Semua Bab Abandoned by Ex, Married to His CEO Brother: Bab 361 - Bab 370

ConradI brushed down the front of my shirt for the third time in as many minutes, though there wasn’t a single crease left to smooth. The fabric lay flat against my chest, pale and unassuming, chosen precisely because it didn’t draw attention. Casual, but not careless. Respectful, but not servile. I had agonized over it longer than I cared to admit, and now the shirt felt like a costume anyway, one more thin layer between myself and the truth of how badly my hands were shaking.Casillas’s living room was cavernous and immaculate, all clean lines and deliberate luxury. Everything in it looked expensive without ever appearing comfortable. The couch I sat on was upholstered in some soft, dark material that probably cost more than my first car, yet I perched on the edge of it like a chastened child, afraid to sink in too far. Across from me, a low table gleamed under recessed lighting. On it sat the remnants of the drink I had been served nearly half an hour ago. The ice in my sherry had

AlexanderThe television murmured softly in the background, the volume low but insistent. Marceline Remington’s face filled the screen, poised and immaculate, frozen in a photograph taken at some gala years ago. Even in stillness, she looked formidable, a woman who had bent rooms to her will simply by entering them. Now she was dead.I twirled the pen between my fingers, the smooth barrel clicking softly against my knuckle as the anchor spoke with barely concealed excitement. The news cycle was agog, practically frothing. A titan had fallen, and everyone wanted a piece of the story.“Earlier today,” the anchor said, her tone solemn but sharpened by curiosity, “Conrad Remington released a brief statement confirming the passing of his mother, Marceline Remington, following what he described as a short illness.”The screen cut to Conrad.He stood before a neutral backdrop, dressed in black, his expression carefully arranged into something mournful and restrained. Grief-lite. Palatable. T

SusannaI covered the mirror like it was an accusation. The towel I was using was thin, the cheap kind that lost its softness after too many washes, but I tucked it carefully into the narrow space between the glass and the wall, pressing the edges in with my fingers until it held. I stepped back and shook the mirror slightly just to make sure the towel wouldn’t slip. The last thing I needed was for it to fall at the wrong moment and force my own reflection on me when I was already raw.My scars itched like they were alive. It had started as a faint irritation a few days ago, the kind I could ignore if I stayed busy and kept my mind occupied. Yesterday, though, it had turned vicious: an insistent, crawling sensation under my skin that no amount of willpower could drown out. Even briefly lifting the bandages hadn’t helped. If anything, the exposure had made everything worse, the air stinging, my nerves flaring as if they were offended.Still, I had kept them on all through last night an

AbigailI hummed softly as I drew the brush through my hair, the tune drifting out of me without conscious thought. It was an old lullaby, one my mother used to sing when I was still small enough to fit curled against her chest, when the world had been simple and gentle and smelled like clean cotton and warm skin. I hadn’t thought about that song in years, yet here it was, rising up in my chest.The brush glided easily through the first section, my arm moving in a slow, unhurried rhythm. When I switched sides, I lifted my eyes and caught my reflection. I paused. My eyes were bright, almost sparkling, my expression light. There was a faint flush to my cheeks, a softness to my mouth that I barely recognized anymore. For a heartbeat, I just stared at myself, surprised. Then I laughed, a small, incredulous sound, shaking my head at my own foolishness.Look at you, Abigail, I thought. Almost happy.And why wouldn’t I be?I had come back a while ago from meeting Daniel, Alexander’s ever ef

AbigailI stared at her, genuinely surprised. Conrad was many things - spineless, entitled, cruel in his own passive way - but this? I would never have pegged him as a man who put his hands on a woman. Beside me, I felt Alexander tense even further.“My brother did that?” he asked, disbelief sharp in his tone. “You’re saying Conrad put a hand on you?”Susanna let out a short, dark chuckle. It held no humor. “It’s not the first time he’s done it to me,” she said. “He hates me. Absolutely hates me.” She dropped her hands back into her lap, shoulders sagging. “He blames me for Marceline’s death. For everything he’s lost. For Casillas turning on him. For his life falling apart.”I felt a strange, unsettling mix of emotions swirl in my chest - shock, yes, and a reluctant flicker of pity, but also unease. I looked at Alexander then, wondering what he was thinking, Susanna took a deep, shuddering breath, as if she were bracing herself against a tide. “After Conrad threw me out,” she said q