Semua Bab Once Upon a Marriage : Bab 81 - Bab 90

Eloise The first time I noticed the curve, I was standing in front of my bedroom mirror, holding two hangers, one with a structured white blouse, the other with a navy silk top I hadn’t worn in months. I wore only a bralette and yoga pants, half-dressed, deciding what to wear for a virtual fitting with the Paris team. The morning light poured through my floor-to-ceiling window, spilling across the hardwood and gilding the room in gold. The silk top had always skimmed perfectly over my torso, but when I pulled it over my head and tugged it down, the fabric resisted around my stomach. I paused, brows furrowing, then looked down. It wasn’t… dramatic. Just a gentle curve where flatness used to be. My fingers brushed it, then pressed lightly. Soft. Not painful. Just there. Weird. I had been noticing my stomach swelling but ruled it out as bad dieting, my eating routine wasn’t good to start with. At first, I sucked it in. It flattened. But when I released my breath, it popped right

Jennifer I stared at the screen and blinked. “Serial baby killer. You’re so done.” The message glowed like an accusation dipped in acid. Serial baby killer. Has Eloise finally snapped? What kind of drug, what kind of breakdown, would make her accuse me of something that deranged? My fingers hovered over the keys. I typed: “Eloise ? Are you okay? What is this about?” Because I knew better than to escalate. If she’d flipped, I had to seem innocent. Concerned, even fragile. My throat tightened, the quiet hum of the AC suddenly roaring in my ears. I set the phone down, walked over to the mirror on my vanity. My reflection looked back at me, controlled, and cool. Steel-blue eyes, high cheekbones, skin made flawless by contour and confidence. I exhaled. Picked up the phone again and typed: “Meet me behind the antique bookstore with cafe on King Street. 8 p.m. We need to talk.” Then deleted it. She had pinned me into a corner. Good. I wasn’t going to back down. If she wanted to s

Mike As Eloise hit the floor I ran towards her from where I was standing. I had followed her when I saw her from a nearby boutique, where I had gone to shop, she seemed anxious when she dropped off an uber and walked inside. I didn’t hear myself scream her name. I only remember the weight of my legs abandoning all reason as I shoved open the glass door and ran to her. Her dress was red. But the blood made it darker. “Shit—no, no, no. Eloise—hey. Look at me.” I dropped to my knees. My hand slid beneath her head. Warm. Too warm. My palm came back wet. I blinked down at it. Blood. Everywhere. The café had fallen silent except for the scraping of chairs from other people and the sound of my own heartbeat thudding through my chest. I pressed my hand over her stomach without thinking, the way you do when someone you love is bleeding and you don’t know how to stop it. “Someone call a damn ambulance!” I shouted. “Now!” A woman screamed near the entrance. A man’s voice mumbled somethi

Eloise’s POV Something was pulling me, like fingers wrapped around the thread of my soul. Gentle, steady, then suddenly urgent. Pain blossomed through me like a scream underwater. I gasped without air, the weight of it pushing against my chest. My eyelids fluttered open to a cold, white ceiling, too bright, too still. The scent of antiseptic stung my nose. I wasn’t dead. But I didn’t feel alive either. Beeping. Somewhere nearby, rhythmic and slow. The beeping that only came with hospitals. My lips parted. “Water…” I croaked. A rustle. A gasp. Then— “Eloise?” Mike’s voice, tight and shaken, barely audible. I turned my head, every inch of movement a war against the agony pressing into my abdomen. His face hovered above mine, framed by shadows and fluorescent light. His hair was messier than I’d ever seen it, jaw dark with stubble. His eyes—God—his eyes were wrecked. Rimmed red, glossed over like storm clouds refusing to let go of their rain. “You’re okay. You’re okay,” he murmu

Mike POV The clinic lights were harsh, brighter than the midday sun, but far colder. I stepped into the hallway outside Eloise’s room at exactly 6:10 p.m., cringing at the sterile hum of hospital noise. Silence, except for the recycled air and the distant buzz of fluorescent lamps. Not the evening I—or Eloise—needed right now. Yet, here I was. I closed the door quietly behind me and noticed her bed empty. My breath caught until I remembered, she’d told me her father might visit. That usually meant nothing intolerable. But tonight felt different. The air had shifted. I followed the hallway, and at the very end room, I found her. Sitting up against the pillows, hair untamed, face pale but defiant. She stared at the doorway when I entered, without surprise. She had moved to a new room. “I thought you said you’d eat,” I said gently, taking in the sandwich and juice still untouched. “Food’s poison tonight, I can’t believe my Dad sent more sandwiches to me when I clearly told him I won