บททั้งหมดของ DEAR EX-HUSBAND, YOU CAN NEVER HAVE ME BACK: บทที่ 131 - บทที่ 140

Olivia's PovThe morning sun casted soft shadows across the hardwood floor, but its warmth did little to ease the chill that had settled deep in my bones. I’d chosen to stay home today, my heart and body too heavy to face the world beyond these walls. The past days had been a relentless storm—Lucas’s injuries, the explosion that obliterated my car, Richard’s chilling admission that it was meant for me, and Amelia’s venomous accusations at the hospital. My chest was a tight knot of worry, fear, and guilt, each emotion a weight that anchored me to the sofa, my knees drawn to my chest, a blanket draped over my shoulders like a fragile shield. The news, always ravenous for scandal, seemed to stalk me, my name or my company’s splashed across headlines month after month, a cycle of exposure that left me feeling raw, vulnerable, a target in a game I couldn’t decipher. My throat tightened, my breath shallow as I stared blankly at the wall, my thoughts a tangled mess of dread and despair.

Lucas's POVThe hospital room felt like a cage, its sterile walls closing in, the incessant beep of the heart monitor a mocking reminder of my fragility. My body ached—my spine and shoulder throbbed with every breath, my head pounded with the lingering fog of the concussion—but the real pain was in my chest, a raw, searing ache that came from Amelia’s words: “Olivia’s dead. She died in the explosion.” The memory of her venomous lie, the way it had shattered me before I lost consciousness, haunted me, a wound that refused to heal. I lay propped against the pillows, my hands clenched, my heart a battlefield of grief, doubt, and a stubborn flicker of hope that Olivia was still out there, alive, despite Amelia’s cruelty. The room was a prison, and the two people in it—Amelia and my mother—were the most unbearable company I could imagine, their presence a suffocating weight that made me dread every moment.Amelia sat in a chair by the window, her arms crossed, her face a mask of sullen

Olivia's POV My heart pounded, my breath shallow, my eyes fixed on Amelia, crumpled on the floor, her hands curled around her belly, her sharp cry echoing in the sterile corridor. Lucas was on his knees beside her, his face pale with guilt and panic, his trembling hands reaching to lift her despite his own weakness, the IV line swaying precariously. My chest ached, torn between the love that had surged during our brief, stolen moment—his arms around me, his lips on my forehead—and the crushing guilt of witnessing this fallout, the chaos my presence seemed to ignite. My throat tightened, tears stinging my eyes as I stepped forward, instinct driving me to help Lucas, to steady him as he struggled.“Lucas,” I said, my voice trembling, my hands gripping his arm, supporting his weight as he tried again to lift Amelia, his breath ragged, his eyes wild with fear. But Victoria’s hand shot out, shoving me back with a force that made me stumble, her glare venomous. “Stay away!” she spat,

Olivia's POV The morning light filtered through the kitchen windows, casting a soft glow over the counter where I stood, the scent of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee filling the air. My hands moved with purpose, cracking eggs, flipping pancakes, arranging fruit on a plate, but my heart was a tangle of resolve and lingering pain. Last night’s decision to let go of Lucas weighed heavy, a choice that felt both necessary and devastating, like severing a piece of my soul. His face—his desperate hug, his whispered relief in the hospital—haunted me, but so did the reality of Amelia’s pregnancy, his mother’s hatred, the family he was building without me. I couldn’t be the mistress, the shadow in his child’s story, and that truth had solidified my resolve to step back, to protect my heart, to honor the marriage I’d made with Austin, even if it was born of convenience. My throat tightened, my chest aching as I stirred the eggs, the clatter of the spatula a distraction from the tears threa

Lucas's POV The hospital walls of the hospital room wall a prison, its sterile walls and incessant beeping a constant reminder of my fragility, my confinement. Over a week had passed since I texted Olivia—“Please visit again. I have something for you”—and the silence that followed was a weight crushing my chest. Each day without her reply deepened the ache, a mix of worry, longing, and confusion that gnawed at me. What was going through her mind? Had she given up on us, pushed away by Amelia’s pregnancy, my mother’s venom, or the chaos that seemed to follow me? My heart clung to the memory of our reunion—her tears, her hands steadying me, the warmth of her presence—but the lack of response felt like a door slamming shut, leaving me to wonder if I’d lost her for good. My body was healing, the fractures in my spine and shoulder less agonizing, the concussion’s fog lifting, but my spirit was battered, trapped in this room with the two women who made every moment a trial: my mother