Semua Bab The Unwanted Wife: Bab 181 - Bab 190

By the time I reached the office, I had exactly three minutes to spare. The staff gave me a knowing nod as I stepped into the boardroom — glass walls, long mahogany table, sunlight slanting across the floor like it was trying to lighten the tension that always settled during meetings.Everyone was already seated, of course. I offered a polite smile as I took my seat at the head of the table.“Let’s begin,” I said, flipping open the folder Ava placed in front of me.The meeting began as usual — numbers, updates, a few too many acronyms. Marketing recapped the campaign progress, the finance team updated us on the gallery’s projections, and HR had a mild panic about scheduling conflicts for the scholarship interviews.“We’ve seen a 12% increase in engagement since the new campaign rollout,” Patricia explained. “Especially on the gallery’s behind-the-scenes videos. The last one with the restoration process reached sixty-two thousand views overnight.”“Is that organic?” I asked, flipping t

Ava leaned forward slightly; her voice softer now. “You weren’t a mess. You were broken. And still trying to smile.”I couldn’t hold it in anymore.“It was hard,” I whispered. “I was trying to adjust. Trying to forget. But I cried every night that first year. Every single night. I changed my phone. Cut off all contact. Not just with him — with his entire family. And even then, it still felt like I was going crazy. I wanted to call him so badly sometimes. Just to hear his voice. Just to ask ‘Why?’”If there was one thing I realized after leaving, it is different when you’re away from someone, but you still know where they are. Still in the same city. Still breathing the same air. But when I moved here—it felt like I lost all gravity. I was floating. Alone. And I was pregnant. I couldn’t sleep. I was depressed. I couldn’t eat right. That nearly affected my pregnancy. Since Atticus was born, I threw myself into everything. Every waking second went to him, or the gallery, or the foundatio

We all slid into the leather seats, Atticus climbing into the back and immediately pulling out the children’s chapter book he’d been obsessed with all weeks. I could already hear the pages flipping as he settled in, legs crossed like a little professor.I glanced over as Alex started the engine, the quiet hum of power filling the cabin. The car ride was smooth, the city passing by in blurs of late-afternoon light. Atticus was quiet in the back, mouthing words as he read, fully immersed.I glanced sideways at Alex.“So…” I started, drawing the word out just enough to make him glance at me suspiciously.“So…?”“Phoenix’s back from her trip.”“Mm-hmm.” He kept his eyes on the road.“And I think before she left, someone,” I continued, casually picking lint off my sleeve, “that someone still owes her dinner.”A beat of silence. Just the faint sound of a page turning in the back seat.“Did she also tell you she threw her drink at me the last time we were in the same room?” Alex asked, not m

By the time we pulled up to the estate, Atticus was fast asleep in the back seat, head tilted toward the window, token card still clutched in one hand like it was treasure. Alex stepped out first, stretching his arms over his head before opening the back door. He leaned in gently, moving with the kind of ease that only came from years of familiarity, and scooped Atticus into his arms without waking him. “He’s getting heavier,” Alex muttered, carefully adjusting Atticus’s legs as he straightened. “That’s because people in the house and you are such a good cook,” I said, holding the door open for him. He smirked, stepping toward me, and gently transferred Atticus into my arms. I tucked Atticus’s head against my shoulder, his soft breathing warm against my neck. Alex didn’t move right away. He looked at me — not casually. Not teasing. “About earlier” I held Atticus tighter. “Hmm?” “You okay?” I nodded, slowly. “I’m just… surprised, that’s all” Alex exhaled. “You’re doing great, A

The late afternoon sun spilled lazily across the worn bricks of Hope Orphanage, casting shadows on the open courtyard. Laughter rang through the air — not the forced kind, but the real, loud, unfiltered joy only kids could manage.Atticus was in the center of it all, kneeling in the grass with his black shirt half untucked, his cheeks flushed, and his shoes already scuffed. He didn’t care. He was too busy showing a group of boys how to fold paper airplanes, one hand holding up a crooked wing while the other demonstrated his technique. All around him, the other children were busy with their own worlds — chasing bubbles, playing tag, crowding the magician who was currently pulling what looked like a ribbon of socks out of his sleeve.I sat on one of the benches near the edge of the courtyard, sipping juice out of a paper cup. Saturday family bonding, they said. Only instead of dinner at some fancy restaurant or a weekend in Napa, we ended up here. I wasn’t mad about it.Phoenix was lean