a thought -- admit everything now. Post a public apology to the Morgan family, and maybe we'll let you stick around out of pity. Sound fair?" Jarrod had been simmering with rage ever since that morning. That stunt Maia pulled with the press had bruised the Morgan name, and while he hadn't lashed out then, he was done holding it in. Now that she had walked straight into their home, he planned to crush whatever defiance she still had left from prison. Putting Maia in her place felt long overdue, and now that she had returned to the house, Jarrod believed it was his right to set her straight. An apology, a fresh start, and keeping her distance from Rosanna -- that was all it would take for him to consider letting Maia back into the family. The cost of keeping her around barely made a dent in the Morgan finances. Feeding her and offering shelter was no different from tossing away loose change. Still, even freeloaders usually had the sense to be polite. A bit of humility wasn't too much to expect. But Maia acted like the world owed her a debt. That attitude made his blood boil. When Maia stepped forward, Jarrod lifted a brow and folded his arms, fully expecting her to stop and beg for forgiveness. Instead, she walked right past him without a single glance, heading straight toward Rosanna. His smugness vanished in an instant. Then again, Rosanna was the one Maia had insulted publicly. Maybe this was her way of making things right. But what came out of Maia's mouth next shattered that assumption. "Where are my things, Rosanna?" Rosanna stiffened on the spot. A flicker of surprise passed through her eyes before she painted on a look of pure innocence. "What things? Maia, I have no idea what you're going on about." A cold fire lit up Maia's eyes, the kind that didn't just glare -- it cut. Her stare locked onto Rosanna like a blade, and her tone came out flat, stripped of emotion. "This is the last time I'll ask. Where did you put everything that was in my room?" Instantly, Rosanna's face crumpled into a pitiful expression, and tears spilled down her cheeks. "I didn't mean anything by it, Maia. I just… I thought they'd wear out if I left them there too long. I figured I'd replace them once you came back, so I--" Before she could finish, a loud slap cracked through the room, cutting the air like lightning. Chapter 4 It Ends Here Rosanna's cheek flared red with a vivid mark where Maia's hand had struck. Frozen in disbelief, she barely registered Maia's voice cutting through the moment like a whip. "Who gave you the right to go through my things?" Jarrod's expression twisted in shock, his eyes darkening with fury. In a rush, he moved in front of Rosanna, shielding her with his body. One look at her tear-streaked face, swollen from the rising bruise on her cheek, and something snapped inside him. His hands curled into fists. Maia striking Rosanna was enough to make his blood boil. It was clear she had no respect for him whatsoever. If she wouldn't listen, he'd make her. Today, she'd pay for that disrespect. He raised his hand, ready to strike -- but before it could fall, Maia's hand shot up and caught his wrist, stopping him cold. With one swift motion, she shoved him hard. Jarrod stumbled backward, nearly losing his balance. He stared, stunned, at the woman standing before him. The person he saw now felt like a stranger. The Maia he remembered had always trailed after him when he occasionally visited home, like a little shadow. But that version of her no longer existed. Four years behind bars had carved out someone sharper, someone who stood on her own. Where had this strength come from? He couldn't say. Back in her early days in prison, Maia faced constant bullying and abuse -- fresh bruises forming before the old ones even had a chance to fade. Still, she never cried for help. Never lowered her head. One day, pushed too far, she snapped. With pure rage, she sank her teeth into the prison's top dog and wrestled her to the floor. Blow after blow landed on her back, but Maia never let go. Over time, and with Zoey's relentless training, Maia sharpened her instincts and became a fighter no one dared to provoke. Eventually, the threats faded. She'd earned both her place and their fear. Jarrod stayed put, placing himself between Maia and Rosanna, his glare sharp and unwavering. "Maia, you've completely lost it! We're talking about some old clothes and random junk -- nothing worth a fight! And you hit Rosanna over that? Apologize. Now!" Maia's sudden outburst caught Sandra off guard. After a short pause, she wrapped Rosanna in her arms, worry etched across her face. She glared furiously at Maia as she said, "I'm the one who gave permission to throw out your things! Rosanna only meant well. She was going to buy everything back -- new and fresh -- so you wouldn't be haunted by the past! But you? You didn't just reject that. You hit her! After everything, I never thought you'd sink this low. Maia, you've truly disappointed me!" Disappointed? A cold laugh slipped from Maia's lips. That same line had been used four years ago -- right after they framed her. They'd shielded Rosanna back then too. And Maia? She'd been the target. If anyone deserved to feel disappointed, it was Maia. She had already buried every last bit of hope she once held for the Morgan family. Her eyes settled on Sandra -- the woman she used to call "Mom." There was a time Maia loved and respected Sandra, even if Sandra rarely showed she cared. Now, that love twisted into something sharp in her chest. "You've always known I can't stand people touching my belongings," Maia said, her voice tight with restraint. "And still, you let her throw them out. Did you even realize that Vicki's bracelet was among them?" Sandra had always been busy and seldom paid attention to Maia's life, but this particular habit of Maia's was something she knew clearly. But when it came to Rosanna, Sandra's judgment blurred. Years of guilt over being absent in Rosanna's life made her overcompensate. And when Rosanna wanted something, Sandra never said no. For more than ten years, Maia had lived the life that should've been Rosanna's -- or so Sandra believed. So what harm was there in throwing out a few of her things? To Sandra, even if Rosanna had been the one who stole the treasure from Radiant Jewels, she still thought that Maia should've taken the blame. That thought alone washed away any lingering guilt Sandra had ever felt toward her. "Let me remind you of your place, Maia. You're not one of us. You were only raised by us -- nothing more. That keepsake from Vicki? It was always meant for a true Morgan. Even if it were still around, Rosanna would have every right to it. Who do you think you are to lay claim to it? If she wanted to burn it, that would still be her right." A stabbing pain twisted in Maia's chest. She could sever ties with every Morgan in that house -- but not with Vicki. That woman had loved her, protected her, and made her feel like she belonged. And now Maia had failed to guard the one thing that still connected them. The ache in her heart deepened, sharp and unrelenting. From the sidelines, Jarrod let out a cruel laugh. "So that's why you flipped out over some garbage. Let me guess -- you're broke, and you came crawling back here to pawn whatever you could find!" Though he had once seen the bracelet, it looked cheap to him. He never imagined that it held any real value. With a sneer, he pulled a few bills from his wallet and tossed them at her feet. "This enough for your little trinket? Take the rest -- it's on me. Consider it charity." Maia's eyes burned with anger, rimmed red as she stared down the people she once called family. There had been a time she believed she owed them gratitude. After all, they'd raised her for seventeen years. That belief had led her to help them through their darkest years, without hesitation. But now? That illusion had shattered. What was taken from her -- she would get back. And the Morgans? They had chosen cruelty. It was time they learned that she didn't forgive and forget. Maia let her anger subside. She took the cash Jarrod threw and smiled. Without hesitation, she shredded the money into pieces and threw them straight at his face. "Keep your filthy money. I'd rather have nothing than take anything from you." With that, she turned and walked straight out of the villa, not sparing anyone a second glance. Fury twisted Jarrod's face as he clenched his jaw, burning with humiliation. His finger jabbed toward Maia's back as she disappeared through the doorway. "You'll regret this, you ungrateful bitch! Without us, you're nothing! You'll come crawling back -- I'll make sure of it!" Sandra's face flushed red with anger, her voice rising. "We picked you up from prison this morning, Maia! That was out of the goodness of our hearts! No one forced you to walk away -- you did that yourself. Don't bother returning once you leave. You made your choice. It ends here!" A cold, humorless laugh escaped Maia's lips. Even now, Sandra clung to the story that made her look like the victim. Her audacity was almost laughable. Turning slowly on her heel, Maia leveled the family with a chilling stare. "Drop the act. You're not fooling anyone. You called the press yourselves. Was that supposed to be a warm welcome? Or just a performance to make yourselves look like saints in front of the cameras? You know exactly what you were doing." And with that, she walked away, never once turning back. Behind her, the illusion shattered, leaving the Morgans standing stiff and speechless. Their masks had cracked wide open. Rosanna buried her face in Sandra's shoulder, voice trembling with tears. "This is all my fault. we could've been a real family." Instead of reflecting, Jarrod and Sandra focused on comforting Rosanna, acting like Maia didn't exist. Chapter 5 I Just Wanted To Make Sure You Were Alright Not a minute after stepping out of the Morgan estate, Maia pulled out her phone and made a single call. "Cut off all dealings with the Morgan family. Effective immediately." The call ended, and she slid the phone back into her coat pocket, turning around to give the house behind her one last, lingering look. That place no longer felt familiar. It might as well have belonged to a different lifetime. Everything that tied her to the Morgans was over. From here on, there would be no turning back. Drawing in a slow breath, Maia gathered herself. But just as she turned to walk away, she collided hard into a solid figure. The sudden impact made her stumble, but before she could fall, a hand reached out and caught her firmly by the arm. "Maia?" a deep voice asked. Her head tilted up, and for a rare moment, emotion flickered across her usually unreadable gaze. She hadn't thought her heart could still react like that. Yet somehow, it skipped more than just a beat. Of all people, it was Vince Ward standing in front of her -- the son of Wront's powerful Ward family, her ex-fiancé. Out of instinct, she yanked her arm free and put a few paces of space between them. Vince's brows tightened ever so slightly as he took in her cold, unreadable face. The woman standing there hardly resembled the bright, cheerful girl from the Morgan family Maia used to be. "You. came back," he said softly, choosing his words with care. He didn't say "got out" -- perhaps to spare her dignity -- but the gesture only made her chest tighten with disdain. There had been a time when she loved him out loud, without shame. She had spoiled him, learned to cook just to see him smile, done everything to win his affection. But he had never given her more than silence. He never once claimed her in public, never called her his. Still, she held a firm belief, convinced that kindness would melt the wall he kept so firmly built. And yet, on the day her world collapsed -- when she was framed and wrongly accused -- he stood right there. But he had stood by Rosanna's side, and the disgust and warning in his eyes matched those of the Morgans perfectly. Not a single word of defense had come from Vince when she needed it most. Years ago, it was Rosanna's grandfather who had pulled Vince's father from the wreckage of an accident. That one act of heroism had sealed a marriage promise between two families. Back then, the Morgan family's daughter had been Maia. Now, the daughter was Rosanna. Naturally, the arrangement had fallen onto Rosanna. So Vince siding with Rosanna wasn't surprising -- it was expected. But even now, whenever Maia thought back on it, a soft ache tugged at her heart. She tucked that pain away behind a polite smile, lifting her chin. "You must be here for Rosanna, Mr. Ward. I hear the engagement's coming up. Congratulations." She used to call him "Vince" with warmth, and now, being addressed so formally made him realize that the gap between them had been wider. Something twisted in Vince's chest, sudden and sharp. He stared at her, his voice rough around the edges. "Four years, Maia. and that's all you've got to say?" Back then, Maia would talk his ear off whenever she was near. Now, all he felt from her was a chill and a wall he couldn't get past. Her silence made his frown deepen, the quiet stretching too long. After a beat, he nodded toward the Morgan family villa behind her. "I heard your family came to pick you up today. Why are you already walking away?" Maia replied, "That's none of your business." Though her tone was cool, her eyes -- bright and guarded -- flickered with something unspoken. Those words struck Vince harder than he expected. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright." A bitter laugh escaped Maia's lips. "Seems like your concern's pointed in the wrong direction, Mr. Ward. Shouldn't it be aimed at your girlfriend? You're nearly engaged, aren't you? Imagine Rosanna catching you circling around me -- how do you think she'd take that? So, is the plan now to turn your back on the real Morgan daughter just to chase after someone like me -- a woman branded by a criminal past?" No words followed from Vince. There was just silence -- the same kind that had cut through her four years ago. Maia let out a sharp, humorless snort. "Why don't you do us both a favor and stay out of my sight, Mr. Ward?" But Vince's hand shot out, grabbing her wrist before she could take another step. He held on, refusing to let go. His voice dropped to a hush, rough with emotion. His eyes were turning red. "Maia, it's true. Rosanna and I are getting engaged. But things don't have to be any different -- if you're willing, we could still go back to the way things were." &11&

Gabriela learned her boyfriend had been two-timing her and writing her off as a brainless bi**o, so she drowned her heartache in reckless adventure. One sultry night she tumbled into b*d with a stranger, then slunk away at dawn, convinced she'd succumbed to a notorious playboy, Brenden. She prayed she'd never see him again. Yet the man beneath those sheets was actually Wesley, the decisive, ice-cool CEO. Without a word, she retreated to her room and a hot shower washed away some of her tension. She braced herself for a sleepless night, instead, exhaustion took over and she drifted off almost instantly. When morning came, Gabriela determined to reclaim her usual carefree self. At the office, she barely had time to set down her bag before Aubrey appeared at her side. "Did you hear the news? Mr. Saunders is getting transferred to one of the branch offices." Gabriela's spirits soared. "Wait, what happened?" Aubrey leaned in. "Everybody knows he's connected to Mr. Moss. Naturally, only Mr. Moss could have arranged for his transfer." She added, barely able to contain her smirk, "He must've crossed the line with Mr. Moss." He deserved that for antagonizing Wesley. But Gabriela's happiness faded as quickly as it arrived. She abruptly remembered she'd left some things with Brenden. She turned to Aubrey, her voice tense. "Do you know when Mr. Saunders is leaving?" She had to retrieve her things from him before Brenden disappeared from headquarters for good. "I heard he's already clearing out his office," Aubrey murmured, glancing around warily. Gabriela rattled off a quick excuse, brushed past Aubrey, and ducked out of sight. She fished out her phone to send a message to Brenden. "You're really invested in him, aren't you?" The sudden, icy remark sliced through the air behind her. Gabriela's grip faltered; her phone nearly slipped from her hands. She turned around, heart pounding, to find Wesley standing just inside the doorway. What on earth was he doing in the sales department? &11&

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&

I was dying at the banquet, coughing up black blood while the pack celebrated my step-sister Lydia's promotion. Across the room, Caleb, the Alpha and my Fated Mate, didn't look concerned. He looked annoyed. "Stop it, Elena," his voice boomed in my head. "Don't ruin this night with your attention-seeking lies." I begged him, telling him it was poison, but he just ordered me to leave his Pack House so I wouldn't dirty the floor. Heartbroken, I publicly demanded the Severing Ceremony to break our bond and left to die alone in a cheap motel. Only after I took my last breath did the truth come out. I sent Caleb the medical records proving Lydia had been poisoning my tea with wolfsbane for ten years. He went mad with grief, realizing he had protected the murderer and rejected his true mate. He tortured Lydia, but his regret couldn't bring me back. Or so he thought. In the afterlife, the Moon Goddess showed me my reflection. I wasn't a wolfless weakling. I was a White Wolf, the rarest and most powerful of all, suppressed by poison. "You can stay here in peace," the Goddess said. "Or you can go back." I looked at the life they stole from me. I looked at the power I never got to use. "I want to go back," I said. "Not for his love. But for revenge." I opened my eyes, and for the first time in my life, my wolf roared. Chapter 1 Elena POV: The chandelier above the banquet hall spun dizzily, a kaleidoscope of crystal and light that mocked the darkness spreading through my veins. *The air was choked with the smell of roasted venison, designer perfume, and the heavy, musk-laden pheromones of shifting wolves.* To anyone else, this was the celebration of the year-Lydia, the pack's darling, had just been promoted to Elite Warrior. To me, it felt like a funeral. I coughed, pressing a napkin to my lips. When I pulled it away, the white linen was stained with black flecks. It wasn't just blood. It was the rot. "You don't have much time, Elena," the Pack Doctor whispered, leaning in close under the guise of checking my pulse. His eyes were cold, "professional, and entirely bought." He was on my father's payroll, after all. "The wolfsbane has calcified in your marrow. Your Inner Wolf. I can't hear her anymore. She's likely already gone." My Inner Wolf. The spirit that was supposed to guide me, protect me, and allow me to Shift. She had been silent for years, suppressed by the 'medicine' my step-sister Lydia ensured I took for my 'condition.' I looked across the room. There he was. Caleb. He stood tall, his shoulders broad in a tailored tuxedo that couldn't hide the lethal power of the Alpha beast beneath his skin. He was laughing at something Lydia said, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back. The sight tore through me sharper than any blade. Caleb was the Alpha of the Black Moon Pack. He was the most powerful wolf in the region. And he was my Fated Mate. The Moon Goddess had paired us, soul to soul. But he didn't want a broken, wolfless Omega. He wanted a warrior like Lydia. I closed my eyes and reached out with my mind, tapping into the Mind-Link. It was the telepathic web that connected every member of the pack, a hum of voices I usually blocked out. I focused solely on him. "Caleb. please," I projected, my mental voice trembling. "I need help. It hurts. I think I'm dying." Across the room, Caleb stiffened. His laughter cut off. He turned, his eyes locking onto me. *There was a flicker of something-concern? instinct?-before it was smothered by annoyance.* "Stop it, Elena," his voice boomed in my head, cold and hard as granite. "Don't ruin this night with your attention-seeking lies." "It's not a lie," I pleaded, the pain in my chest spiking as the bond between us vibrated with his rejection. "The doctor said-" "I said silence!" The mental command slammed into me. He didn't just speak; he used the Alpha's Authority. It was a psychic weight that forced my head down, crushing my will. But the physical pain in my lungs was stronger. I couldn't hold it back. I bent over, hacking violently. A spray of dark blood hit the pristine white tablecloth, splattering onto the floor. The music stopped. The chatter died. Caleb was there in a second. Not to help, but to loom over me like a thunderhead. "Did you drink the wine?" he snarled, his voice echoing in the silent hall. "You know your weak human body can't handle alcohol. Look at this mess." "It's. poison," I wheezed, looking up at him. "Caleb, look at the blood. It's black." "It's red wine, *you drama queen*," he spat. "Oh no, Elena!" Lydia appeared at his side, her face a mask of perfect, worried innocence. She grabbed Caleb's arm. "She's doing it again, Caleb. She's jealous because I got the promotion. She always gets sick when I succeed." "Get her out of here," my mother, Sarah, growled through the Mind-Link. Her voice was a jagged knife in my brain. "Get up and leave before I drag you out by your hair. You're embarrassing the family." I looked at Caleb. My mate. The man who was supposed to cherish me above all others. He looked at the blood on the floor, then at his polished shoes, which had a single drop on the toe. Disgust. That was all I saw. "If you're going to die, Elena," Caleb said, his voice low and cruel, "do it somewhere else. Don't dirty my Pack House." Something inside me snapped. It wasn't a bone. It was the last thread of hope I had been clinging to since I was eighteen. The pain didn't stop, but the fear vanished. It was replaced by a cold, hollow numbness. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, smearing the black toxin across my pale skin. I stood up. My legs shook, but I locked my knees. "You're right, Alpha," I said aloud. My voice was raspy, but it carried. "I won't dirty your house anymore." I turned my gaze to the High Elder, who sat at the head table, watching the scene with a frown. "Elder," I said. "I want the Severing." Gasps rippled through the room. The Severing Ceremony was an ancient, agonizing ritual to forcefully break a Mate Bond. It was rarely done, and usually only when one mate had committed a grave crime. Caleb's eyes widened, then narrowed into slits. He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my bruise-riddled flesh. "You think you can threaten me?" he hissed. "You think this little stunt will make me care? You're bluffing." "I am not bluffing," I whispered. "I am leaving." "Then go!" Caleb roared. He shoved me away. I stumbled back, losing my footing on the slick floor. My head cracked against the marble. "Get out!" he used the Alpha Voice. "Roll!" My body obeyed before my mind could. I scrambled backward, humiliated, broken, while Lydia smirked behind his shoulder. I stood up, swaying. I didn't look at him. I looked at the exit. My Inner Wolf let out one final, mournful whimper, a sound of absolute despair, and then she went silent. This time, I knew she wasn't just sleeping. She was gone. Chapter 2 Elena POV: The pain of the Severing Ceremony was not physical. It was spiritual amputation. I sat in the center of the Elder's study, surrounded by burning sage and salt circles. The Elder chanted in the old tongue, his voice a low drone that vibrated against my ribs. Every word he spoke felt like a serrated hook digging into my chest, finding the golden thread that connected my soul to Caleb's, and pulling. "Do you, Elena of the Black Moon Pack, accept the eternal void that comes with severing the Fated Bond?" the Elder asked, his eyes sad. "I do," I said. I didn't hesitate. The bond was already a noose; I was just cutting the rope. "So be it." The Elder brought a silver ceremonial knife down, slicing the air between us. A scream tore from my throat. It felt like my heart had been ripped out of my chest cavity without anesthesia. I curled into a ball on the rug, gasping, clawing at the floorboards. The connection-that constant, background hum of Caleb's presence, his emotions, his location-vanished. Silence. Absolute, terrifying silence. I lay there for a long time until the tremors stopped. When I stood up, I felt lighter. And emptier. I walked back to my room. It wasn't really a room anymore. It used to be the Luna Suite, destined for Caleb's mate. But after I failed to shift at eighteen, Lydia had gradually taken it over. Now, it was a glorified storage closet filled with Lydia's old trophies, winter coats, and boxes. My cot was shoved in the corner. I sat on the thin mattress and pulled out a small wooden box from under the bed. Inside was a photo of me at eighteen, smiling, hopeful, waiting for my wolf to come. That was before the sickness. Before the 'vitamins' Lydia gave me. My phone buzzed on the crate I used as a nightstand. "Hello?" I answered. "Ms. Elena? This is Moonlight Crypts," a professional voice said. "We're calling about your reservation. The payment for the plot was declined." I closed my eyes. Even in death, I was broke. My parents had cut off my allowance years ago. "I. I see. Just cancel it," I said softly. "I'll figure something else out." "Are you sure? The body disposal fee will still apply if-" The door to my room banged open. Caleb stood there, chest heaving. He looked wild. His tie was undone, his hair messy. He was breathing hard, inhaling deeply, his nostrils flaring. "Where is it?" he demanded. "Where is what?" I asked, not bothering to stand. "The smell! The jasmine!" He took a step forward, looking around the cramped, dusty room as if searching for an intruder. *"It just. stopped. Why can't I smell you?"* The scent. The unique olfactory signature of a mate. Now that the bond was severed, to him, I would smell like nothing more than a regular wolf. Or in my case, a sickly human. "I told you, Caleb," I said, my voice flat. "I severed the bond." He froze. He stared at me, processing the words. *His expression wasn't just anger anymore; there was a flicker of genuine confusion, like a man who stepped off a curb and found no ground beneath him.* Then, his eyes fell on the phone in my hand. He must have heard the tail end of the conversation. "Who were you talking to?" he barked. "A funeral home," I answered honestly. His face twisted in rage. *He snatched the phone from my hand and hurled it against the wall.* It shattered. "Stop it!" he yelled. The walls shook. "Stop trying to manipulate me with this suicide garbage! You think buying a grave plot will make me pity you? It makes me hate you more!" He grabbed my shoulders and hauled me up. "You are cursing this Pack with your obsession with death. You are the Alpha's Mate, and you live in a closet, planning your own funeral like a martyr." "I am not your mate," I said, meeting his furious golden eyes. "Not anymore." "You will always be what I say you are!" He used the Alpha Voice again. "Kneel!" My knees hit the floor hard. The command bypassed my brain and controlled my muscles directly. I looked up at him from the ground. He looked powerful, beautiful, and utterly monstrous. "Do you remember, Caleb?" I asked softly. "When we were eighteen. You swore to the Moon Goddess you would protect me." He sneered, looking down his nose at me. "The Moon Goddess makes mistakes. She paired a lion with a mouse. You aren't fit to be Luna. You aren't even fit to be a wolf." His words should have hurt. But the part of me that could be hurt by him was dead. "You're right," I said. "I'm not Luna." He scoffed and turned around, storming out of the room. He slammed the door so hard dust rained down from the ceiling. I stayed on the floor for a moment. Then, I crawled over to my broken phone. The screen was cracked, but it still worked. I opened my email draft. It was a scheduled message, set to send in forty-eight hours. Attached were my medical records, the logs of the 'medicine' Lydia gave me, and a recording I had made of my parents discussing how ashamed they were of me. I added one line to the body of the email: *Congratulations, Caleb. You're free.* Chapter 3 Elena POV: I woke up to the sound of birds chirping, a cruel contrast to the fact that I had roughly two days left to live. The poison was moving faster now. I could feel my kidneys shutting down, a dull, throbbing ache in my lower back. I had barely sat up when my father, John, burst into the room. "Get up!" he roared. I flinched. "Father?" "Don't call me that. You embarrassed us last night. Leaving the banquet? Making a scene with the Elder?" He paced the small room, kicking a box of Lydia's old shoes. "Lydia has been crying all morning because she feels responsible for your 'moods.'" "She's crying?" I asked dryly. "That must be terrible for her." "Watch your tone," he warned. "You are going to go downstairs, and you are going to apologize to your sister. And then you are going to help her prepare the floral arrangements for the ceremony tonight." I didn't have the energy to fight. I pulled on a loose sweater to hide the bruises on my arms and followed him downstairs. The living room was filled with flowers. White lilies, roses, and. Moon Flowers. Lydia sat on the sofa, dabbing at dry eyes with a silk handkerchief. When she saw me, she brightened. "Elena! Oh, I'm so glad you're here." She stood up and grabbed a bundle of the Moon Flowers. They were beautiful, glowing with a faint pearlescent light, but their pollen was potent. "I need you to weave these into a crown for me." I stared at the flowers. "Lydia, you told the whole pack you were deadly allergic to Moon Flowers three years ago. You said I tried to poison you with them." That lie had cost me three lashes from the pack enforcer. Lydia's smile didn't waver. She leaned in close, her voice a whisper only I could hear. "I know. But Caleb isn't here right now to fact-check, is he? And you're going to hold them." "No," I said, stepping back. "What is going on here?" Caleb's voice boomed from the entryway. He had just come in from a morning run, shirtless, glistening with sweat. "Caleb!" Lydia gasped. "I was just trying to bond with Elena. I asked her to help me with the flowers, but she refuses. She says she hopes I choke on them." "I didn't say that," I said calmly. "She's lying!" Lydia shrieked. Then, she did something insane. She grabbed my hand and forcibly shoved the bouquet of Moon Flowers into it. In the struggle, she deftly brushed her own neck. I saw a flash of powder on her fingertips-itching powder mixed with a mild irritant. "Ah!" Lydia screamed, dropping to the floor. She clawed at her throat. Instantly, red welts began to rise on her skin. "My throat! She rubbed the pollen on me! Caleb, help!" My parents rushed in from the kitchen. "What did you do, you monster?" my mother screamed. Caleb didn't ask questions. He didn't look for logic. He saw his 'true' choice of mate on the floor, gasping for air, and me standing there holding the flowers. He moved faster than human eyes could follow. *He didn't punch me, but he shoved me aside with the careless force of an Alpha clearing debris.* *I hit the wall hard.* The impact knocked the wind out of me. I slid down to the floor, gasping, my vision blurring. My ribs-already brittle from the poison-*groaned under the pressure.* "You dare?" Caleb roared, his eyes flashing the bright amber of his wolf. "You dare hurt her in my presence?" He scooped Lydia up in his arms. She buried her face in his chest, sobbing loudly, but over his muscular arm, her eyes met mine. She winked. It was a look of pure malice. A victory lap. "Get her out of my sight," Caleb growled to my father, nodding at me. "Before I kill her myself." I lay on the floor, unable to breathe, watching the man I loved cradle the woman who was murdering me. "Don't worry," I whispered, though none of them heard me. "I'll be out of your sight soon enough." Chapter 4 Caleb POV: The rage was a living thing inside me. It clawed at my chest, demanding blood. Seeing Lydia on the floor, gasping, her skin red and angry, triggered every protective instinct my Alpha blood possessed. But beneath the rage, there was something else. A nagging, hollow ache. When I had shoved Elena, when I felt her frail body hit the wall, a jolt of agonizing static had shot through my nerves. It felt wrong. Physically wrong. Like hitting myself. *I looked at my hand, flexing the fingers. Why did she feel so. breakable?* I looked down at Lydia, who was now breathing easier after my mother applied a cooling salve. "Is she gone?" Lydia whimpered. "Not yet," I said. I stood up and turned to where Elena was trying to push herself up from the floor. She looked like a ghost. Her skin was translucent, her eyes sunken. She held her side, and I could hear the wet rattle in her breath. Why didn't she heal? Even an Omega should heal a bruised rib in an hour. She had been 'sick' for years, but today. she looked like a corpse walking. "Caleb," she wheezed. "Silence," I commanded. *But my voice lacked its usual thunder. It was tired.* I couldn't have her here. Her presence was poison to the pack. She attacked Lydia. She disrupted the banquet. She was mentally unstable. *Seeing her like this. it made me feel like a failure. And I hated feeling like a failure.* I had to do what an Alpha must do. *Cut the rotting limb to save the tree.* "Elena," I said, my voice echoing with the full weight of the Pack Law. "I, Caleb, Alpha of the Black Moon Pack, hereby banish you." The room went silent. Banishment for a lone, weak wolf was a death sentence. Rogues were hunted. They had no territory, no protection. Elena didn't cry. She didn't beg. She just nodded slowly, as if she had expected this. "You are no longer Pack," I continued, the ancient magic of the words severing the final mystical ties that bound her to the land. "Leave now. If you are found within our borders by sundown, you will be treated as a hostile intruder." "Understood," she said. She walked past me. She didn't look at me. She didn't look at her parents, who stood by the stairs with their arms crossed, looking relieved. She walked out the front door. A sudden, irrational panic seized me. *Stop her,* my wolf growled in the back of my mind. *Mate. Mate leaving.* *She is not our mate,* I argued back, *clinching my fists.* *She severed the bond. She is a threat to Lydia.* I followed her to the porch. I needed to see her leave. I needed to be sure. Elena walked down the long driveway. She reached the stone pillars that marked the boundary of the pack lands. She stopped. She turned around. For a second, I thought she would apologize. Instead, she looked up at the sky. "I swear by the Moon," she said, her voice carrying on the wind. "I will never look back. And for the sin of driving away your true Luna, may you find what you are looking for, and realize it is ash." She stepped over the line. *Snap.* I felt it physically. It wasn't the bond-that was already gone. It was the Pack Link. Her light in the mental web winked out completely. My knees buckled. I grabbed the porch railing to steady myself. My chest felt like it had been scooped out with a spoon. "Caleb?" Lydia called from inside. "My throat hurts again." I gritted my teeth, pushing down the overwhelming sense of loss. "I'm coming, Lydia." I turned my back on the forest. But my hand, gripping the railing, squeezed until the wood splintered. Chapter 5 Elena POV: The motel was a rat trap on the edge of the human town, ten miles from the pack border. The neon sign buzzed with an annoying *fzzzt-pop* sound. It was the kind of place Rogues went to die. Fitting. I lay on the lumpy mattress, staring at the water-stained ceiling. It was night now. The wolfsbane was no longer just hurting; it was dissolving me. My bones felt like they were made of molten glass. I reached under the bed and pulled out a bowl of soup I had bought earlier. I couldn't keep it down, but the warmth on my hands helped. The door creaked. I froze. I hadn't locked it? No, I had. The lock had been picked. Lydia stepped into the room. She wasn't wearing her 'victim' face now. She was dressed in black leather, looking every bit the warrior she claimed to be. She closed the door softly behind her. "You're hard to track without a scent," she said, wrinkling her nose at the smell of mold. "But I figured you wouldn't get far." "Here to finish the job?" I whispered. I tried to sit up, but my arms gave out. *I carefully slid my hand under the pillow, tapping the screen of my phone.* Lydia laughed. It was a cold, ugly sound. "Oh, Elena. The job is already done. You're practically decomposing." She walked over to the bedside table and picked up my bottle of water. She unscrewed the cap and poured a small vial of clear liquid into it. "Concentrated silver nitrate," she explained casually. "Just to speed things up. I can't have you lingering as a Rogue. What if you found a cure? What if you came back?" "Why?" I asked, *forcing my voice to sound weaker than it was. I needed her to gloat.* "I gave you everything. You have the Alpha. You have the rank." "Because as long as you breathe, his wolf knows," she hissed, her face twisting into a snarl. "Even with the bond severed, he looks for you. I see it in his eyes. He hesitates." She grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked my head back. I gasped, tears leaking from my eyes. "You were always so clever, Lydia," I wheezed. "Even the tea. nobody ever suspected the tea." "Exactly," she smirked, leaning in close. "Wolfsbane in your morning brew for ten years. Ten years! And you just kept surviving. You stubborn bitch." "You. you admit it," I choked out. "Who am I admitting it to? A corpse?" She shoved my head back onto the pillow. "Nobody cares, Elena. Mom and Dad know I'm ambitious. They prefer a winner. And Caleb? Caleb is so blinded by my performance he'd thank me for putting you out of your misery." She kicked me in the ribs-the same ones Caleb had cracked earlier. I screamed, curling into a ball. "Die quietly," she said. "I have a wedding to plan." She turned and walked out, leaving the door slightly ajar. I lay there, blood bubbling on my lips. The pain was blinding, encompassing my entire world. But I smiled. With a trembling hand, I reached under the pillow. I pulled out my phone. The screen was glowing. The voice recorder app was running. *Stop Recording.* *Save File.* I didn't have the strength to stand. I didn't have the strength to fight. But I had enough strength for one last click. I opened the email draft I had prepared. I attached the new audio file. *Recipients: Alpha Caleb, Beta John, The High Elder, Pack Council.* I pressed *Send*. The little 'sending' bar moved across the screen. It felt agonizingly slow. *Sent.* I dropped the phone. It clattered to the floor. The darkness was closing in now. Real darkness. Not just the night. "Checkmate, Lydia," I whispered. Then, the pain finally stopped. &1&

What began as a fleeting a**air led to him keeping her close. Still, she could only watch as he built relationships with other women. Accepting he would never marry her, she agreed to her first love's marriage proposal. But on her wedding day, he, the president of a nation, knelt before everyone and begged her not to marry. ===== "Don't make a sound, and I won't hurt you. Blink if you understand." The voice rolled out from the back seat--low, smooth, and commanding. The calmness in his words clashed with the intensity of his action, the barrel of his g*n was locked on the back of her skull. One wrong move, and she knew it'd be over. A shiver crept down Roselyn White's spine. She blinked, giving in. She had just wrapped up her first Ub*r trip for the night when a stranger forced his way in and hijacked her ride home. Paralyzed with fear, Roselyn sat motionless. Just a short distance away, several men in black suits advanced with drawn w*apons, their expressions fierce, scanning the area like hunters closing in on prey. "He's out alone today. This is our best shot to as**ssinate him. Besides, he's inhaled a high dose of that potent ap**odisiac, and it's about to take effect. He can't have gone far. If we don't find Nathan Lawson, the boss will make us disappear down in Crocodile Bay." As the footsteps of the group gradually faded, Roselyn glanced up at the rearview mirror. The man in the back seat had an unusual flush on his face. He was clearly Nathan--the target they were after. His name sounded familiar to her. She felt like she had heard it somewhere before. "Don't try anything funny. Start the car," Nathan said, as if reading Roselyn's thoughts. His thumb disengaged the safety, and his gaze turned sharp. Roselyn stayed stiff, her pulse racing. The g*n alone was reason enough to stay cautious. "Look, I can give you some money instead, sir. You could book another ride, okay? My grandpa's in the ICU, and I'm just trying to make enough to help him. I've been juggling two jobs to stay afloat--and now, here you are with a g*n to my head. Why is this happening to me?" Her eyes welled as she clutched at whatever shred of mercy he might still have. Nathan sat slumped in the back, his breath un**en, his body burning from within. The ap**odisiac he'd been dr**ged with was tearing through his system, blurring his grip on reality. He caught the tremor in her voice--genuine and worn. He hadn't planned to endanger anyone tonight. It had just been his mentor's birthday party, no guards, no entourage--and now, here he was, backed into a corner with no choice but to involve a stranger. "Take me here. Fast." he muttered, barely holding it together as he handed her the destination. Roselyn thought to resist, but the steel of the g*n pressed against her skin ended that quickly. Her legs trembled beneath her, but with the danger thick in the air, she quickly punched in the address and pulled the car out of the underground lot, Nathan g**ping in the back seat. After months on the road, Roselyn knew the city's hotspots like the back of her hand. But the destination on her screen was unfamiliar, far outside her usual route. Even the GPS marked it with a star--odd. There wasn't time to dwell on it. The car followed the signal into a dense patch of forest. When she finally parked, she glanced back. "Sir, is this the place?" Nathan slouched against the seat, still clutching the w**pon like his life depended on it. He didn't answer. With a tired sigh, she unlatched her seatbelt, stepped out, and opened the rear door. As she leaned in, fingers clamped around her wrist. She lost her footing and fell forward, landing right on top of Nathan. An intense heat surged from his body--hot enough to feel like it might burn right through her skin. "You should at least pay the fare," she said shakily, trying to shove him off. Her cool palm brushed against his blazing ch*st. Nathan's composure had been hanging on by a thread. That one touch snapped it clean. She wasn't oblivious. When his hand found her chin, the fire in his eyes--r*w and h*ngry--told her exactly what he wanted. Inside the tight, shadowy back seat, danger hung heavy, building slowly as the night breeze stirred outside. Chapter 2 Mistaken For A Thief Roselyn twisted her wrist, trying to break free, but before she could even brush the door handle, Nathan yanked her into his arms. With a sharp pivot, he shoved her back against the seat, trapping her b**eath him. "Sir, what are you doing? Please--don't do anything foolish. I don't want your fare now!" Roselyn stammered in panic as she tried to wriggle off his arms. "I'll make it worth your time if you help me." With what little composure he still had, Nathan slid a gold bank card from his pocket and held it just above her head. Her instincts screamed to turn him down, but the card's gleam flashed like a cruel reminder--her grandfather lying in the ICU, the hospital fees looming like a shadow. She swallowed hard and gave in. Thankfully, Nathan was unnervingly attractive, with a face so refined it looked sculpted--easily the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes on. The h*at building inside Nathan refused to stay contained. Beneath the trees, the white sedan rocked gently under the silver glow of the moon, like a lone vessel adrift on a quiet sea. Roselyn knew nothing of int**acy. Her first encounter left her with nothing but intense memories of pain. She cr*ed out more than once. Each time she believed he'd finished, he surged forward again, relentless in his rhythm. By the final round, she couldn't even s**eam. Her throat had given out, r*w from pl*ading. Drifting between wakefulness and sleep, she vaguely heard him on the phone. But soon, sleep pulled her under. The morning breeze slipping in through the cracked window nudged her awake. "It h*rts," she whispered, the words barely forming. Flat on her back in the car, her a**ing body reminded her with brutal clarity just how unreal the night before had been--ent**gled in the arms of a stranger. Snapping to attention, she remembered the card. She shot upright and scanned the back seat. There it was. The gold card lay beside a note that read, "No password required." Clutching the card, she sat up straight, trying to process the reality of spending the n*ght with a stranger. She couldn't tell if she should laugh or cry. Her phone shrilled, cutting through the silence. It was the hospital again, demanding payment. Steeling herself, she opened the door. The moment her feet hit the ground, a jolt of p*in tore through her legs, almost buckling her knees. Grumbling Nathan's name under her breath, she limped to the driver's side, wincing with every step. She snapped on her seatbelt, tossed her phone onto the dashboard, and drove away--leaving behind the forest she never wanted to see again. Nathan had been scheming against her since the moment he set foot in her car. She had never encountered someone so brazen. Back at her apartment, Roselyn showered off the night, slipped into fresh clothes, and headed straight to the hospital to settle the bill. Thirty minutes later, feeling refreshed, she arrived at the hospital's billing counter. But as soon as she swiped the gold card Nathan had given her, the bank quickly alerted certain personnel. What she didn't know was that the card had already placed her under covert surveillance. After making the payment, Roselyn planned to visit her grandfather. But as she stepped out of the building, a commotion ahead grabbed her attention. Three luxury cars were parked neatly in front, their distinctive license plates unmistakably identifying their owners as individuals of wealth and status. Hoping to avoid any trouble, she intended to pass by the vehicles and head to the inpatient department. Sebastian Brown, the President's Chief of Staff, approached Roselyn with calm, respectful composure. "Excuse me, are you Miss Roselyn White?" She hesitated, then nodded. "I am." "Our superior would like a word with you, Miss White. Please, come with us," Sebastian, after confirming Roselyn's identity, said. Roselyn bristled. She didn't know this "superior" and had no interest in meeting him. But Sebastian, already anticipating her refusal, held out his phone. On screen was security footage of her using the bank card. "If you want to see your grandfather again, you'll get in the car. Otherwise, I'll have to report you for theft. And if you're charged, well, it could be a long time before you're allowed near him again," Sebastian said, his smile still intact. Roselyn didn't need more explanation. Her freedom--and her grandfather--hung in the balance. Nathan's promise echoed in her memory. Her ch*st burned with a mix of shame and fury. Chapter 3 You Don't Need To S**ip Me Roselyn withdrew the bank card, holding it up with quiet defiance. "Let me make this clear first--the card was given to me. I didn't steal it. I'll come with you, but only because I want to see your boss for myself. Who does he think he is, threatening me and telling me what to do?" Sebastian didn't bother responding. Instead, he flicked his hand, prompting the bodyguard to step forward and open the car door with polished precision. "Miss White, whether you stole that card or simply stumbled upon it, my boss will hear your explanation himself." Sebastian guided her into the car and shut the door behind her. Roselyn sat inside, her heart uneasy and full of dread about what lay ahead. She had no sense of how long the ride lasted before the car eased to a stop. As she stepped out, the sight of the sprawling estate struck her silent, its grand architecture momentarily stunning her. The mansion towered before her, easily a thousand times larger than the modest apartment she rented. Roselyn paused at the doorway, uncertain about stepping inside, when a maid in uniform came up to her. "Follow me," she said, her tone edged with arrogance, before turning ahead. Even a standard maid role in this upscale household demanded a degree from a prestigious university. In this place, maids weren't just hired to cook and clean--they were expected to bring a solid educational background with them. It was Roselyn's first time inside a home so elaborately designed. Even the ceiling of the greenhouse shimmered with extravagant luxury. In a guest room on the ground floor, several maids dressed in black and white circled Roselyn. She recoiled, panic flaring. "What are you doing? You don't need to st**p me just to get the card back." The maids escorted Roselyn into an opulent bathroom, where even the mirror frames, faucets, and showerheads gleamed with solid gold. "Before you see our boss, you need to have a bath and let us check your body. If you're hiding anything, it'll only cause trouble," said the same maid who'd guided her in. "What kind of absurd rule is this? Is your boss supposed to be the President or what? Do I seriously have to be bathed and searched just to see him?" Roselyn objected, but in her dazed state, they forcefully pushed her into the bath. The water was warm, held at a perfect temperature, and a faint scent of luxurious essential oil lingered in the air. Roselyn's mind drifted, wondering just who this "boss" could be. Once the maids left, she hesitated before removing her und**wear. At first, she felt a pang of shyness, but the soothing warmth of the water, infused with the calming scent of oil, soon eased her tension. She leaned back, her body sinking into the bath, and exhaled deeply in satisfaction. Her thoughts wandered. Could the man from the previous night have given her a stolen bank card? And now, the rightful owner had come to make trouble for her. But what kind of remarkable person could call a castle like this home? When the bath ended, the maids returned, draping her in the latest haute couture dress, applying a subtle touch of makeup, and styling her hair simply but elegantly. Roselyn watched in confusion. She had come here only to return the card--why were they so focused on her appearance? "Our boss has arrived. Miss White, please come with me," a middle-aged butler said, his tone calm and polite as he ushered Roselyn out of the room. Her heart quickened as she followed him down the stairs. The idea of an unknown man demanding the bank card, the maids using the bath as a pretext to search her, and then fussing over her makeup and hair--each step felt less like confronting a "thief" and more like a deliberate act of h*miliation. She stepped into the courtyard, where a line of luxury cars gleamed in the sunlight. From the first car, a tall figure emerged, his silhouette cutting a sharp contrast against the light. His long legs, clad in tailored suit pants, and the three-piece suit he wore added to his aura of distinction and aloofness. As the man got closer, Roselyn was able to see his face properly at last. "It's you," she said, her voice filled with surprise. Chapter 4 Powerful Figure "Roselyn." Nathan looked down at her, his tone cold and distant, his eyes carrying an unmistakable air of superiority. Roselyn recalled the night before--how he'd held her, how he'd promised to repay her if she helped him. But when the memory of his people tracking her down that morning, demanding the bank card back and accusing her of theft surfaced, her frustration finally boiled over. "Here, take it back." Roselyn yanked the solid gold card from her pocket and flung it at Nathan. The card smacked him directly in the face, leaving a vivid red mark on his otherwise flawless features. The bodyguards, the butler, and the maids all gasped, a cold shiver creeping over them as they watched Roselyn cross a line she clearly didn't see. Nathan's jaw tightened, his deep-set eyes clouded with rage. A frigid, crushing pressure seemed to roll off him. Sebastian moved first, gesturing briskly to the bodyguards nearby. Before Roselyn could react, the bodyguards grabbed her and forced her in front of Nathan. "How dare you! Who gave you the nerve?" Sebastian scolded in a low voice, glaring sharply as he approached her. But when Nathan's icy gaze shifted toward him, he instantly lowered his head. "Sir…" Nathan's brow creased slightly, and he signaled the bodyguards to let her go. His sheer presence was so commanding that no one dared breathe. Once freed, Roselyn appeared slightly indignant. She bit her lip, and though her starry eyes shimmered with unshed tears, they burned with unwavering defiance. "Keep your false kindness," she shot back. "I've returned the card. Next time, don't let your people call me a thief." Sebastian's fists clenched at his sides. If Nathan hadn't forbidden them from touching her, he would've made sure this defiant woman paid for her insolence. Nathan glared at Roselyn with an intensity that made her heart race. His eyes never wavered, piercing through her with unrelenting focus. The bitterness and frustration of the morning lingered, but under his unflinching stare, she dared not let them show. She had already returned the card. She told herself to dismiss the label of "thief" as a cruel joke, as it deserved no more than a brief, frustrated thought. "Sebastian, take her to the living room." The command shattered whatever resolve Roselyn had left to retreat. His voice, deep and magnetic, sent a tremor through Roselyn. With purposeful strides, he moved forward, his long legs encased in tailored suit pants as he entered the estate, while the bodyguards forcefully pulled her along behind him. They arrived in the living room, where she saw him standing tall by the expansive window. The servants had quietly slipped away, leaving just the two of them in the room's stillness. Nathan stood with his back straight, one hand casually tucked into his pocket. The space between them may have been more than a meter, but the pressure he exuded was suffocating--his presence absolute, his authority unmistakable. The quiet, oppressive solitude of being alone with him stole her breath away. Roselyn swallowed, the courage she had earlier mustered now slipping through her fingers. She could hardly speak. Nathan's lips barely parted, his voice steady and cold, his gaze never wavering. "Tell me who told you to return the card and accused you of theft?" His question brought all the resentment she had worked to hold in check flooding to the surface--especially the memory of his people threatening her using her grandfather. In that moment, her frustration boiled over. She sprang forward, her small frame rushing to headbutt his chin. A large hand gripped her neck, halting her mid-air. Nathan's hold was firm, the sheer strength in his fingers making her feel as small and helpless as a child. He squeezed, and a sharp g**sp escaped her lips. "It hurts! Let go!" she cried, flailing her arms. But the difference in their strength was too vast; she couldn't budge him at all. The more Roselyn dwelled on it, the sharper her anger became. She swung her leg at Nathan in a forceful kick. Nathan's frown deepened, and with quick reflexes, he sidestepped her attack. Her foot narrowly missed his g**in. His eyes, piercing and unyielding, remained on her. The chill in his eyes intensified with every passing moment. Roselyn, unfazed by the danger, pressed on, testing his boundaries. "Roselyn, know when to quit while you're ahead." Nathan's voice was low, dark eyes locking onto hers with an unmistakable warning. The pain in Roselyn's neck flared, and she fought to hold it back, her vision blurring as tears threatened to spill. She scoffed, bitterness lacing her words. "That's rich coming from you. You're the one full of lies. Just last night, you solicited my assistance and willingly handed me that bank card. If you think this is your idea of a joke, then please know when to quit while you're ahead." Her ch*st tightened with the weight of the injustice. She had given him her f*rst time--and now his people were treating her like a criminal. She had let out too much too quickly, and the emotional toll left her momentarily drained. After a deep breath, she straightened, forcing the strength back into her voice. "Sir, I've returned your bank card. Now, can you tell your people I'm not a thief?" Her grandfather's words echoed in her mind--one could be poor, but not immoral. She hadn't done anything wrong, not this time. "Someone come here," Nathan called sharply. Sebastian stepped into the doorway, standing with a respectful demeanor. "Mr. President, how may I assist you?" "Mr. President?" Roselyn's mind went utterly blank, her thoughts stumbling over each other. She had to have misheard him. Oh God. What kind of powerful figure had she just set off?. 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&

В день свадьбы жених оставил её, чтобы найти свою любимую. Она в гневе наугад выбрала другого брошенного мужчину с инвалидностью и вышла за него замуж, не ожидая, что он окажется скрытым миллиардером! ===== «Фёдор, свадьба скоро начнётся, ты не можешь просто так уйти!» - в панике произнесла Лина Бролова, одетая в белоснежное платье, и дрожащими пальцами вцепилась в руку Фёдора Власова. «Уйди. Жанна ранена. Она одна в больнице и, вероятно, сильно напугана. Я должен быть рядом с ней». Нахмурившись, он напряжённым от волнения голосом произнёс. Лина заметно побледнела. Сегодняшний день должен был стать их днём. Однако как раз перед началом церемонии Фёдор прочитал сообщение, повернулся к толпе и объявил об отмене свадьбы. Речь шла о Жанне Самсоновой, юношеской любви Фёдора. Лина начала встречаться с ним пять лет назад. И на протяжении этого времени, когда они куда-то выходили, стоило Жанне лишь позвать его - Фёдор бросал Лину. Он всегда настаивал на том, что считает Жанну сестрой, и просил Лину понять его. И та раз за разом это делала. Однако сейчас речь шла об их свадьбе. Ну и что, что Жанна нуждалась в нём? Значит ли это, что Лине предстояло быть покинутой тем, кто пообещал жениться на ней? Дрогнувшим голосом девушка прошептала: «Нет, ты не можешь уйти. Свадьба без тебя не состоится. Несмотря ни на что, сегодня ты должен остаться. Пожалуйста, Фёдор. Умоляю тебя». Однако его терпение лопнуло: «Хватит! Перестань вести себя так эгоистично и неразумно. Мы всегда можем перенести свадьбу. Но сейчас Жанна ранена. Если я не поеду, ты возьмёшь на себя ответственность? Уйди!» Прежде чем она успела сказать хоть слово, он протиснулся мимо неё. Лина пошатнулась, каблуки предательски заскользили по полированному полу, и она упала. Потрясённая девушка, затаив дыхание, смотрела, как Фёдор скрылся за дверью, даже не оглянувшись. В следующую секунду у неё зазвонил телефон. Не задумываясь, она ответила и тут же услышала самодовольный, ликующий голос женщины: «Лина, сегодня у вас с Фёдором большой день? Тебе понравился мой маленький подарок?» Тело Лины напряглось, когда до неё дошло. Сквозь стиснутые зубы она прошипела: «Жанна, ты сделала это нарочно. Ты специально выманила Фёдора, не так ли?» «Верно. И? Что ты собираешься с этим делать? Просто хотела напомнить тебе, что в сердце Фёдора я всегда буду на первом месте, - высокомерно заявила Жанна, не скрывая насмешки. - Могу поспорить, ты потратила месяцы на планирование церемонии, да? Какая жалость. Все усилия, все мечты - всё насмарку. Честно говоря, мне даже жаль тебя». Лина посмотрела на белоснежное платье и впервые осознала, что последние пять лет оказались просто насмешкой. Став сиротой, она отчаянно искала семью и любовь. Однако Фёдор. Он не собирался ей этого давать. Хватит выпрашивать то, что ей не суждено получить. Резкий, холодный смех сорвался с её губ. «Не забегай вперёд, Жанна. Свадьба состоится». Тон собеседницы мгновенно стал ядовитым: «Ты с ума сошла? Фёдор - жених. И его там нет. Как ты планируешь провести свадьбу без него?» Губы Лины медленно изогнулись в насмешливой улыбке. Кто сказал, что её женихом обязательно должен стать Фёдор? Если он так легко ушёл, то она найдёт другого, того, кто действительно заслуживал быть рядом с ней. Девушка уверенно заявила: «Сделай мне одолжение, Жанна, передай сообщение Фёдору. Скажи ему, что он мне больше не нужен. Он не стоит ни секунды моего времени. И раз уж ты так отчаянно хочешь его заполучить, пожалуйста. Бесхребетный мужчина и бесстыдная женщина - идеальная пара. Желаю удачи». Голос Жанны стал резким от гнева: «Лина, я тебя предупреждаю. Не играй с огнём!» Однако Лина, не желая её слушать, завершила разговор. До церемонии оставалось тридцать минут. Она хотела как можно скорее найти нового жениха. Подняв подол платья, девушка выбежала из комнаты. К её удивлению, у входа толпилось множество мужчин в чёрных костюмах. Их грозный вид говорил о том, что они кого-то искали. Среди них выделялся мужчина в свадебном костюме, сидевший в инвалидном кресле, а его осанка излучала непререкаемый авторитет. Безмолвный и неподвижный, он источал ледяное, почти недосягаемое величие. Внезапно он властным тоном обратился к телохранителю, стоявшему перед ним: «Церемония скоро начнётся. Вы уже нашли Арину?» Телохранитель заметно напрягся и нерешительно ответил: «Господин Радулов, мы всё обыскали, но не обнаружили следов госпожи Гуниной. Похоже, она сбежала». «Сбежала? - спокойно переспросил мужчина, но его взгляд стал холодным и беспощадным, как у хищника, оценивающего свою добычу. - Если свадьба не состоится вовремя, ты знаешь, что это значит». Лина ловила каждое слово и в одно мгновение поняла: этого человек бросили у алтаря, как и её. Не колеблясь, она подхватила подол платья и направилась к нему. Телохранители отреагировали мгновенно, встав перед ней с напряжёнными и настороженными выражениями лиц. «Что вы делаете?» Мужчина в инвалидном кресле обратил на неё внимание, подавляя своей энергетикой. Однако Лина не дрогнула. Она спокойно посмотрела ему в глаза и произнесла: «Я слышала, что ваша невеста сбежала. Если это так, позвольте мне занять её место. Я стану вашей невестой». Глава 2 Я не пожалею об этом Услышав слова Лины, мужчина слегка прищурился, а затем резко поинтересовался: «Вы уверены в этом? Я инвалид. Если выйдете за меня замуж, то рано или поздно об этом пожалеете». Лину не смутило его заявление. Не отводя глаз, она спросила: «Вы бросили бы свою жену ради другой женщины?» «Конечно нет», - мгновенно ответил он уверенным тоном. «Тогда я не пожалею об этом, - с непоколебимой решимостью заявила Лина. - Если вы согласны, я выйду за вас замуж». Увидев искренность в её глазах, мужчина не нашёл причин отказать ей. Медленно кивнув, он ответил: «Хорошо, тогда давайте поженимся». В итоге практически отменённая свадьбы Лины пошла своим чередом. В присутствии священника они спокойно обменялись клятвами. Когда они вышли из церкви, Лина ощутила странное чувство нереальности происходящего. Она только что вышла замуж за человека, которого ещё несколько часов назад даже не знала. Толкая инвалидное кресло мужа по ступенькам, девушка внезапно кое-что поняла. «Кстати, я даже не знаю вашего имени». «Кирилл Радулов», - спокойно ответил тот. Глаза Лины расширились от удивления. «Подождите, вы Кирилл Радулов? Старший сын Радуловых?» Кирилл увидел потрясение на её лице и ухмыльнулся, а затем насмешливо ответил: «В чём дело? Теперь, узнав, что вышла замуж за человека, которого все считают неудачником, ты жалеешь об этом?» Каждый в городе хоть раз слышал историю Кирилла - старшего сына семьи Радуловых. Его мать умерла при родах, а отец снова женился. После аварии Кирилл оказался в инвалидной коляске и в глазах общественности мгновенно стал никем. Когда мачеха родила сына, Кирилл стал изгоем в семье. Если бы не его бабушка, Ирина Радулова, которая всегда защищала и оберегала Кирилла, его, скорее всего, давно выбросили бы на улицу, оставив на произвол судьбы. По мнению Кирилла, ни одна женщина в здравом уме не вышла бы замуж за такого мужчину, как он, если бы только не нуждалась в деньгах. Он был не просто инвалидом, а ненужным сыном семьи Радуловых. Мужчина полагал, что Лина разочаруется, и приготовился увидеть на её лице сожаление или горечь. Однако, к удивлению Кирилла, девушка посмотрела на него не с жалостью или презрением, а с глубоким, невысказанным пониманием, словно увидела его настоящего - ещё одну душу, брошенную теми, кто должен любить его. Она нежно взяла его за руку и сжала её. «Я сказала вам, что, приняв решение, не пожалею об этом. Теперь, когда мы женаты, я позабочусь о том, чтобы ваш дом наполнился теплом и заботой». «Неужели? - скептически спросил Кирилл. - Посмотрим». Он ей не поверил. Ему стало любопытно, как долго девушка сможет притворяться, когда поймёт, что ничего от него не получит. Перед ними остановилась машина, прервав его размышления. «Пошли», - сказал Кирилл командным тоном. Лина замерла и неуверенно посмотрела на него. «Куда вы меня ведёте?» «Домой, конечно, - уверенно заявил мужчина. - Теперь мы женаты, поэтому, естественно, будем жить вместе». Домой? Это слово заставило сердце Лины замереть. Оно напомнило ей о доме, в котором она жила с Фёдором и который так старательно обустраивала для их совместного будущего. Однако поскольку она вышла замуж за Кирилла, то поняла, что ей придётся разорвать связи со своим прошлым. Глубоко вздохнув, девушка повернулась к нему и сказала: «Сначала мне нужно кое-что сделать. Вы можете дать мне свои контактные данные и адрес? Я приеду, как только всё улажу». Кирилл приподнял бровь, пронзительно глядя на неё. «Хочешь, я тебя подвезу?» «Нет, всё в порядке, - ответила она твёрдым, но ласковым голосом. - Я сама справлюсь. Не хочу вас беспокоить». Мужчина не стал спорить. Обменявшись с ней контактными данными, он сел в машину и уехал. Через полчаса Лина стояла перед квартирой, которую когда-то делила с Фёдором. Когда она повернула ключ в замке, дверь со скрипом открылась, и на девушку мгновенно нахлынули воспоминания. Лина вошла внутрь, скользя взглядом по каждому знакомому предмету - скатерти, растениям в горшках - всё здесь она выбрала собственными руками, чтобы создать уют. Однако сейчас это больше напоминало тюрьму. Не раздумывая, она сорвала декор, с корнем вырвала растения и выбросила всё в мусорное ведро. Девушка решила начать с чистого листа, а значит, оставить прошлое позади. Даже если это больно. Избавившись от остатков старой жизни, она начала собирать вещи. Погружённая в свои мысли, Лина не услышала звука приближающихся шагов. Потрясённый Фёдор застыл в дверях и недоверчиво наблюдал за происходящим, а затем, не сдержавшись, выпалил: «Лина, какого чёрта ты творишь?» Глава 3 Не трогай меня В квартире, когда-то уютной и наполненной теплом, царил хаос, полностью лишивший помещение очарования. Лина продолжала упаковывать оставшиеся вещи в чемодан и действовала при этом уверенно, намереваясь полностью стереть свои следы в этом доме. Фёдор на мгновение замер, обводя взглядом разруху, а затем недоверчиво бросился к девушке. «Лина, ты с ума сошла? - раздражённо выпалил он, повысив голос. - За моё недолгое отсутствие ты в истерике всё здесь разворотила? - мужчина резко вдохнул, пытаясь сдержать свой гнев, и рявкнул: - Даю тебе один час. Верни всё на место!» Не обращая на него внимания, Лина закончила упаковывать вещь, а затем медленно повернулась к нему лицом. Выражение её лица оставалось холодным и отстранённым, словно перед ней стоял незнакомец. Слабая насмешливая улыбка тронула её губы, когда она ответила: «Фёдор, ты что, не догадался? Что-то потеряв, ты этого уже не вернёшь. Уже не сделаешь так, как было раньше». Фёдор нахмурился ещё сильнее, нетерпеливо глядя на неё. «Что, чёрт возьми, ты хочешь сказать?» Лина почувствовала дерзость в его тоне. Неужели он действительно не понял? Возможно, такие люди, как он, всегда считали себя правыми. Однако это не так. Он проявлял нежность лишь к одному человеку - Жанне, женщине, которую по-настоящему любил. Смело глядя на собеседника, Лина уверенно ответила, и каждое её слово, казалось, несло в себе тяжесть всего, что ей пришлось пережить: «В день нашей свадьбы ты бросил меня, проигнорировав мои мольбы и растоптав моё достоинство. Ты хоть представляешь, что я чувствовала? Фёдор, ты хоть раз задумывался обо мне? Ты меня унизил и сейчас заявляешь, что я просто устраиваю истерику?» Не моргая, она пристально смотрела ему в глаза, и внезапно ранее подавляемая боль выплеснулась наружу, а зрение затуманилось от навернувшихся слёз. Охваченная решимостью, Лина не отвела взгляда. Увидев её в таком состоянии, Фёдор ощутил мимолётный укол вины, но быстро отмахнулся от него. Он поступал так бесчисленное количество раз. На протяжении многих лет мужчина постоянно причинял ей боль, но она всегда прощала его. Он не понимал, почему в этот раз должно быть иначе. Фёдор полагал, что если её немного очаровать, она уступит, как делала всегда. Так уж сложились отношения между ними. При этой мысли его гнев рассеялся, сменившись сдержанной, практически самодовольной улыбкой. «Лина, ладно, я понял. Ты расстроена, - начал он мягким, покровительственным голосом. - Но тебе не следует так себя вести. Посмотри, что ты сделала с нашим домом, - его улыбка смягчилась, когда он протянул руки и с притворной нежностью положил их девушке на плечи, словно пытался успокоить. - Давай, веди себя хорошо. Ты выпустила свой гнев, поэтому давай больше не будем устраивать сцен, ладно? А как насчёт этого? Мы выберем другой день, получше, и я обещаю, что у нас будет ещё более роскошная, великолепная свадьба. Что скажешь?» Лина не сводила глаз с улыбки Фёдора. Несмотря на ласковые слова, его ледяной взгляд выдавал безразличие. Казалось, он не сомневался, что она клюнет на его уловку. А почему ему думать иначе? Так всегда происходило. Лина горько усмехнулась. Она дала ему слишком много шансов, и теперь он полагал, что ему не нужно относиться к ней с должным уважением. С отстранённым выражением лица девушка молча сбросила его руки, словно надоедливый груз. «Не трогай меня. От тебя у меня мурашки по коже», - равнодушно бросила она. Фёдор замер, а его глаза расширились от потрясения. Он никогда раньше не слышал, чтобы она так с ним разговаривала. Ледяным голосом девушка продолжила: «Фёдор, со свадьбой покончено. У меня нет желания устраивать ещё одну. Я приехала сюда, чтобы забрать свои вещи и съехать». Ошеломлённый её отказом, Фёдор нахмурился в замешательстве, пытаясь осознать происходящее. «Съехать?» Лина кивнула, демонстрируя решимость. «Да. Я ухожу». Он глухо усмехнулся, словно только что услышал самую нелепую шутку. «И куда ты собираешься идти?» Мужчина прекрасно знал, что у Лины нет семьи, к которой можно обратиться за помощью, и никто не подставит ей плечо. Кроме этой квартиры, у неё больше ничего нет. Последние пять лет её мир вращался вокруг него. Он был уверен, что она не сможет его оставить. Мужчина считал, что этот так называемый переезд - не более чем попытка заставить его подчиниться её воле. Покачав головой в недоумении, он открыл рот, чтобы продолжить, но его прервал голос позади. Это оказалась Жанна. «Фёдор, разве ты не говорил, что спустишься через минуту, как только соберёшься? Что тебя задержало?» Когда Жанна вошла, её голос эхом разнёсся по комнате. Увидев Лину, стоявшую напротив Фёдора, она удивлённо воскликнула: «Лина, что ты здесь делаешь?» Лина бросила на Жанну холодный взгляд и ледяным тоном ответила: «Это моя квартира, не так ли? Мне надо объяснять, что я здесь делаю? Вопрос в том, что ты здесь делаешь?» Жанна опустила взгляд, изображая смущение и невинность. «Я случайно по**залась ножом для фруктов, и Фёдор так разволновался, что настоял на том, чтобы остаться со мной на несколько дней, - затем её взгляд метнулся к чемодану рядом с Линой, и она театрально ахнула, прикрыв рот рукой. - Лина, что ты делаешь? Ты расстроилась? Полагаю, что это неуместно. Если тебя что-то беспокоит, ты можешь поговорить со мной. Я извинюсь, если это тебя успокоит. Во всём этом нет необходимости». Губы Лины изогнулись в холодной, почти жестокой улыбке, когда она медленно шагнула вперёд к Жанне. «Ты действительно собираешься извиниться? Серьёзно?» Зная, что Фёдор наблюдает за ней, Жанна с фальшивой искренностью кивнула: «Конечно. Если это поможет, я сделаю всё возможное». «Ну, ладно. Почему нет? - улыбка Лины стала шире, но в её глазах поселился холодный расчёт. - Поскольку ты так искренна, полагаю, я смогу тебе помочь». С этими словами она замахнулась. Резкий звук по**чины эхом разнёсся по комнате, когда ладонь Лины коснулась лица Жанны, подтверждая окончательность её слов. Глава 4 Лина, ты действительно изменилась Жанна пронзительно вскрикнула от удара и на мгновение застыла. Схватившись за горящую щёку, она уставилась на Лину, широко распахнув глаза от недоверия. «Лина, как ты посмела дать мне пощёчину?» - прошипела она дрожащим от ярости голосом. Губы Лины скривились в ледяной, насмешливой улыбке, а глаза холодно сверкнули. «А почему я не могу? Ты сама этого просила. Ты же хотела извиниться, да? Но одна по**чина вряд ли успокоит мой гнев. Может, вторая поможет». С этими словами она снова подняла руку, не отрывая взгляда от лица Жанны. Фёдор, всё ещё не оправившийся от шока, наконец вздрогнул и, с яростным криком бросившись вперёд, оттолкнул Лину в сторону. «Хватит! Лина, не заходи слишком далеко!» Обняв Жанну, взволнованный мужчина начал что-то бормотать, пытаясь успокоить её. Лина отшатнулась назад, с лёгкостью восстановила равновесие и, равнодушно окинув их взглядом, с сарказмом произнесла: «Это заходит слишком далеко? Жанна сама заявила, что хочет извиниться. Фёдор, ты глухой? Если она действительно хотела извиниться, ей следовало просто промолчать и дать мне выпустить пар. Я просто ударила её. Неужели это заходит слишком далеко? То, что я с ней сделала, ничто по сравнению с тем, что вы двое сделали со мной, - с горечью глядя на них, она продолжила: - Вы оба отвратительные обманщики. И однажды, когда правда выйдет наружу, кто поверит хоть одному вашему слову?» Фёдор застыл, ошеломлённый потоком обвинений. Он открыл рот, но не смог произнести ни единого слова в свою защиту. Прижимая Жанну к себе, словно защищая её, мужчина, прищурившись, смотрел на Лину с растущим раздражением. После долгого напряжённого молчания он наконец злобно произнёс: «Даже если Жанна хотела извиниться, тебе не следовало давать ей пощёчину. Это всего лишь извинения. Насилием проблемы не решить. Ты ведёшь себя как дикое животное!» Лина слегка наклонила голову и холодно ухмыльнулась, а затем небрежно согнула запястье. «Я посчитаю это комплиментом, - ответила она, пристально глядя на него. - Раз уж ты такого высоко обо мне мнения, может, мне ещё пару раз её ударить, чтобы оправдать твои похвалы?» Услышав насмешливый ответ, потрясённый Фёдор с открытым ртом уставился на неё. На мгновение ему показалось, что женщина перед ним - вовсе не та Лина, которую он знал. Не менее ошеломлённая Жанна смотрела на Лину с недоверием, пытаясь осмыслить ситуацию. Она и раньше издевалась над Линой бесчисленное количество раз, но всё происходило иначе. Та никогда так не сопротивлялась. Неужели Лина сошла с ума? Напряжение в комнате нарастало, и внезапно Жанна почувствовала неладное. Может, Лина делала это намеренно, чтобы привлечь внимание Фёдора? Она бросила быстрый тревожный взгляд на мужчину и обнаружила, что тот полностью поглощён Линой и не сводит с неё глаз. Жанна почувствовала ревность. Она приложила немало усилий, чтобы отобрать его у Лины, и ни за что не позволит последней вернуть его. Запаниковав, Жанна крепче сжала руку Фёдора, притягивая его к себе, а затем с напускной любезностью сказала: «Фёдор, не говори так. Лина, вероятно, просто расстроена. Я не возражаю. Если она перестанет на нас злиться, меня всё устроит». Сердце Фёдора переполнилось сочувствием к Жанне, а её слова лишь усилили его злость по отношению к Лине. «Лина, ты действительно изменилась, - сказал он с нескрываемым разочарованием в голосе. - Лина, которую я знал, никогда так себя не повела бы. Если продолжишь вести себя подобным образом.» Лина прервала его, прежде чем он успел договорить, и язвительно парировала: «Конечно, я изменилась. Я, наверное, сошла с ума, если раньше терпела тебя. Но больше не буду. Я поумнела. Только и**от будет продолжать унижаться, как я. Фёдор, позволь мне прояснить ситуацию: между нами всё кончено. Окончательно!» Не говоря больше ни слова, девушка схватила свой чемодан и с каменным выражением лица отвернулась. Фёдор застыл, поражённый таким решительным заявлением. Он никогда раньше не видел её такой. Когда она вышла из комнаты, волоча за собой чемодан, его грудь сжалась от паники, душившей его. По причинам, которые мужчина не мог понять, его тяготило тяжёлое чувство надвигающейся утраты, словно самая важная часть его жизни ускользала сквозь пальцы. «Лина!» - в отчаянии крикнул он, пытаясь догнать её. Глаза Жанны расширились от шока. Она не ожидала, что Фёдор отреагирует подобным образом. Не задумываясь, девушка приложила руку к щеке и тихо, драматично всхлипнула. «Федя, моё лицо. Мне так больно. У меня идёт к**вь?» Фёдор замер, а его сердце сжалось при звуке её печального голоса. Он неохотно повернулся к ней. На щеке Жанны виднелись едва заметные красные полосы, и у мужчины заныло в груди от этого зрелища. «Жанна, не плачь, - обеспокоенно пробормотал он. - Я отвезу тебя в больницу. Мы нанесём мазь, и всё будет хорошо». Жанна громко всхлипнула, театрально разрыдавшись. На мгновение она заколебалась, а затем, смягчившись, с притворной тревогой произнесла: «Федя, Лина действительно уходит. Может, тебе стоит пойти за ней, а не беспокоиться обо мне. Со мной всё будет хорошо». Фёдор прикусил губу, а затем поморщился. «На этот раз Лина перешла черту. Я больше не буду ей потакать. Пусть выпустит пар, а потом сама приползёт обратно. Когда она это сделает, я заставлю её извиниться перед тобой». Жанна почувствовала удовлетворение и, прижавшись к мужчине, приторно-сладким голосом пробормотала: «Федя, ты так добр ко мне». Её план работал идеально. Девушка самодовольно подумала, что у неё всё под контролем. Лина - просто д*ра, если думала, что сможет вернуть Фёдора. Однако когда Фёдор обнимал Жанну, тепло её ласк не помогало унять грызущее его беспокойство. В его груди шевельнулось странное беспокойство. Почему он так тревожился? Подавив беспокойство, мужчина попытался улыбнуться Жанне с напускным терпением. Однако как бы он ни старался, его взгляд возвращался к двери, за которой скрылась Лина. Лине некуда идти. В конце концов она вернётся. Он в этом не сомневался. Глава 5 Давай поспорим Вернувшись на виллу Светлая, Кирилл направился в кабинет. Общество видело в нём лишь беспомощного инвалида, но теперь он стоял гордо, без тени прежнего отчаяния. Мужчина остановился у французского окна и с непроницаемым выражением лица смотрел на пейзаж. В этот момент у него зазвонил телефон. На экране появился номер Даниила Варламова, его друг детства. «Привет, Кирилл, - небрежно произнёс Даниил. - Я проверил информацию о твоей жене и не нашёл ничего подозрительного. Её биография подтвердилась. Она вышла за тебя замуж, потому что жених бросил её у алтаря, - Даниил внезапно сменил тон и игриво заметил: - Знаешь, все богатые девушки в городе избегают тебя как чумы. Они считают тебя инвалидом, которого выгнали из семьи, - идеальный образ изгоя. А Лина? У неё хватило смелости подойти к тебе и выйти за тебя замуж. Должен сказать, что она мужественная, - после короткой паузы Даниил добавил с задумчивым вздохом: - Хотя мне и интересно. Когда она узнает правду, то как это воспримет?» Кирилл бесстрастным голосом ответил: «У неё не будет такой возможности. Как только она поняла, кто я на самом деле, то придумала оправдание и ушла. Вероятно, она не вернётся». Он не удивился, поскольку после аварии отвержение и презрение стали частью его жизни. Низкое положение в семье Радуловых лишь усиливало его изоляцию, но он безразлично относился ко всему происходящему. Люди часто говорили, что выйти замуж за такого мужчину, как он, человека без будущего, - всё равно что поставить крест на жизни женщины. Однако Даниил не согласился с другом. «Не думаю, что она такая, - с усмешкой возразил он. - Подумай, сколько женщин осмелились бы сменить жениха на своей свадьбе? Чутьё подсказывает мне, что Лина не сбежит. Поскольку она вышла за тебя замуж, то вряд ли просто исчезнет, - с каждым словом Даниил всё сильнее волновался. - Ты мне не веришь? Давай поспорим. Держу пари, Лина скоро вернётся. Если я выиграю, ты отдашь мне тот участок земли на окраине города. Договорились?» Кирилл приподнял бровь и расчётливым тоном ответил: «А если проиграешь?» Даниил пренебрежительно усмехнулся: «Я не проиграю, понятно? - внезапно почувствовав холодность собеседника даже через телефон, он непроизвольно вздрогнул и поспешно отступил: - Ладно, ладно. Если я проиграю, можешь попросить о чём-то равноценном. Договорились?» Кирилл ни на секунду не поверил, что Лина вернётся, поэтому холодно фыркнул, что Даниил воспринял как молчаливое согласие. Когда Кирилл собирался повесить трубку, в дверь постучали, а затем раздался голос экономки: «Господин Радулов, приехала госпожа Радулова». Что будет дальше? Количество глав здесь ограничено, нажмите на кнопку ниже, чтобы установить приложение и продолжить чтение более захватывающих глав! (Вы будете автоматически перенаправлены на книгу, когда откроете приложение) &3&

В день свадьбы жених оставил её, чтобы найти свою любимую. Она в гневе наугад выбрала другого брошенного мужчину с инвалидностью и вышла за него замуж, не ожидая, что он окажется скрытым миллиардером! ===== «Фёдор, свадьба скоро начнётся, ты не можешь просто так уйти!» - в панике произнесла Лина Бролова, одетая в белоснежное платье, и дрожащими пальцами вцепилась в руку Фёдора Власова. «Уйди. Жанна ранена. Она одна в больнице и, вероятно, сильно напугана. Я должен быть рядом с ней». Нахмурившись, он напряжённым от волнения голосом произнёс. Лина заметно побледнела. Сегодняшний день должен был стать их днём. Однако как раз перед началом церемонии Фёдор прочитал сообщение, повернулся к толпе и объявил об отмене свадьбы. Речь шла о Жанне Самсоновой, юношеской любви Фёдора. Лина начала встречаться с ним пять лет назад. И на протяжении этого времени, когда они куда-то выходили, стоило Жанне лишь позвать его - Фёдор бросал Лину. Он всегда настаивал на том, что считает Жанну сестрой, и просил Лину понять его. И та раз за разом это делала. Однако сейчас речь шла об их свадьбе. Ну и что, что Жанна нуждалась в нём? Значит ли это, что Лине предстояло быть покинутой тем, кто пообещал жениться на ней? Дрогнувшим голосом девушка прошептала: «Нет, ты не можешь уйти. Свадьба без тебя не состоится. Несмотря ни на что, сегодня ты должен остаться. Пожалуйста, Фёдор. Умоляю тебя». Однако его терпение лопнуло: «Хватит! Перестань вести себя так эгоистично и неразумно. Мы всегда можем перенести свадьбу. Но сейчас Жанна ранена. Если я не поеду, ты возьмёшь на себя ответственность? Уйди!» Прежде чем она успела сказать хоть слово, он протиснулся мимо неё. Лина пошатнулась, каблуки предательски заскользили по полированному полу, и она упала. Потрясённая девушка, затаив дыхание, смотрела, как Фёдор скрылся за дверью, даже не оглянувшись. В следующую секунду у неё зазвонил телефон. Не задумываясь, она ответила и тут же услышала самодовольный, ликующий голос женщины: «Лина, сегодня у вас с Фёдором большой день? Тебе понравился мой маленький подарок?» Тело Лины напряглось, когда до неё дошло. Сквозь стиснутые зубы она прошипела: «Жанна, ты сделала это нарочно. Ты специально выманила Фёдора, не так ли?» «Верно. И? Что ты собираешься с этим делать? Просто хотела напомнить тебе, что в сердце Фёдора я всегда буду на первом месте, - высокомерно заявила Жанна, не скрывая насмешки. - Могу поспорить, ты потратила месяцы на планирование церемонии, да? Какая жалость. Все усилия, все мечты - всё насмарку. Честно говоря, мне даже жаль тебя». Лина посмотрела на белоснежное платье и впервые осознала, что последние пять лет оказались просто насмешкой. Став сиротой, она отчаянно искала семью и любовь. Однако Фёдор. Он не собирался ей этого давать. Хватит выпрашивать то, что ей не суждено получить. Резкий, холодный смех сорвался с её губ. «Не забегай вперёд, Жанна. Свадьба состоится». Тон собеседницы мгновенно стал ядовитым: «Ты с ума сошла? Фёдор - жених. И его там нет. Как ты планируешь провести свадьбу без него?» Губы Лины медленно изогнулись в насмешливой улыбке. Кто сказал, что её женихом обязательно должен стать Фёдор? Если он так легко ушёл, то она найдёт другого, того, кто действительно заслуживал быть рядом с ней. Девушка уверенно заявила: «Сделай мне одолжение, Жанна, передай сообщение Фёдору. Скажи ему, что он мне больше не нужен. Он не стоит ни секунды моего времени. И раз уж ты так отчаянно хочешь его заполучить, пожалуйста. Бесхребетный мужчина и бесстыдная женщина - идеальная пара. Желаю удачи». Голос Жанны стал резким от гнева: «Лина, я тебя предупреждаю. Не играй с огнём!» Однако Лина, не желая её слушать, завершила разговор. До церемонии оставалось тридцать минут. Она хотела как можно скорее найти нового жениха. Подняв подол платья, девушка выбежала из комнаты. К её удивлению, у входа толпилось множество мужчин в чёрных костюмах. Их грозный вид говорил о том, что они кого-то искали. Среди них выделялся мужчина в свадебном костюме, сидевший в инвалидном кресле, а его осанка излучала непререкаемый авторитет. Безмолвный и неподвижный, он источал ледяное, почти недосягаемое величие. Внезапно он властным тоном обратился к телохранителю, стоявшему перед ним: «Церемония скоро начнётся. Вы уже нашли Арину?» Телохранитель заметно напрягся и нерешительно ответил: «Господин Радулов, мы всё обыскали, но не обнаружили следов госпожи Гуниной. Похоже, она сбежала». «Сбежала? - спокойно переспросил мужчина, но его взгляд стал холодным и беспощадным, как у хищника, оценивающего свою добычу. - Если свадьба не состоится вовремя, ты знаешь, что это значит». Лина ловила каждое слово и в одно мгновение поняла: этого человек бросили у алтаря, как и её. Не колеблясь, она подхватила подол платья и направилась к нему. Телохранители отреагировали мгновенно, встав перед ней с напряжёнными и настороженными выражениями лиц. «Что вы делаете?» Мужчина в инвалидном кресле обратил на неё внимание, подавляя своей энергетикой. Однако Лина не дрогнула. Она спокойно посмотрела ему в глаза и произнесла: «Я слышала, что ваша невеста сбежала. Если это так, позвольте мне занять её место. Я стану вашей невестой». Глава 2 Я не пожалею об этом Услышав слова Лины, мужчина слегка прищурился, а затем резко поинтересовался: «Вы уверены в этом? Я инвалид. Если выйдете за меня замуж, то рано или поздно об этом пожалеете». Лину не смутило его заявление. Не отводя глаз, она спросила: «Вы бросили бы свою жену ради другой женщины?» «Конечно нет», - мгновенно ответил он уверенным тоном. «Тогда я не пожалею об этом, - с непоколебимой решимостью заявила Лина. - Если вы согласны, я выйду за вас замуж». Увидев искренность в её глазах, мужчина не нашёл причин отказать ей. Медленно кивнув, он ответил: «Хорошо, тогда давайте поженимся». В итоге практически отменённая свадьбы Лины пошла своим чередом. В присутствии священника они спокойно обменялись клятвами. Когда они вышли из церкви, Лина ощутила странное чувство нереальности происходящего. Она только что вышла замуж за человека, которого ещё несколько часов назад даже не знала. Толкая инвалидное кресло мужа по ступенькам, девушка внезапно кое-что поняла. «Кстати, я даже не знаю вашего имени». «Кирилл Радулов», - спокойно ответил тот. Глаза Лины расширились от удивления. «Подождите, вы Кирилл Радулов? Старший сын Радуловых?» Кирилл увидел потрясение на её лице и ухмыльнулся, а затем насмешливо ответил: «В чём дело? Теперь, узнав, что вышла замуж за человека, которого все считают неудачником, ты жалеешь об этом?» Каждый в городе хоть раз слышал историю Кирилла - старшего сына семьи Радуловых. Его мать умерла при родах, а отец снова женился. После аварии Кирилл оказался в инвалидной коляске и в глазах общественности мгновенно стал никем. Когда мачеха родила сына, Кирилл стал изгоем в семье. Если бы не его бабушка, Ирина Радулова, которая всегда защищала и оберегала Кирилла, его, скорее всего, давно выбросили бы на улицу, оставив на произвол судьбы. По мнению Кирилла, ни одна женщина в здравом уме не вышла бы замуж за такого мужчину, как он, если бы только не нуждалась в деньгах. Он был не просто инвалидом, а ненужным сыном семьи Радуловых. Мужчина полагал, что Лина разочаруется, и приготовился увидеть на её лице сожаление или горечь. Однако, к удивлению Кирилла, девушка посмотрела на него не с жалостью или презрением, а с глубоким, невысказанным пониманием, словно увидела его настоящего - ещё одну душу, брошенную теми, кто должен любить его. Она нежно взяла его за руку и сжала её. «Я сказала вам, что, приняв решение, не пожалею об этом. Теперь, когда мы женаты, я позабочусь о том, чтобы ваш дом наполнился теплом и заботой». «Неужели? - скептически спросил Кирилл. - Посмотрим». Он ей не поверил. Ему стало любопытно, как долго девушка сможет притворяться, когда поймёт, что ничего от него не получит. Перед ними остановилась машина, прервав его размышления. «Пошли», - сказал Кирилл командным тоном. Лина замерла и неуверенно посмотрела на него. «Куда вы меня ведёте?» «Домой, конечно, - уверенно заявил мужчина. - Теперь мы женаты, поэтому, естественно, будем жить вместе». Домой? Это слово заставило сердце Лины замереть. Оно напомнило ей о доме, в котором она жила с Фёдором и который так старательно обустраивала для их совместного будущего. Однако поскольку она вышла замуж за Кирилла, то поняла, что ей придётся разорвать связи со своим прошлым. Глубоко вздохнув, девушка повернулась к нему и сказала: «Сначала мне нужно кое-что сделать. Вы можете дать мне свои контактные данные и адрес? Я приеду, как только всё улажу». Кирилл приподнял бровь, пронзительно глядя на неё. «Хочешь, я тебя подвезу?» «Нет, всё в порядке, - ответила она твёрдым, но ласковым голосом. - Я сама справлюсь. Не хочу вас беспокоить». Мужчина не стал спорить. Обменявшись с ней контактными данными, он сел в машину и уехал. Через полчаса Лина стояла перед квартирой, которую когда-то делила с Фёдором. Когда она повернула ключ в замке, дверь со скрипом открылась, и на девушку мгновенно нахлынули воспоминания. Лина вошла внутрь, скользя взглядом по каждому знакомому предмету - скатерти, растениям в горшках - всё здесь она выбрала собственными руками, чтобы создать уют. Однако сейчас это больше напоминало тюрьму. Не раздумывая, она сорвала декор, с корнем вырвала растения и выбросила всё в мусорное ведро. Девушка решила начать с чистого листа, а значит, оставить прошлое позади. Даже если это больно. Избавившись от остатков старой жизни, она начала собирать вещи. Погружённая в свои мысли, Лина не услышала звука приближающихся шагов. Потрясённый Фёдор застыл в дверях и недоверчиво наблюдал за происходящим, а затем, не сдержавшись, выпалил: «Лина, какого чёрта ты творишь?» Глава 3 Не трогай меня В квартире, когда-то уютной и наполненной теплом, царил хаос, полностью лишивший помещение очарования. Лина продолжала упаковывать оставшиеся вещи в чемодан и действовала при этом уверенно, намереваясь полностью стереть свои следы в этом доме. Фёдор на мгновение замер, обводя взглядом разруху, а затем недоверчиво бросился к девушке. «Лина, ты с ума сошла? - раздражённо выпалил он, повысив голос. - За моё недолгое отсутствие ты в истерике всё здесь разворотила? - мужчина резко вдохнул, пытаясь сдержать свой гнев, и рявкнул: - Даю тебе один час. Верни всё на место!» Не обращая на него внимания, Лина закончила упаковывать вещь, а затем медленно повернулась к нему лицом. Выражение её лица оставалось холодным и отстранённым, словно перед ней стоял незнакомец. Слабая насмешливая улыбка тронула её губы, когда она ответила: «Фёдор, ты что, не догадался? Что-то потеряв, ты этого уже не вернёшь. Уже не сделаешь так, как было раньше». Фёдор нахмурился ещё сильнее, нетерпеливо глядя на неё. «Что, чёрт возьми, ты хочешь сказать?» Лина почувствовала дерзость в его тоне. Неужели он действительно не понял? Возможно, такие люди, как он, всегда считали себя правыми. Однако это не так. Он проявлял нежность лишь к одному человеку - Жанне, женщине, которую по-настоящему любил. Смело глядя на собеседника, Лина уверенно ответила, и каждое её слово, казалось, несло в себе тяжесть всего, что ей пришлось пережить: «В день нашей свадьбы ты бросил меня, проигнорировав мои мольбы и растоптав моё достоинство. Ты хоть представляешь, что я чувствовала? Фёдор, ты хоть раз задумывался обо мне? Ты меня унизил и сейчас заявляешь, что я просто устраиваю истерику?» Не моргая, она пристально смотрела ему в глаза, и внезапно ранее подавляемая боль выплеснулась наружу, а зрение затуманилось от навернувшихся слёз. Охваченная решимостью, Лина не отвела взгляда. Увидев её в таком состоянии, Фёдор ощутил мимолётный укол вины, но быстро отмахнулся от него. Он поступал так бесчисленное количество раз. На протяжении многих лет мужчина постоянно причинял ей боль, но она всегда прощала его. Он не понимал, почему в этот раз должно быть иначе. Фёдор полагал, что если её немного очаровать, она уступит, как делала всегда. Так уж сложились отношения между ними. При этой мысли его гнев рассеялся, сменившись сдержанной, практически самодовольной улыбкой. «Лина, ладно, я понял. Ты расстроена, - начал он мягким, покровительственным голосом. - Но тебе не следует так себя вести. Посмотри, что ты сделала с нашим домом, - его улыбка смягчилась, когда он протянул руки и с притворной нежностью положил их девушке на плечи, словно пытался успокоить. - Давай, веди себя хорошо. Ты выпустила свой гнев, поэтому давай больше не будем устраивать сцен, ладно? А как насчёт этого? Мы выберем другой день, получше, и я обещаю, что у нас будет ещё более роскошная, великолепная свадьба. Что скажешь?» Лина не сводила глаз с улыбки Фёдора. Несмотря на ласковые слова, его ледяной взгляд выдавал безразличие. Казалось, он не сомневался, что она клюнет на его уловку. А почему ему думать иначе? Так всегда происходило. Лина горько усмехнулась. Она дала ему слишком много шансов, и теперь он полагал, что ему не нужно относиться к ней с должным уважением. С отстранённым выражением лица девушка молча сбросила его руки, словно надоедливый груз. «Не трогай меня. От тебя у меня мурашки по коже», - равнодушно бросила она. Фёдор замер, а его глаза расширились от потрясения. Он никогда раньше не слышал, чтобы она так с ним разговаривала. Ледяным голосом девушка продолжила: «Фёдор, со свадьбой покончено. У меня нет желания устраивать ещё одну. Я приехала сюда, чтобы забрать свои вещи и съехать». Ошеломлённый её отказом, Фёдор нахмурился в замешательстве, пытаясь осознать происходящее. «Съехать?» Лина кивнула, демонстрируя решимость. «Да. Я ухожу». Он глухо усмехнулся, словно только что услышал самую нелепую шутку. «И куда ты собираешься идти?» Мужчина прекрасно знал, что у Лины нет семьи, к которой можно обратиться за помощью, и никто не подставит ей плечо. Кроме этой квартиры, у неё больше ничего нет. Последние пять лет её мир вращался вокруг него. Он был уверен, что она не сможет его оставить. Мужчина считал, что этот так называемый переезд - не более чем попытка заставить его подчиниться её воле. Покачав головой в недоумении, он открыл рот, чтобы продолжить, но его прервал голос позади. Это оказалась Жанна. «Фёдор, разве ты не говорил, что спустишься через минуту, как только соберёшься? Что тебя задержало?» Когда Жанна вошла, её голос эхом разнёсся по комнате. Увидев Лину, стоявшую напротив Фёдора, она удивлённо воскликнула: «Лина, что ты здесь делаешь?» Лина бросила на Жанну холодный взгляд и ледяным тоном ответила: «Это моя квартира, не так ли? Мне надо объяснять, что я здесь делаю? Вопрос в том, что ты здесь делаешь?» Жанна опустила взгляд, изображая смущение и невинность. «Я случайно по**залась ножом для фруктов, и Фёдор так разволновался, что настоял на том, чтобы остаться со мной на несколько дней, - затем её взгляд метнулся к чемодану рядом с Линой, и она театрально ахнула, прикрыв рот рукой. - Лина, что ты делаешь? Ты расстроилась? Полагаю, что это неуместно. Если тебя что-то беспокоит, ты можешь поговорить со мной. Я извинюсь, если это тебя успокоит. Во всём этом нет необходимости». Губы Лины изогнулись в холодной, почти жестокой улыбке, когда она медленно шагнула вперёд к Жанне. «Ты действительно собираешься извиниться? Серьёзно?» Зная, что Фёдор наблюдает за ней, Жанна с фальшивой искренностью кивнула: «Конечно. Если это поможет, я сделаю всё возможное». «Ну, ладно. Почему нет? - улыбка Лины стала шире, но в её глазах поселился холодный расчёт. - Поскольку ты так искренна, полагаю, я смогу тебе помочь». С этими словами она замахнулась. Резкий звук по**чины эхом разнёсся по комнате, когда ладонь Лины коснулась лица Жанны, подтверждая окончательность её слов. Глава 4 Лина, ты действительно изменилась Жанна пронзительно вскрикнула от удара и на мгновение застыла. Схватившись за горящую щёку, она уставилась на Лину, широко распахнув глаза от недоверия. «Лина, как ты посмела дать мне пощёчину?» - прошипела она дрожащим от ярости голосом. Губы Лины скривились в ледяной, насмешливой улыбке, а глаза холодно сверкнули. «А почему я не могу? Ты сама этого просила. Ты же хотела извиниться, да? Но одна по**чина вряд ли успокоит мой гнев. Может, вторая поможет». С этими словами она снова подняла руку, не отрывая взгляда от лица Жанны. Фёдор, всё ещё не оправившийся от шока, наконец вздрогнул и, с яростным криком бросившись вперёд, оттолкнул Лину в сторону. «Хватит! Лина, не заходи слишком далеко!» Обняв Жанну, взволнованный мужчина начал что-то бормотать, пытаясь успокоить её. Лина отшатнулась назад, с лёгкостью восстановила равновесие и, равнодушно окинув их взглядом, с сарказмом произнесла: «Это заходит слишком далеко? Жанна сама заявила, что хочет извиниться. Фёдор, ты глухой? Если она действительно хотела извиниться, ей следовало просто промолчать и дать мне выпустить пар. Я просто ударила её. Неужели это заходит слишком далеко? То, что я с ней сделала, ничто по сравнению с тем, что вы двое сделали со мной, - с горечью глядя на них, она продолжила: - Вы оба отвратительные обманщики. И однажды, когда правда выйдет наружу, кто поверит хоть одному вашему слову?» Фёдор застыл, ошеломлённый потоком обвинений. Он открыл рот, но не смог произнести ни единого слова в свою защиту. Прижимая Жанну к себе, словно защищая её, мужчина, прищурившись, смотрел на Лину с растущим раздражением. После долгого напряжённого молчания он наконец злобно произнёс: «Даже если Жанна хотела извиниться, тебе не следовало давать ей пощёчину. Это всего лишь извинения. Насилием проблемы не решить. Ты ведёшь себя как дикое животное!» Лина слегка наклонила голову и холодно ухмыльнулась, а затем небрежно согнула запястье. «Я посчитаю это комплиментом, - ответила она, пристально глядя на него. - Раз уж ты такого высоко обо мне мнения, может, мне ещё пару раз её ударить, чтобы оправдать твои похвалы?» Услышав насмешливый ответ, потрясённый Фёдор с открытым ртом уставился на неё. На мгновение ему показалось, что женщина перед ним - вовсе не та Лина, которую он знал. Не менее ошеломлённая Жанна смотрела на Лину с недоверием, пытаясь осмыслить ситуацию. Она и раньше издевалась над Линой бесчисленное количество раз, но всё происходило иначе. Та никогда так не сопротивлялась. Неужели Лина сошла с ума? Напряжение в комнате нарастало, и внезапно Жанна почувствовала неладное. Может, Лина делала это намеренно, чтобы привлечь внимание Фёдора? Она бросила быстрый тревожный взгляд на мужчину и обнаружила, что тот полностью поглощён Линой и не сводит с неё глаз. Жанна почувствовала ревность. Она приложила немало усилий, чтобы отобрать его у Лины, и ни за что не позволит последней вернуть его. Запаниковав, Жанна крепче сжала руку Фёдора, притягивая его к себе, а затем с напускной любезностью сказала: «Фёдор, не говори так. Лина, вероятно, просто расстроена. Я не возражаю. Если она перестанет на нас злиться, меня всё устроит». Сердце Фёдора переполнилось сочувствием к Жанне, а её слова лишь усилили его злость по отношению к Лине. «Лина, ты действительно изменилась, - сказал он с нескрываемым разочарованием в голосе. - Лина, которую я знал, никогда так себя не повела бы. Если продолжишь вести себя подобным образом.» Лина прервала его, прежде чем он успел договорить, и язвительно парировала: «Конечно, я изменилась. Я, наверное, сошла с ума, если раньше терпела тебя. Но больше не буду. Я поумнела. Только и**от будет продолжать унижаться, как я. Фёдор, позволь мне прояснить ситуацию: между нами всё кончено. Окончательно!» Не говоря больше ни слова, девушка схватила свой чемодан и с каменным выражением лица отвернулась. Фёдор застыл, поражённый таким решительным заявлением. Он никогда раньше не видел её такой. Когда она вышла из комнаты, волоча за собой чемодан, его грудь сжалась от паники, душившей его. По причинам, которые мужчина не мог понять, его тяготило тяжёлое чувство надвигающейся утраты, словно самая важная часть его жизни ускользала сквозь пальцы. «Лина!» - в отчаянии крикнул он, пытаясь догнать её. Глаза Жанны расширились от шока. Она не ожидала, что Фёдор отреагирует подобным образом. Не задумываясь, девушка приложила руку к щеке и тихо, драматично всхлипнула. «Федя, моё лицо. Мне так больно. У меня идёт к**вь?» Фёдор замер, а его сердце сжалось при звуке её печального голоса. Он неохотно повернулся к ней. На щеке Жанны виднелись едва заметные красные полосы, и у мужчины заныло в груди от этого зрелища. «Жанна, не плачь, - обеспокоенно пробормотал он. - Я отвезу тебя в больницу. Мы нанесём мазь, и всё будет хорошо». Жанна громко всхлипнула, театрально разрыдавшись. На мгновение она заколебалась, а затем, смягчившись, с притворной тревогой произнесла: «Федя, Лина действительно уходит. Может, тебе стоит пойти за ней, а не беспокоиться обо мне. Со мной всё будет хорошо». Фёдор прикусил губу, а затем поморщился. «На этот раз Лина перешла черту. Я больше не буду ей потакать. Пусть выпустит пар, а потом сама приползёт обратно. Когда она это сделает, я заставлю её извиниться перед тобой». Жанна почувствовала удовлетворение и, прижавшись к мужчине, приторно-сладким голосом пробормотала: «Федя, ты так добр ко мне». Её план работал идеально. Девушка самодовольно подумала, что у неё всё под контролем. Лина - просто д*ра, если думала, что сможет вернуть Фёдора. Однако когда Фёдор обнимал Жанну, тепло её ласк не помогало унять грызущее его беспокойство. В его груди шевельнулось странное беспокойство. Почему он так тревожился? Подавив беспокойство, мужчина попытался улыбнуться Жанне с напускным терпением. Однако как бы он ни старался, его взгляд возвращался к двери, за которой скрылась Лина. Лине некуда идти. В конце концов она вернётся. Он в этом не сомневался. Глава 5 Давай поспорим Вернувшись на виллу Светлая, Кирилл направился в кабинет. Общество видело в нём лишь беспомощного инвалида, но теперь он стоял гордо, без тени прежнего отчаяния. Мужчина остановился у французского окна и с непроницаемым выражением лица смотрел на пейзаж. В этот момент у него зазвонил телефон. На экране появился номер Даниила Варламова, его друг детства. «Привет, Кирилл, - небрежно произнёс Даниил. - Я проверил информацию о твоей жене и не нашёл ничего подозрительного. Её биография подтвердилась. Она вышла за тебя замуж, потому что жених бросил её у алтаря, - Даниил внезапно сменил тон и игриво заметил: - Знаешь, все богатые девушки в городе избегают тебя как чумы. Они считают тебя инвалидом, которого выгнали из семьи, - идеальный образ изгоя. А Лина? У неё хватило смелости подойти к тебе и выйти за тебя замуж. Должен сказать, что она мужественная, - после короткой паузы Даниил добавил с задумчивым вздохом: - Хотя мне и интересно. Когда она узнает правду, то как это воспримет?» Кирилл бесстрастным голосом ответил: «У неё не будет такой возможности. Как только она поняла, кто я на самом деле, то придумала оправдание и ушла. Вероятно, она не вернётся». Он не удивился, поскольку после аварии отвержение и презрение стали частью его жизни. Низкое положение в семье Радуловых лишь усиливало его изоляцию, но он безразлично относился ко всему происходящему. Люди часто говорили, что выйти замуж за такого мужчину, как он, человека без будущего, - всё равно что поставить крест на жизни женщины. Однако Даниил не согласился с другом. «Не думаю, что она такая, - с усмешкой возразил он. - Подумай, сколько женщин осмелились бы сменить жениха на своей свадьбе? Чутьё подсказывает мне, что Лина не сбежит. Поскольку она вышла за тебя замуж, то вряд ли просто исчезнет, - с каждым словом Даниил всё сильнее волновался. - Ты мне не веришь? Давай поспорим. Держу пари, Лина скоро вернётся. Если я выиграю, ты отдашь мне тот участок земли на окраине города. Договорились?» Кирилл приподнял бровь и расчётливым тоном ответил: «А если проиграешь?» Даниил пренебрежительно усмехнулся: «Я не проиграю, понятно? - внезапно почувствовав холодность собеседника даже через телефон, он непроизвольно вздрогнул и поспешно отступил: - Ладно, ладно. Если я проиграю, можешь попросить о чём-то равноценном. Договорились?» Кирилл ни на секунду не поверил, что Лина вернётся, поэтому холодно фыркнул, что Даниил воспринял как молчаливое согласие. Когда Кирилл собирался повесить трубку, в дверь постучали, а затем раздался голос экономки: «Господин Радулов, приехала госпожа Радулова». Что будет дальше? Количество глав здесь ограничено, нажмите на кнопку ниже, чтобы установить приложение и продолжить чтение более захватывающих глав! (Вы будете автоматически перенаправлены на книгу, когда откроете приложение) &3&