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홈 / Romance / The Wife He Loves to Hate / Chapter 25: Daddy Is Coming

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Chapter 25: Daddy Is Coming

작가: Frya Isaac
last update 게시일: 2026-09-06 16:47:25

London was everything I had hoped for.

The air was crisp and smelled of autumn rain, the streets were lined with historic brick architecture, and for two full days, Charlotte and I lived in our own little bubble. We ate oversized scones, rode a double-decker bus, and spent hours walking through Kensington Gardens without a single care in the world.

For the first time in forever, I felt... light.

On the afternoon, as we were sitting in a cozy tea shop near Covent Garden, Charlotte’s little p
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  • The Wife He Loves to Hate   CHAPTER 67: THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM

    My eyes closed. I knew exactly what he meant. Not back to the penthouse. Not back to the corporate world. Back to us. That morning, Liam insisted on bringing breakfast upstairs himself. I sat against the padded headboard while Charlotte watched cartoons beside me. Liam entered carrying a silver tray loaded with fresh fruit, croissants, eggs, and freshly squeezed juice. “Breakfast is served.” He placed the tray in front of us. I stared at it. “Why are you feeding me like European royalty?” “Because you are.” Charlotte immediately raised her hand. “Daddy, I want chocolate pancakes.” “You already ate two downstairs.” “I want three more.” Liam looked at me. “Your mother is a terrible influence.” I gasped. “Don’t blame my sweet personality for her sweet tooth!” Liam picked up a strawberry. “Open.” I stared at him. “Are you seriously hand-feeding me?” “Hu-um.” “I can feed myself.” “I know.” He held the strawberry closer. “Open.” I rolled my eyes but obeye

  • The Wife He Loves to Hate   CHAPTER 68: THE SHADOW OVER PARADISE

    The private jet lounge smelled faintly of dark roast coffee, warm vanilla, and polished Italian leather. I sat beside the oval window, watching London disappear beneath us. Grey buildings shrank into tiny shapes until the city vanished beneath a blanket of white clouds. For the first time in what felt like forever, we were leaving everything behind. Just Liam, Charlotte, and me. A real family vacation. I leaned my head against the window and smiled. “Happy?” Liam’s deep voice came from beside me. I turned. He had already set aside his tablet and was watching me. “Very.” “Good.” I smiled softly. “You know, Lee, I think this might be the first time we’ve gone somewhere without a crisis waiting for us.” Liam raised an eyebrow. “Don’t say that.” “Why?” “Because every time you say something like that, something happens.” I laughed. “You’re becoming superstitious.” “I’m becoming experienced.” I reached across the space between us and squeezed his hand. “Nothing is going to h

  • The Wife He Loves to Hate   CHAPTER 65: AGATHA’S TRUE WORDS

    The master bedroom was bathed in the soft, golden glow of the bedside lamps, casting long shadows across the plush ivory carpet. The quiet storm outside seemed miles away, swallowed by the profound stillness that had settled between Liam and me. We sat together on the edge of the large king-sized bed, side by side, the heavy mahogany box resting open between us. My fingers trembled slightly as I reached into the velvet interior and lifted the leather-bound journal. The cover was soft, worn by time, and stamped with faded gold initials: A.H. The delicate scent of dried lavender and faint tea leaves rose from the yellowed pages as I carefully opened the first leaf. Liam shifted closer, his presence a steady, warm anchor against my side. He didn't speak. He simply remained there, silent and strong, allowing me the space to face the ghosts of my past. I turned the pages, recognizing my mother's elegant, fluid cursive handwriting. Agatha Hart had been a woman of quiet grace, sharp int

  • The Wife He Loves to Hate   CHAPTER 64: PATRICK’S CONFESSION

    The silence in the penthouse living room was no longer filled with suspicion, but with the suffocating weight of ten years of hidden truths. My father remained on his knees for a moment longer, his shoulders trembling beneath the heavy wool of his coat. Seeing Patrick Hart—a man whose pride had always been his unyielding fortress, a titan who had weathered corporate scandals with a jaw carved from granite—broken and weeping on the polished hardwood floor shattered something deep within my chest. "Dad, please... get up," I whispered, my voice cracking as I sank to my knees beside him. Patrick lifted his head slowly, his tear-streaked face looking aged and weathered beyond his years. He reached out with trembling, worn hands, gently taking my right hand into his left, while his right hand gripped Liam’s wrist. With a steady, deliberate movement, he drew our hands together, resting them flat against the cool, dark mahogany lid of the vintage wooden box. He held our joined hands ther

  • The Wife He Loves to Hate   CHAPTER 63: PROTECT ME?

    The next morning, the sharp chime of the penthouse doorbell rang through the quiet halls. I was sitting at the marble kitchen island, wrapping both hands around a mug of dark coffee, when Mrs. Miller hurried toward the foyer to answer it. A moment later, her surprised voice carried across the high ceilings: "Mr. Hart?" I froze, setting my cup down with a quiet clatter. My father? I stood up immediately, smoothing down my sweater. Patrick Hart stepped into the formal living room. He looked noticeably older, his shoulders slightly stooped, his usual sharp, intimidating posture replaced by a heavy, fragile exhaustion. Clutched tightly in his weathered hands was a small wooden box. It was old, dark mahogany, its corners worn smooth by decades of handling, its brass latch tarnished. My breath caught in my throat. "Dad?" Patrick’s eyes lifted, meeting mine. Then, his gaze shifted past my shoulder toward Liam, who had just emerged from his private study in a dark shirt and trousers.

  • The Wife He Loves to Hate   CHAPTER 62: THE MISUNDERSTOOD PACT

    Vance’s words followed me all the way home. They sat in the back of my mind like a jagged stone I couldn’t swallow. Ask your father why Agatha’s inheritance documents were changed by Liam ten years ago. I had heard the sentence only once, but that was enough. Because Liam’s reaction in that chaotic boardroom had been far worse than Vance’s accusation. He hadn’t laughed. He hadn’t denied it immediately. He had simply gone chalk-white. And that terrified me more than anything else. The drive back to the penthouse was suffocatingly silent. Liam sat beside me in the back of the armored town car, his gaze fixed on the rain-slicked London streets passing outside the tinted window. I stared at his sharp reflection in the glass, my pulse racing against my ribs. Finally, I couldn’t take the silence anymore. "Did you change my mother’s documents?" His dark eyes closed briefly, his chest expanding with a slow breath. "Abby—" "Just answer me, Liam." The car suddenly felt far too small.

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