Semua Bab The Unwanted Wife: Bab 191 - Bab 200

I remembered what my therapist said back then. That what I had wasn't just a fear, not just stage fright or a simple case of grief. She called it “trauma-linked motor inhibition.” That the moment my world collapsed, my body protected itself by shutting down anything that reminded it of pain—and for me, that meant the piano. It was my safe space… until it wasn’t. She told me I might never play again. That sometimes, the body remembers before the mind can process. That music, especially something tied so closely to my identity, could trigger a flood of everything I wanted to forget.But then Atticus came. My miracle.The therapist said something shifted. A “positive sensory association,” she called it. She said I rewired my own trauma—unknowingly, slowly—through him. That my brain, once trained to fear the keys, started associating them with peace again. Because every time I played and he stopped crying, I was healing. Bit by bit.It all started when he wouldn’t stop crying when he was

My heels echoed as I moved forward, spine straight, eyes ahead. I was back. And I wasn’t the same girl who left. The maid hurried toward the living room. I followed my steps slower — measured — because I still knew every corner of this house. The hallway. The turns. What I didn’t expect — what hit me the most — was the absence of something. There were no family pictures. Not a single one. The walls were bare except for paintings. No happy frames. No wedding photos. No awkward childhood portraits of Regan like the ones Caroline used to brag about. I ignored it. Or at least, I tried to. It wasn’t my concern anymore. But the curiosity—it still lingered like dust you can’t quite wipe away. Then I heard it. “M-miss Reila, she’s here.” The maid’s voice, hesitant. And then came a voice I recognized. “Who?” When I stepped into the living room, she was already on her feet. Reila. Her hair was styled in soft waves, her dress dark green and elegant — classic, of course. Her post

“Tell me, why didn’t you sign them?” But I caught myself just as quickly. I didn’t need the reason. Not really. I raised my hand, cutting the air between us. “No. No—forget it. No need. Just sign the damn papers. Right now.”Regan didn’t speak. His hands curled into fists on the desk, knuckles white. His jaw was locked. I could see it—the storm behind his eyes, the way he wrestled with something he still wouldn’t say. But I was done waiting.I shook my head slowly, my voice softer now, but laced with the same edge. “What is wrong with you?”He flinched. Good. Because he should. Still, no answer. Just silence. That damned, heavy silence. I stared at him—really stared. My hands clenched at my sides.“This was supposed to be done,” I said, each word cutting sharper than the last. “I came here to finish what you didn’t have the courage to. I have a life now, Regan. A good life. And I’m not going to let you drag me back into this mess.”He looked up at me again, “Anastasia, I want to explai

Regan's POVThe clock on the wall blinked at 2:47 AM. I leaned back in the chair, fingers steepled beneath my chin, a single lamp casting a golden glow across the dark wood of the desk. The documents in front of me blurred for the third time that night. I tried blinking the haze away, but it didn’t help. The numbers were stable. Profits were up. The Del Valle name — once dragged through the mud, spit on by the media, doubted by our own board — now stood higher than ever before. Two years since the scandal. Seven years since she left. And still… nothing about my life felt better.I sighed and tossed the pen aside, its sharp clink on the wood breaking the silence. I pulled my glasses off, rubbed my eyes, then ran a hand through my hair — and paused when I caught sight of the jagged scar across the back of my left hand.My fingers curled slightly, instinctively.The burn stretched up to my wrist. The skin puckered, uneven and ugly.It happened the night the old mansion burned. Everyone t

Anastasia’s POVI pressed my phone to my ear as I stared out the hotel window, watching the rain soften into a drizzle over the edges of the city skyline. The glass was cool beneath my fingertips, my forehead resting against it without much thought. Drops traced slow, creating paths down the pane. I barely noticed the chill.Phoenix picked up on the second ring, her voice groggy but alert. “Hey?”“Hey… did I wake you up?”There was a soft rustle on her end. “No, you didn’t. Anyway, what’s up?”I hesitated for a beat. “Hmm… I might stay another week here,” I murmured.Silence. I could practically hear her shift, sitting upright now.“Wait—what?” she repeated, this time sharper. “Why? Is he giving you a hard time?”I closed my eyes briefly. “No, no… it’s not like that.”“Then why do you need to stay there for a week?”I drew a breath, leaning more of my weight against the window. “Things are… messy.” My voice lowered. “Regan didn’t sign.”The image of the Del Valle mansion flickered in