บททั้งหมดของ Too Close To Handle: บทที่ 61 - บทที่ 70

It was still dark when Edward stirred awake. Beside him, Abigail slept soundly, her arm draped across him. Careful not to wake her, he gently shifted free and rose from the bed. His steps carried him to her desk, where papers and pencils lay scattered. A half-finished sketch caught his eye.Edward froze.The design was unmistakable: The Ouroboros—a serpent devouring its own tail. He knew it as a symbol of eternity, but here, in Abigail’s hand, it whispered something else. The self-consuming nature of love. A circle that never breaks, even when the relationship ends. Memories looping endlessly, fragments that refuse to fade.His hand curled into a fist. For the first time, jealousy struck him with brutal force.Edward knew of Abigail’s past with James—their relationship, their near-marriage. He had accepted it as something long over. But seeing it expressed in her design was a wound he hadn’t expected. The sketch spoke louder than words. It told him that James had been her first love—a

“Edward.”The soft murmur drew him from the haze of exhaustion. His head had been resting against the edge of her bed, his hand still clasped around hers. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep there, but after days of silence, of watching her from afar, it was the only way he could bear to stay close.Abigail blinked, disoriented at first, then saw him—her husband, head bowed beside her, fingers wrapped tightly around her own. A week had passed without seeing him. He hadn’t called, hadn’t asked about her health, hadn’t cared if she was eating. He’d vanished into his so-called business trip, leaving her to collapse before he finally came back.“Edward,” she whispered again, lifting her free hand toward his hair. But she froze when his eyes snapped open and met hers. For a heartbeat, they just stared, breath caught in the fragile silence between them.Then Edward straightened, withdrawing his hand as if he’d been caught.“What were you thinking?” His voice cracked with anger and fear. “Starvin

“What are you all doing here?” Edward’s voice cut through the crowd as he entered with Roen at his side. Heads turned instantly, including those of several curious guests. His presence was undeniable—confident, magnetic—and in the sharp lines of his suit, he looked every bit the man who commanded attention.“You finally showed up,” Laylah exclaimed, her eyes blazing. “Look at you—so polished, so handsome—while your wife is left here greeting strangers. What on earth are you thinking, Edward? And making her Chloe’s secretary? Have you completely lost your mind?”“Laylah—” Abigail murmured, gently grasping her arm to calm her.Edward didn’t flinch. His expression remained composed, as though he had expected this confrontation the moment Laylah discovered Chloe was back.“No, don’t stop me,” Laylah snapped, shaking her head. “This man needs

“Wear my design?” Abigail whispered under her breath, her face paling.No one here knew that she was the mysterious designer behind the pseudonym Roselune. And certainly no one had told her that the final phase required each design to be worn like a fashion show. She had no model prepared—no time left to find one.The girl beside her noticed. “Are you alright?” she asked softly, adjusting her thick glasses. Her voice trembled at the sight of Abigail’s unease.Abigail turned to her, studying her closely—the frizzy curls, the awkward stance, the way her large glasses framed eyes that were far too beautiful to be hidden. Something about the girl struck her like a memory of her own younger self, bullied and overlooked.“I need to ask you a favor,” Abigail said suddenly, gripping the girl’s hand.“Me?” The girl’s eyes widened. “I don’t think—”

Nearly thirty agonizing minutes had crawled by when Chloe finally returned to the stage. Her presence alone commanded silence, every guest leaning forward in their seat.“The results of the final design competition are in,” she announced, her tone sharp as a blade. “But first—let us welcome back the models.”Once more, the ten finalists stepped onto the runway, jewels blazing under the stage lights. The air was electric, a hall of breathless anticipation.Chloe’s gaze swept over the crowd. She let the silence stretch, taut as wire, before she spoke again.“The first design to be chosen for the Ulrick Jewels Elite is…” Her pause deepened, and then— “The Scarlet Promise.”Gasps tore through the audience, but Chloe did not stop. Her next words struck like thunder.“The Scarlet Promise, worn tonight by the granddaughter of Don Sebastian Guevarra.”