All Chapters of Once Upon a Marriage : Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

Eloise My phone rang so abruptly it felt like a needle scratching across vinyl in my brain. The sound cut through the low hum of the room, startling me enough that I fumbled it before catching it against my palm. “I—excuse me, a moment,” I murmured to Mike, already stepping away, my pulse doing strange staccato beats. The name flashing on the screen made my gut twist. Nadia – Atelier Assistant. She never called unless it was important. “Ma’am—” Her voice was high, choppy with panic. “The atelier—your atelier—it’s on fire.” The words punched the air out of my lungs. “What?” “Fire—smoke everywhere—the fire service is here but—” She sounded breathless, frantic. Somewhere behind her, I could hear the hiss of water, shouting, metal scraping. I didn’t remember ending the call. I didn’t remember the polite murmurs from whoever I’d just been speaking to. One moment I was standing in that quiet, carpeted room, and the next I was moving—too fast, the edges of my vision sharp, and narrow

Eloise – First Person POV The smell of smoke still clung to my clothes. It had seeped into the fibers, into my hair, my skin. Even though the fire department had left hours ago, the scent was a constant, nauseating reminder of how close I had come to losing everything. From my place behind the glass door of my office, I could see the cluster of reporters now outside the atelier. Microphones were raised like weapons, camera flashes strobing across the windows. Their voices were muffled through the thick glass, but every so often, one would hit a pitch that pierced through — “Eloise! Is it true the fire was set intentionally?” “Are you filing for bankruptcy after this?” “What about the Dior collection? Is it all gone?” I curled further into the small loveseat in the corner, pulling my knees to my chest. My phone sat on the table, its black screen like an accusing stare. I hadn’t answered calls. I hadn’t answered texts. I just… couldn’t. Not when every inch of me felt hollow and s

Eloise – First Person POV “You and I are not done yet.” Damon’s voice was a low growl, the kind that slid under my skin and tried to burrow in. His eyes were narrowed, fixed on me like I was prey that had wandered too close. The air between us felt heavier, like it had been poured full of oil and smoke, thick enough to choke on. I didn’t move. Not because I was frozen in fear, though there was a sharp, cold coil of it in my gut, but because I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch. Then another voice cut through the space like a blade. “No,” Mike said, his tone sharp, clipped. “You’re done.” I turned, startled. He stood in the doorway, broad-shouldered and still in his coat, his eyes locked on Damon with a heat I’d never seen from him before. And behind him, two uniformed officers stepped in, boots hitting the hardwood in slow, deliberate thuds. The shift in Damon’s expression was instant. The arrogance didn’t vanish, but it changed, twisting into somethin

I never liked the smell of safes. It wasn’t the iron, though the faint smell of metal always lingered, nor was it the dust. It was the way the air filled heavy inside them, sealed for years, carrying with it memories no one had wanted to touch. When the paramedics left, their stretcher wheels echoing down the hallway, I found myself back in my Father’s study, the space filled with silence. My fingers trailed over the mahogany desk as if I could steady myself on its familiar surface. Jadeline wasn’t home. I had called her, voice clipped, telling her about Father. She had sighed like it was nothing, promised she’d “Will head straight to the hospital when I'm done here .” Typical. But her absence left me free, and something inside me, call it instinct, call it suspicion, pulled me toward the safe again. The heavy door gaped open, the lock’s tumblers still warm from where I had turned them earlier. I knelt, the dim desk lamp spilling amber light across stacks of forgotten boxes, crac

Eloise The hard drive weighed almost nothing in my hand, yet my arm trembled as though I carried an anvil. I’d stared at the footage three times already, each time hoping I had misinterpreted shadows or movements. But no—Jadeline’s face remained there, sharp in the grainy security recording, her body hunched over the hood of my mother’s car, her fingers slipping inside where the brake line ran. Deliberate. Calculated. Murder precisely planned.. That night I drove home knowing Max needs me more than anything now.. The next morning, the city was washed in the morning light, the streets outside damp from last night’s drizzle. I dressed simply, dark jeans, a white blouse, no jewelry. Nothing that suggested ceremony or spectacle. Just purpose. As I buttoned the last button, my gaze flicked toward the mirror. My reflection’s eyes looked sunken, bruised with sleepless hours, yet fire glowed in the pupils. I’d carried evidence against Jennifer before, fought tooth and nail in court while