Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 111 - Chapitre 120

They both stood up as Christian instinctively moved forward, his eyes narrowing like a blade searching for the truth in the flesh before him.But the woman who stepped in wasn’t the Ilda they once knew.She was a ghost.A shell wrapped in faded fabric and regret.Her once radiant skin, the kind that shimmered under office lights and red carpets alike, now bore the weight of sleepless nights. Soft dark circles framed her eyes, her cheeks hollowed slightly, giving her the haunted look of someone who had bargained endlessly with guilt—and lost. Her once-powerful posture had withered into something unsure, uncertain… as if the floor beneath her feet might give way with every step.She wore a faded beige coat, the threads beginning to fray near the cuffs, draped over a pale blue dress that looked two sizes too big, either from weight loss or from not caring. Her dress clung awkwardly to her form, a desperate attempt at dignity. She clutched the strap of a worn, cracked handbag so tightly

The sun rose with a quiet intensity, spilling golden streaks across the glass towers of the city like a soft promise of redemption. The sky was clear, but the air carried a weight of anticipation, as though the universe itself was holding its breath.Christian stood silently in front of the hotel window in the heart of Manhattan, his face partially lit by the gentle rays of morning. The shadows carved into the hollows beneath his eyes were deep, not from sleeplessness alone, but from months of emotional chaos and regrets that refused to die.He was no longer the man the media once saw, polished, untouchable, intimidating. This Christian Blake looked real. He wore a clean dark navy suit that clung well to his athletic build, but the sharp lines of the blazer couldn’t hide the torment etched into his expression. His eyes, once cold with pride, now carried something softer: vulnerability.His jaw was tense, lips tight, as if holding in a flood of thoughts he wasn’t ready to say out loud.

The quiet hum of the office AC blended with the rustle of paper as Crystal sat behind her desk, flipping gently through a set of reports that needed her final review. The morning sun filtered through the tall glass windows, casting golden lines across her soft peach blouse. Her long hair had been pulled back into a neat ponytail, a few loose strands curling at her cheekbones, framing her face with a delicate softness.Crystal was calm, focused, her brows drawn ever so slightly as she scanned the figures on the document. Her fingers were stained faintly with blue ink from the pen she’d been using to sign, and her lips were set in a thoughtful line. This was a moment she’d come to enjoy lately, normalcy, routine, peace.Just as she picked up the next sheet, there was a soft knock on her office door.“Come in,” she said, not looking up yet.The door creaked open and the receptionist peeked in, a young woman with bright eyes and a knowing smile. “Ma’am,” she said, almost shyly, “you have

Adrian stood still for a second, his hand still gripping the polished brass doorknob behind him. His tall frame filled the entrance as his eyes scanned the room, first landing on Crystal, then on the bouquet of fresh roses in her hand, and finally resting on Christian, who stood just a few steps away, lips parted as though he had more to say.His jaw flexed ever so slightly, and the calm fire burning behind his eyes made the air in the office grow heavy.“So you’re the one sending the gifts to my wife,” Adrian said quietly, closing the door behind him with a gentle click that somehow echoed louder than it should have.Christian’s shoulders stiffened, but he tried to keep his expression soft. He turned slightly toward Adrian, offering what he likely thought was a peaceful, remorseful smile.“They were just—”“What’s your motive?” Adrian cut in, his voice still calm but firm, too calm. The type of calm that cloaked a far deeper anger. “You show up here with flowers, make a public video

The night was too quiet.The ticking of the clock in the corner echoed like a taunt in Christian’s empty room. He stood alone in his master bedroom, shirt half-unbuttoned, the dim light of the chandelier hanging like a ghost above his head. The air smelled faintly of cologne and regret. On the wall ahead of him was a wide mirror — ornate, cruel in its honesty.Christian stared at his reflection, eyes hollow, jaw clenched, knuckles white around a half-filled glass of whiskey he hadn’t touched in hours.His voice cracked softly, low and bitter, as if the man in the mirror were someone else.> “What have you become…?”His once-proud eyes, the same eyes that used to reflect power and arrogance, now brimmed with a storm of failure. The weight of Adrian’s words played over in his head like a broken record:> “She’s not your wife anymore. Stop hiding behind guilt and start respecting her freedom. You lost her.”Christian’s grip on the glass tightened.He slowly walked toward the mirror, che