로그인I never imagined I’d wake up in a hospital bed, my body broken, my heart shattered—and discover that my husband was with her. His first love. The woman who should have been erased from our past. So I left. Filed for divorce. Walked away from the life he thought I couldn’t survive without. Returning home to claim my family’s estate, I expected nothing from him. But of course, he followed. And when he saw me casually using his credit card to book eight male escorts, he lost it. Furious. Outraged. Certain I would crumble. He was so sure I’d come back begging. That I’d fall apart without him. That I’d finally admit defeat. Six months passed. I didn’t. A year passed. I didn’t. And then he showed up—not in his tailored suit, not as the untouchable billionaire, but on my farm, rolling up his sleeves as a laborer, ready to test me. He thinks he’s the storm. He has no idea I’m the hurricane.
더 보기He cuts through the bar like he’s parting water and people just move. That’s what money does I guess. Buys you space even when you’re not asking for it. He’s still in his work clothes, still perfectly pressed even though it’s past ten at night.The music hasn’t stopped but our entire table has gone dead silent and I can feel everyone staring at us waiting to see what’s about to happen.I set my wine glass down real slow and tilt my head at him like I’m trying to place where I know him from.“Are you following me, Mr. Hawthorne?”The “Mr.” is petty. I know it’s petty. But I want him to feel a fraction of the distance I felt standing outside Arabella’s hospital room watching him.“No.” The word comes out stiff, I’ve insulted him by suggesting he’d care enough to follow me anywhere.I take a long sip of wine and let myself smile. “Good. Then you have absolutely no right to interfere with how I spend my Saturday night.”His jaw locks up so tight I can actually see the muscle ticking bene
Dahlia I’m still in bed when someone starts pounding on the front door like they’re trying to break it down. My phone says it’s 9:00 AM. I’ve been home less than twenty-four hours and apparently word has already spread. “Dahlia Rose Miller, open this door right now!” A high pitched and familiar voice.“Open this door or I’m picking the lock!” I drag myself out of bed, wincing as my ribs remind me they’re still healing. I pull on a sweatshirt and stumble downstairs. The pounding continues. “I’m coming, Jesus—” I unlock the door and it flies open before I can even turn the handle. “Oh my god, you’re actually here!” Sienna wraps her arms around me and squeezes. “I literally left a patient mid-cleaning to come see you.” “You left a patient?” I pull back to look at her. She’s wearing scrubs under her jacket and her hair is pulled back in a messy bun. “Mrs. Patterson. She’ll be fine. She was already numbed up anyway.” Sienna grabs my face and turns it side to side, examin
Dahlia The train lurches to a stop and I grab my suitcase before the doors slide open. Home. I haven’t been back in almost two years. The platform looks exactly the same—weathered wooden benches, flower boxes overflowing with petunias, the old station master’s office with its faded green shutters. My phone vibrates in my pocket. I stare at his name on the screen. Answer or ignore? I answer. “Hello Sebastian.” “What the fuck is this?” No greeting. Just pure rage. “I assume you’re referring to the divorce papers.” “The reason, Dahlia.” He sounds like he’s barely containing himself. “You really put in writing that I’m inadequate?” I can’t help the small smile that pulls at my lips. “Is there a problem with the paperwork? I had a lawyer review it to make sure everything was accurate.” “Accurate?” I can practically hear him gritting his teeth. “You know damn well that’s not accurate.” “I stated my experience of our marriage. If you disagree you’re welcome to contest it in cour
Sebastian “You want a what?” Sebastian’s voice is so quiet it’s almost worse than if he’d yelled. Dahlia stands up from the bed even though her ribs are screaming. “A divorce. I’m done.” He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t move. Just stares at her with eyes so cold she actually takes a step back before she can stop herself. “Your grandmother wanted to see you married before she died,” she continues, the words tumbling out faster now. “So I’m giving you an out. Have the life you actually want instead of—” “So what’s your plan then? Go back to your father’s farm?” “Maybe I will.” “And you think I’ll just let you.” “You don’t have a choice.” He moves so fast she doesn’t have time to step back. One second he’s across the room and the next he’s right in front of her, so close she has to tilt her head back to see his face. “You want to talk about choices?” His voice drops into something lethal. “Let’s talk about the choice you made three years ago when you got me into bed.” Her face goes






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