เข้าสู่ระบบI married a man who loved my step-sister. Our marriage was a contract—cold, clinical, temporary. No love. No expectations. And above all, no pregnancy. I told myself I could endure it. That loving him quietly, faithfully, invisibly, would one day be enough. I was wrong. For four years, I lived as a ghost in my own marriage—watching the man I loved choose her, again and again. I sacrificed my pride, my dreams, and my voice, waiting for him to see me. Then I discovered I was pregnant. I had broken the contract. But more than that, I had broken myself. So I left. Years later, I am no longer the woman who begged for scraps of affection. I am powerful, independent, whole. I rebuilt my life, reclaimed my stolen legacy, and became the woman I was always meant to be. Now, the man who once overlooked me stands at my door, desperate for answers—about the son he never knew existed, about the woman he destroyed, about the love he threw away. But some love is realized too late. When the woman you ignored becomes the one you can’t have, and the child you never wanted becomes your only chance at redemption—can a heart that never chose you suddenly deserve a second chance?
ดูเพิ่มเติมJulian POVI shouldn’t still be here.That’s the thought that has been sitting with me for the past three hours, quiet and persistent, while I stand at the far end of the surgical corridor with my arms folded and my eyes on Aria. I told her I would give her space. I meant it when I said it. I still mean it now, technically—I haven’t gone to her, haven’t spoken to her, haven’t made myself known.But I haven’t left either.I watch her from a distance the way you watch something you’re not supposed to want. She’s been sitting in that chair outside the theater since before I arrived, back straight, hands folded in her lap, eyes fixed on nothing. Not her phone. Not the nurses moving past her. Nothing. Just that particular stillness people carry when they’re too afraid to move, like staying perfectly still, is the only form of control they have left.It does something to me, watching her like that. Something I don’t have clean words for.I arranged food through one of the floor nurses—kept
Aria POVDr. Daniel walked into the room quietly, the way doctors always did — like they had learned early on how to carry heavy news without letting it show in their footsteps. His expression was composed, professional, giving nothing away before he was ready to give it.“Her surgery is scheduled for eight o’clock tomorrow morning,” he said, his gaze moving to where I sat at my mother’s bedside.“Okay,” I said softly. Just that one word, because it was all I could manage.I was still holding her hand. I hadn’t let go since I arrived. My thumb moved slowly over her knuckles — back and forth, back and forth — the same absent rhythm I had kept for the past hour, as if the motion itself was doing something useful. As if it was keeping us both anchored.Am I happy or terrified? I genuinely couldn’t tell. Both feelings sat inside my chest at the same time, pressed so tightly together they had become indistinguishable from each other. Tomorrow felt enormous. Tomorrow felt like a door I coul
Aria POVThe hospital smelled the way it always did — antiseptic and something faintly floral underneath, like someone had tried to soften the sterile reality of the place with an air freshener and failed. My sneakers squeaked softly against the polished linoleum as I made my way down the corridor toward Dr. Daniel’s office, my fingers wrapped tight around the strap of my bag just to have something to hold onto.I knocked twice before pushing the door open.Daniel was at his desk, pen in hand, a patient file open in front of him. He looked up immediately, set the pen down, and gestured to the chair across from him with a relaxed smile. I sat, straightening my back the way I always did when I was trying to appear calmer than I actually felt.“I had a chance to see some of your paintings,” he said, his tone unhurried, warm. “The ones hanging in the east hallway. I must say — I’m very impressed.” The design I painted to contribute to the hospital since my mom is here.Something small and
Aria POV The coffee shop was the kind of place that made you feel like the rest of the world could wait. Soft acoustic music drifted from somewhere near the ceiling, low enough that you could talk over it without raising your voice. The air smelled of roasted beans and warm vanilla, and every surface — the wooden counter, the small round tables, the mismatched chairs — had that worn, comfortable look of somewhere people came to exhale. I had needed exactly this. Somewhere small and ordinary and safe.I wrapped both hands around my mug and let the warmth seep into my palms.Vanessa sat across from me, her natural hair piled high on her head, her oversized cream sweater making her look effortlessly put-together in the way she always managed without trying. She had been mid-sip when I told her, and now she was staring at me with her cup frozen halfway to the table, her eyes wide.“For real?” she asked, her voice dropping to a sharp whisper of disbelief.I nodded slowly. “I’m telling you
Aria POVThe room was quiet except for the occasional rustle of pages.I was curled up against my headboard, legs tucked beneath me, a half-eaten packet of biscuits on the nightstand beside a cold cup of tea I kept forgetting to drink. The novel in my hands — The Space Between Heartbeats — had swal
Aria POVThe knock at my door was soft, but I still flinched at it.“Aria, you called me to come over.”Vanessa stepped inside, her presence filling the room like a breath of warm air. She was dressed in a caramel-coloured wrap dress that hugged her frame, her curls pinned half-up with a few loose
Julian POVThe dream always started the same way—with the weight of silence.I was seven again, standing in the doorway of my father’s study. The room smelled of aged leather and tobacco, rich mahogany bookshelves towering on either side like sentinels. Afternoon light slanted through the venetian
Aria POVThe kiss ignited like a wildfire.Julian’s mouth crushed against mine with desperate hunger, his lips searing hot and demanding. The torch he’d been carrying—the one that had guided us through the darkened hallway—clattered forgotten to the floor. His hands framed my face, thumbs tracing m


















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