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Chapter 147

作者: PaloMack. S.
last update 公開日: 2026-05-22 23:26:20

Daniel's POV

The drawing Chloe had given him still sat on the kitchen counter, catching the warm glow of the overhead light. The building with the open door. He kept glancing at it while the coffee brewed, the quiet hum of the machine filling the otherwise silent apartment. Steam rose in lazy curls from the mug he eventually poured. The lines in the child’s sketch were surprisingly confident for a five-year-old. The proportions were decent, the perspective intuitive. But it was the figure in th
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  • The Day I Stopped Loving Him   Chapter 159

    Léo's POVThe loft felt different. It was the same exposed brick, polished concrete, and steel beams running across the ceiling, but the air inside had grown heavier denser, charged like the moment before a storm.Maya was home but moving slowly. I had watched her come through the door, holding onto the wall, pausing in the hallway with her eyes closed for three seconds too long. She was compensating for her injuries, shifting the load away from the pain, refusing to appear fragile. She was doing what she always did. I recognized the pattern from my own past, after cracked ribs and silent mornings after the warehouse incident.Chloe was quiet. She had emerged from her room with Maya and gone straight to the cutting table without a word. Her small face wore a mask of composure that no five-year-old should need. I wanted to kneel down and pull her close, to tell her none of this was her fault, but the words felt like decorative elements, pretty but useless under real stress. So instead,

  • The Day I Stopped Loving Him   Chapter 159

    Léo's POVThe loft felt different. It was the same exposed brick, polished concrete, and steel beams running across the ceiling, but the air inside had grown heavier denser, charged like the moment before a storm.Maya was home but moving slowly. I had watched her come through the door, holding onto the wall, pausing in the hallway with her eyes closed for three seconds too long. She was compensating for her injuries, shifting the load away from the pain, refusing to appear fragile. She was doing what she always did. I recognized the pattern from my own past, after cracked ribs and silent mornings after the warehouse incident.Chloe was quiet. She had emerged from her room with Maya and gone straight to the cutting table without a word. Her small face wore a mask of composure that no five-year-old should need. I wanted to kneel down and pull her close, to tell her none of this was her fault, but the words felt like decorative elements, pretty but useless under real stress. So instead,

  • The Day I Stopped Loving Him   Chapter 158

    Maya's POVI signed the discharge papers with a trembling hand. The nurse stood at the door, arms crossed, mouth a flat line of disapproval."You are leaving against medical advice. You have a grade two concussion. You need observation for at least forty-eight hours.""I have people who will observe me.""That is not the same thing.""I know." I pulled on my jacket. Pain spiked through my skull and the room tilted. I gripped the edge of the bed until it settled. "It will have to be enough."The nurse handed me a sheet of instructions. I folded it without reading. I knew what it said: rest, no screens, no stress. I was about to break every rule.The drive home demanded concentration. Streetlights blurred at the edges of my vision. I gripped the wheel tightly. The scar on my abdomen reminded me I had pushed through worse.I pulled into the garage beneath the building. It was empty except for Léo’s car. The surveillance vehicle was gone—Marcus had repositioned it.The elevator rose slowl

  • The Day I Stopped Loving Him   Chapter 157

    Chloe's POVThe classroom was loud. The teacher was writing on the board, the chalk squeaking against the surface. Chloe sat in the back, arranging her grey pencils in order of darkness. The order was important. The darkest pencil was for the foundations. The lightest was for the details. The structure required both.A group of children at the next table kept looking at her. Whispering. The sound was a low, persistent hum, like the vibration of a cracked beam. Chloe ignored them. She had work to do.A boy with red hair leaned over. His name was Thierry. He wore bright sneakers and talked with his hands."My mom says your dad is not your real dad," Thierry said.Chloe did not look up. "Léo is my dad.""My mom says your real dad is a man named Daniel. She says he left your mom because she was difficult."Chloe's hand stopped moving over the pencil. The point hovered above the paper, suspended in a moment of perfect stillness. The pain of the words was a sharp, sudden thing, a crack in t

  • The Day I Stopped Loving Him   Chapter 156

    Elena's POVThe VOSS brand was frozen. Maya was in a hospital bed. Daniel was circling the perimeter, looking for a way back in.Elena stood in the loft. The forms with the Worn collection were draped in white, a silent army waiting for a war that had been postponed. The space felt empty without the sound of the shears, without Maya's presence at the cutting table, without the energy of creation that usually filled the room.The silence was oppressive. The loft, usually a hive of industry and purpose, had become a warehouse of anxieties. The fabric waited. The forms stood. The armor was ready, but the warrior was down.Marcus called with an update. The injunction was solid on paper. The IP clause was the problem. The Renaud estate claimed ownership of any design produced using mill resources."They are claiming the first collection was made on a mill machine," Marcus said."It was a secondhand Singer in a coastal cottage," Elena replied. The anger was a cold, hard thing in her chest.

  • The Day I Stopped Loving Him   Chapter 155

    Maya's POVThe hospital lights were too bright. The glare pressed against my eyelids, each pulse of fluorescence sending a spike of pain through my skull. The room smelled of latex and bleach, the sharp chemical odor cutting through the fog of concussion and medication. The bed was narrow and hard, the sheets stiff with starch, the pillow flat and unyielding.Daniel walked in first. His face was a mask of controlled panic, the expression he wore when he was performing concern rather than feeling it. He sat in the chair beside the bed and took my hand. His grip was firm, possessive, the hold of a man who believed touch was the same as ownership."I am here," he said.Léo stood in the doorway. His shirt was stained with blood. My blood. The sight of it, the dark crimson against the torn fabric, triggered a rush of gratitude so fierce it almost broke through the pain. He had been there. He had fought. He had bled. The blood on his shirt was a testament to his presence, a physical record

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