บททั้งหมดของ Abandoned by Ex, Married to His CEO Brother: บทที่ 281 - บทที่ 290

AbigailBy the time I finished changing and emerged from the fitting room, Quinn was long gone. I made a beeline for the drinks table and poured myself a glass of the guava flavored water that had been brought in earlier. The pinkish liquid glimmered under the light, and the chill of the glass was welcome against my palm. I took a slow sip, savoring the sweet tang, as I sat down.Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced at Alexander. His expression was tight with focus as he spoke into his phone. Something about the way his brow furrowed, the hand cupped near his jaw, the soft but firm tone he used all drew my eyes. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, and I didn’t catch more than a few words, but I could tell it wasn’t a casual conversation. Work, likely.  Still, even when distracted, he had a w

AbigailI smoothed a hand down my gown, brushing off an invisible piece of lint that had probably never existed. Still, the motion gave my fingers something to do, something to focus on, because my heart was hammering far too fast for someone about to practice a dance. It’s just a dance, I told myself for the fifth time. Just a harmless tango lesson. But even as I repeated it, the flutter in my chest refused to settle.When Alexander had reminded me earlier, as we had arrived home, to remember to come downstairs so we could practice, I had nodded with far more poise than I felt. I’d excused myself to change into something more comfortable, the felt gown I was now wearing, that still somehow felt too snug. Now, I was expected downstairs, where he’d be waiting.And touching me. That was what really made my stomach twist. Not the choreography, not the fear of stepping on his foot. It was the knowledge that for several long minutes, I would be pressed against Alexander Remington, our ar

AbigailThe words got stuck in my throat and the silence stretched thin around us, taut like a string about to snap. I stood there, unmoving, my back to him as panic built in my chest like rising smoke. My breath had become shallow. My fingers clenched at the fabric of my gown, trying to ground myself, and trying my absolute best to force the feelings back into a box they had no business slipping out of.But it was too late.I had seen Susanna, not myself, reflected in his eyes. It didn’t matter that it had been her who had sculpted herself to look like me, that it had been her who had had such a warped obsession with me that she had methodologically taken everything she could from me. It didn’t matter that even when she had just been a passerby in my life, she had designs to snatch everything she could from my grasp, and my face was just the least of it all.It didn’t matter because in the now, in this moment, it was her that was reflected back at me just now, and a cold, cruel thoug

AbigailIt would have been a lie to say I wasn’t nervous, so I didn’t bother pretending otherwise. I sat at the chair beside my vanity table, my hands clasped tightly in my lap, and stared at the gown laid out in front of me, its satin fabric glinting faintly under the bedroom lights. A shiver rippled through me, not from cold, but from the weight of everything this night was going to mean. The truth was, it wasn’t the risk of being discovered that had my heart in my throat. I had already died once; what more could they do to me?No, what terrified me was how badly I wanted this to work. How deeply I wanted to strike the right blow against Marceline, and now, Casillas too. I left the chair and moved to my bed. My fingers moved lightly over the hem of the gown where it lay across the bed, the sapling green color soft beneath my fingertips. The

Alexander The moment we stepped into the venue, I could feel the weight of every gaze turning toward us, a combination of q thousand curious, glittering eyes and murmurs that dipped and rippled through the crowd like a current. The soft clink of glassware stuttered, laughter paused and heads tilted. It was subtle, but unmistakable; that hush that always followed an entrance that disrupted the tempo of the room. I wasn’t surprised. I had expected it, hoped for it, even. Not simply because I was a Remington or because it had been months since I last showed my face at a social function, but because this time, I hadn’t come alone, I had come with my wife. Or rather, the woman the world believed to be my wife. Abigail’s arm was looped through mine, her posture straight, but I felt the shift in her body, the stiffness that bled into her spine and shoulder as the sea of attention swept toward us. Her gaze was taking in everything: the chandeliers, the ruby draped walls, the elegant swarm