Nobela ni Meechelle

We found the waiter.That was the text. Short. Sweet. Suspiciously convenient.I was already halfway to the door, purse in hand, hoodie halfway on, ready to interrogate this man like an unhinged FBI dropout when—“Where are you going?” Damian’s voice slid in like a cold slap.I paused mid-step, my fake Gucci boot hovering in dramatic defiance. “Out.”He narrowed his eyes. “Out where?”“None of your business.” I smiled like a cat with blood on its whiskers. “Last I checked, we were about three gasps away from divorce.”His jaw ticked. “Was that a message you got just now?”I arched a brow. “And if it was?”He folded his arms. “Are you seeing someone?”I snorted. Loud. “What is it to you? Feeling territorial, husband?”He didn’t answer. Just stared like I was a locked vault he’d forgotten the code to. “It’s late. I won’t let you drag the family name through the mud—especially not with Grandma in the house.”“You’re the one who offered me fifty million to stay. Not to stay put.”“I didn’

As I sat across from Caden, clinking glasses in a restaurant that smelled faintly of rosemary and rich people problems, I had to admit it he was annoyingly easy to admire.That relaxed jawline. That watch that could probably pay off a mortgage. That voice, smooth like coffee laced with secrets.And unlike Damian, he actually asked me how I was doing without glaring first.“I have to say,” I said, tracing the rim of my glass with my finger, “you’re quite the charmer.”Caden gave a small smile. “You say that like you were expecting me not to.”“I wasn’t sure. You give off ‘tech billionaire who forgets to comb his hair’ vibes.”He laughed. “And you give off ‘I stabbed my ex and would do it again’ energy.”I grinned. “I get that a lot.”He chuckled, his amber eyes locked on me like I was both an inside joke and a puzzle he wanted to solve. “Remind me again why you asked me here?”I took a slow sip. “Maybe I was hoping you’d help me escape my emotionally constipated husband. Or maybe I jus

It was me.I drugged myself.What a joke.“You’re smarter than I thought,” I muttered, staring down at the grainy footage like it owed me rent.The nerve of this bitch.The woman in the footage…me, smiled directly at the camera. Her walk, her hair, her height. Perfect mimicry. But the second she turned slightly I saw it.A fucking mask of my face. Not a metaphor. Not a disguise. A literal rubber Arianna face like I was watching Scooby-Doo. I didn’t expect that.I snapped the phone shut like it burned.“Fuck you, author,” I hissed. “What kind of deranged Wattpad-Netflix crossover is this? How can the villain be as smart as the main character? Make it make sense!”I paced in tight circles around Arianna’s ridiculously glossy bedroom, still fuming.“She wore a mask,” I said again, louder this time. “This bitch wore a mask. Who does that? Scooby-Doo villains? Halloween drag queens? A psychopath villain?I stared back at the paused video.“No. No way she smiled into the camera. She plan

I stormed back into the house, still seething. My hands were shaking part rage, part cold, part…okay, 99% rage. That’s when I saw it.Wet footprints.I’d just seen wet footprints trailing from the pool to the hallway like something out of a murder documentary. And where did they lead?To Vivian.I followed, my breath shallow, heart hammering louder with each step. The trail ended at one of the guest rooms. I didn’t hesitate. I pushed the door open just as Vivian stepped out, eyes wide, lips parted.Dripping hair, damp hem, trying to glide out of one of the guest rooms like she hadn’t just time-traveled out of the damn pool.What were you doing in there?” I snapped.She blinked. “Excuse me?”I didn’t give her time to lie.My body moved before my brain could stop it.I grabbed her arm, spinning her around, and slapping her so hard her fake lashes flew off and slapped her back.“You sneaky bitch,” I said. “What were you doing near the pool?”She stumbled back, crashing against the wall

His fingers trailed across my waist, warm and deliberate, pausing just at the edge of my abdomen. My breath hitched.He leaned closer, his mouth brushing the shell of my ear, and whispered, “Call me what you used to.”My knees nearly buckled.His hand slipped lower, firm against the curve of my ass. I gasped as his lips grazed my throat, teeth catching gently on skin.I didn’t think. I just reacted.I turned, pressed my body against his, and whispered, “Damian…”But he didn’t kiss me.He froze.Then slowly, his hand moved not to hold me but to grip my jaw, just enough pressure to still my words, to make my heart sink.“You’re not Arianna.”Welp. There goes my sex scene. Down the drain.Of course the one time I get this close…my bad. I knew the Salvatore grumpy husband will be a hard nut to crack.“Are we doing this again?” I asked bored.He looked at me with something between awe and suspicion. “She never kissed me like that.”His hand slid from my chin to my neck. Not tight. Not pain

The air was thick.Swirling. Glowing, maybe?Was it working?I blinked through the fog, heart pounding like I was about to win the lottery or get hit by a train.But then…A maid stepped through the smoke, holding a tray of something steaming. A soup.“Sir, madam,” she said calmly, bowing her head.Not a portal.Not a time-slip.Not an escape from this narrative prison.Just a fucking soup.I sat on the floor crying, defeated, apron-less—when Damian crouched beside me like I was some wounded creature in need of euthanizing.“Are you okay?” he asked.“What do you think?” I snapped, mascara running down my cheeks like a bitter ex. “I’m sobbing into your imported Italian tiles because I failed to cook fish stew for your terrifying grandmother. So… peachy.”Damian blinked. “You’re… dramatic.”“I’m real,” I muttered.He frowned. “What?”“Nothing.” I waved it off and tried to stand, using the counter for support. “Let’s just go out there, tell everyone I set the kitchen on fire and change m