All Chapters of The Unwanted Wife: Chapter 131 - Chapter 140

Morgan paused—and then, to my surprise, he bowed. Low.“Don Alonso.”My breath caught, and I instinctively stood up from my seat. Through the ivy-laced arch, a tall figure emerged, walking with the quiet dignity of age and command. He wore a dark coat despite the mild weather, his silver hair swept back neatly, and a cane tapping softly with every step he took.My grandfather.“Mr. Morgan. Always a pleasure.”“Likewise, sir.” Morgan’s voice held deep respect.And then he passed by him, leaving us.My eyes locked with my grandfather’s. He stopped a few feet away from me. It felt like I hadn’t seen him in so long.“Grandpa,” I breathed, my voice catching as I stepped forward.And without thinking, I stepped forward—arms wrapping around him, carefully but tightly.He didn’t hesitate. He held me back.Not just a pat on

“After Alisha died, the bond between our families… frayed. Your uncles—especially Alvaro—blamed Gregory. Maybe not for her death directly, but for the way she lived before it. For the silence. For the sadness that started showing behind her eyes.”I drew a sharp breath. I’d always known something was… strained between the Montreals and the Saavedras. Even as a child, I could feel the tension, though no one ever spoke of it.Don Alonso’s voice dropped lower, his tone thickening with something heavy. Not just memory—guilt.“After Alisha died, the bond between our families… frayed. Your uncles—especially Alvaro—blamed your father—Gregory. For her death directly, for the way she lived before it. For the silence. For the sadness that started showing behind her eyes.”His words struck something sharp and cold inside me. My hands freezing in place on my lap. I had always known, deep down, that there was a quiet rift between the Montreals and the Saavedras. It wa

A flood of emails greeted me first—formal messages from the foundation, updates on business reports I hadn't had the energy to care about. Then, a few news articles—headlines about society events, political scandals—none of them touching my world anymore.I swiped idly through them, my mind elsewhere, my body still fighting the lingering nausea.Then I saw it.One message stood out among the floods.A simple text, from a name I hadn’t seen in months but had been waiting for without even realizing it.Ava Ramos.My assistant. My friend.She had taken a six-month leave to care for her mother abroad, but even from halfway across the world, Ava had still managed to handle the details of my business life better than anyone else could. She didn’t just work for me—she stood by me. Without judgment. Without condition.I opened the message with trembling fingers.Ava:Miss A, Just wanted to let you know my l

Another short silence stretched between us, and I could almost picture him standing somewhere across the world, arms crossed, watching over me the way he always used to."Why did you call, Uncle? Is there a problem?"“No, no, dear," he said quickly, reassuringly. "There is no problem.”I slumped back slightly into the chair."Oh," I exhaled, allowing the smallest smile to pull at the corner of my mouth, "that’s good to hear."But there was a pause on his end—a pause that said there was more. Much more.“I know you heard from Don Alonso,” he said finally.I stiffened, heart picking up again. Moment of truth.I swallowed. "Um, yeah… is it about the promise? Is that why you called?"There was no hesitation in his answer."Yes, it is," he said simply. "I know it must be hard to believe something like that even existed. I understand it must be shocking."I laughed softly under my breath, a dry, breathless sound.

The morning light streamed through the massive, floor-to-ceiling windows of the living room, filling the space. The wide, sunlit room looked like something from a magazine spread—polished marble floors, pale cream walls lined with intricate crown moldings, and plush, oversized couches in soft champagne hues. The chandelier above sparkled subtly, catching the light.In the center of it all, a long rectangular table had been set up—draped in white linen and neatly arranged with tasting plates, tiny glasses, and silver utensils.Susan and a few of the maids bustled quietly nearby, arranging fresh pitchers of water and clearing empty plates.And at the far end of the room stood a cluster of smartly dressed individuals from Champagne and Roses Events Company, all smiling with their clipboards in hand and their nerves barely hidden beneath their professional exteriors.In the midst of it all—I sat poised at the head of the table, wearing a simple but el