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Chapter Twenty- Four

Penulis: sambeehat
last update Terakhir Diperbarui: 2026-01-13 12:50:36

I don’t sleep.

I lie still beneath the soft weight of Noah’s sheets, staring at the ceiling while the city breathes outside the windows. Every sound feels amplified — the faint hum of electricity, the distant siren, the muted rhythm of my own pulse.

_m._always_here.

The username keeps replaying in my head, over and over, like a whisper that refuses to fade.

Mina.

It has to be her.

She always liked to linger just on the edge of things — not bold enough to step fully into the spotlight, but too h
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  • Left At The Altar   Twenty-Nine

    Morning arrives quietly.Not with alarms or urgency, but with pale light slipping through the glass walls of the penthouse and the low hum of the city waking below. I lie still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, listening.No footsteps rushing. No voices. Just calm.It takes me a second to realize how strange that is.For years, mornings meant tension — emails already piling up, cases waiting, expectations pressing down before I’d even opened my eyes. But here, in Noah’s penthouse, the quiet feels intentional. Curated. Like he designed even the silence.I sit up slowly, pulling the sheet around me. I didn’t sleep in his bed. That boundary still exists — deliberate, respected. But the guest room no longer feels like a temporary shelter. It feels… lived in.My phone lights up on the nightstand.Noah: You awake?I smile before I can stop myself.Me: Unfortunately, yes.A moment passes.Noah: Coffee’s ready. No pressure.I swing my legs out of bed.He’s already dressed when I enter the

  • Left At The Altar   Twenty-Eight

    The kiss shouldn’t have followed me into the morning.But it does.It lingers in the quiet hum of the penthouse, in the way my pulse refuses to settle as I stand at the sink pretending I’m focused on rinsing my coffee mug. My reflection in the glass looks composed — hair neat, posture straight — but my eyes give me away. They’re too bright. Too awake.Last night changed something.Not loudly. Not recklessly.But permanently.Behind me, Noah moves through the space with the same measured calm he always carries, except now I notice the restraint beneath it — the way he keeps a careful distance, like he’s holding himself in check.“Your driver will be here in ten,” he says.I nod. “Thank you.”Silence stretches, but it’s not awkward. It’s loaded.“Noah,” I say, turning slightly. “About last night—”“We don’t need to define it,” he says immediately, meeting my eyes. “Not yet.”That surprises me. “You don’t want to?”“I want to do it right,” he replies. “Which means no pressure. No rushing

  • Left At The Altar   Twenty Seven

    The boardroom smells like polished wood and quiet ambition.I take my seat at the head of the table, spine straight, expression calm, even as my pulse ticks louder with every second. Twelve faces look back at me — partners, senior counsel, men and women who watched me grow up running through these halls and now assess me like a variable they’re not sure they trust.“Let’s begin,” I say, clicking my tablet awake.The call starts predictably enough — quarterly numbers, client retention, litigation wins. I move through it with precision, answering questions before they’re fully formed, anticipating objections, shutting down doubt with facts. This is the part I’m good at. This is the armor.Then one of them clears his throat.“Aurora,” Mr. Langford says, folding his hands. “We’d be remiss not to address the… optics.”There it is.I don’t blink. “Be specific.”He hesitates, then continues. “Given the very public disruption of your wedding and the subsequent media attention, some of our cli

  • Left At The Altar   Twenty-Six

    Sleep doesn’t come easily.I lie awake staring at the ceiling, the quiet of the guest room broken only by the distant hum of the city and the soft, unfamiliar rhythm of someone else’s home. Noah’s home. The thought alone sends a strange flutter through my chest — unsettling, warm, dangerous.I turn onto my side, clutching the edge of the duvet like it might anchor me.This is temporary, I remind myself. Everything is temporary.But my body doesn’t believe it. My heart doesn’t either.Sometime before dawn, my phone vibrates on the bedside table.I flinch, already half-awake, and grab it instinctively. Emails. Dozens of them. Red flags. Subject lines stacked with urgency.Partner concerns.Client escalation.Board review requested.Of course.The firm never sleeps. And neither, apparently, do the people waiting for me to fail.I sit up, hair falling into my face as I scroll. One message catches my eye — from one of the senior partners. The tone is polite, but the meaning is sharp.Given

  • Left At The Altar   Twenty-Five

    The penthouse is too quiet.Not the comfortable kind of quiet — the kind that presses against your ears, makes you aware of every breath, every shift of weight, every unspoken thing hanging between two people who are pretending they don’t feel anything at all.I stand by the window, arms folded, watching the city lights blur together below. From this height, everything looks smaller. Manageable. As if problems shrink when you’re far enough away.Behind me, I hear Noah move.Not loud. He never is. Just the soft sound of a glass being set down, footsteps crossing marble. I don’t turn around, but my spine straightens anyway, like my body reacts before my mind does.“You didn’t eat,” he says.I shrug. “I wasn’t hungry.”“That’s a lie.”A sigh slips out of me. “You always this observant, or is that just with me?”There’s a pause. Long enough that I almost turn around.Then, quietly: “Just with you.”That does it.I turn, finally facing him. He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, sleeves

  • Left At The Altar   Chapter Twenty- Four

    I don’t sleep.I lie still beneath the soft weight of Noah’s sheets, staring at the ceiling while the city breathes outside the windows. Every sound feels amplified — the faint hum of electricity, the distant siren, the muted rhythm of my own pulse._m._always_here.The username keeps replaying in my head, over and over, like a whisper that refuses to fade.Mina.It has to be her.She always liked to linger just on the edge of things — not bold enough to step fully into the spotlight, but too hungry to disappear. Even as kids, she had hovered near my life, smiling too brightly, listening too closely.I roll onto my side and unlock my phone again.The follow request is still there.Waiting.I don’t accept it.Instead, I take a screenshot and forward it to Noah with a single message:This just happened.The reply comes almost instantly.Don’t interact. I’m on it.I exhale slowly and set the phone aside.For the first time, I realize this isn’t just about fear or revenge or obsession. It

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