Semua Bab Revenge of the Heart: My Ex's Billionaire Uncle's New Bride : Bab 61 - Bab 70

MegraThe noise of the plane’s engines fades into the background as I sit, staring blankly out the window at the endless expanse of sky. My mind keeps circling back to the letter I wrote to Liza, replaying the words over and over. Guilt twists in my stomach, a constant, gnawing presence. I imagine her reading it, the confusion and betrayal she must have felt.The look on her face haunts me, even though I wasn’t there to see it. My heart aches as I think of Nathaniel, wondering what he must be thinking. The anger, the disbelief—especially after he promised to fix things and be with me. The baby kicks, a gentle reminder that this decision isn’t just about me. Every time I think of Nathaniel, the kicks seem to come, as if the baby is responding to my turmoil.I can’t shake the uneasiness that settles over me whenever Conor is around. The only reason I agreed to leave with him was for the sake of my child, to protect this little life growing inside me. But being around Conor feels... wron

MegraThe afternoon sun filters through the curtains, casting a warm, golden glow across the room. I sit on the edge of the sofa, watching as my little girl, Mia, bounces around with boundless energy. Her red curls, so much like mine, spring up and down with each leap. Her laughter fills the air—a sweet, innocent sound that momentarily lifts the heavy burden on my heart. It's been two years since she was born, and while my life has been anything but perfect, she is my solace. The only bright spot in a world that has grown increasingly dark.Since the day Conor picked me up from the hospital, everything has changed. My life has become a series of endless days, each one filled with misery and a deep, aching loneliness. The isolation is suffocating. No phone calls, no contact with the outside world. Conor made sure of that after discovering I had called Nathaniel from the hospital. He was furious, and from that moment on, he tightened his grip on me, cutting me off from everyone I ever k

MegraI stare at my reflection in the mirror, barely recognising the woman staring back. My right eye is swollen shut, a hideous purple-black hue spreading around it. The pain is relentless, throbbing with every heartbeat. I dab makeup over the bruised skin, but the dark discoloration is impossible to fully cover. Each touch is a reminder of Conor's latest outburst—a fresh wave of anger and hatred rising within me.I hate him. I hate Conor and his entire twisted family. They all know what's happening to me, and yet they do nothing. They pretend not to see the bruises, the broken spirit, or the fear in my eyes. On days like today, they keep Mia away from me, using my own daughter as a weapon against me. The physical abuse has become a nightmarish routine, but the emotional torment is worse. Conor parades other women in front of me, flaunting his recklessness with a twisted glee. He brings them into what he calls our home, the bed he forces himself on me, and makes me to watch as they f

MegraI stand over Nathaniel, my heart aching as I watch him lie there, so still and fragile. His face, once so full of life and expression, now seems pale and unfamiliar. The steady beep of the machines is the only sound in the room, a constant reminder of his condition. I reach out, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead, and my hand trembles. It has been three days—three days of me waking him up and him not remembering who I am.I tell him every day, and every day he forgets. It feels surreal to be here with everything that's happened. The joy of finally being back in the States, the rush of getting to him, and now this—a painful reminder of how much has changed and how much we've lost.A sharp, cold voice cuts through my thoughts, shattering the fragile moment. "What the fuck are you doing with my husband?"The words are like ice, freezing me in place. I turn slowly, my body stiff with tension, and there she is—Anna. Her eyes are hard, and her lips are twisted into a sneer. Her

NathanielA week has passed, and the days blend together in a hazy rhythm of recovery and fragmented memories slowly resurfacing. Every morning, I wake up feeling a little more like myself, the pieces of my past clicking back into place. The garden has become my sanctuary, a quiet place where I sit and try to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions and thoughts. The sun warms my skin, and the gentle rustling of leaves soothes me, but it’s not enough to chase away the growing dread in my chest.As I sit among the flowers, I see Anna approaching from the house. Her steps are measured, her expression a mask of concern that I’ve grown all too familiar with. But I know better now. Her concern is a facade, a carefully constructed lie to keep me in her web. As she draws closer, I steel myself for the conversation I’ve been rehearsing in my mind.“How are you feeling today?” she asks, her voice soft, almost caring.I look at her, my eyes steady. “Better than you’d want,” I reply, letting the