บททั้งหมดของ The Billionaire’s Forgotten Bride: บทที่ 21 - บทที่ 30

Maxwell POVThe early morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. I stirred awake, feeling the warmth of Amelia nestled beside me. Her breathing was steady, her face serene in slumber. For a moment, I allowed myself the indulgence of simply watching her, memorizing the delicate curve of her lips and the way her lashes rested against her cheeks.She was so beautiful. A pang of guilt tugged at me. On numerous occasions, I had withdrawn from her, retreating behind walls I had painstakingly built over the years. But lying here now, with her so close, I couldn’t deny the pull she had on me.Before I could overthink, I closed my eyes again, letting the rhythmic cadence of her breathing lull me back into a light sleep.When I awoke the second time, the sun was higher, and Amelia’s eyes were open, watching me with an unreadable expression. Our gazes locked, and for a heartbeat, the world narrowed to just the two of us. But the vulnerability of the moment w

Amelia POVI couldn’t move. I stood frozen in the dining room, my hands clenched into trembling fists, heart thundering in my chest. The candles I lit earlier flickered behind me, casting shadows across the floor—shadows of a night that was supposed to be different. Romantic. Intimate. Something for us.Instead, he walked in with a child. A living, breathing proof of a past I thought he had buried.Lila.Victoria’s child.Maxwell’s daughter.The words echoed in my mind like a siren.Victoria was right. She wasn’t bluffing afterall.I should’ve said something. Should’ve reacted. But I just stood there, letting his cold words slice into me. “This is Lila. My daughter.”And just like that, everything I had built with Maxwell cracked beneath my feet.I didn’t hate Lila. God, no. She was beautiful—green eyes, soft curls, small fingers clutching a stuffed bear like it was her lifeline. She was innocent. But she was Victoria’s. And that made something inside me twist painfully.Because no ma

Amelia POVThe room was dark, but not dark enough to hide the cracks in me.I curled on the far side of the bed, facing the wall, my chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. The pillow beneath my cheek was damp, my tears soaking into the fabric like the grief had to go somewhere. Silent sobs escaped me, raw and aching. The kind of pain that couldn’t be screamed out. The kind you buried deep because no one cared enough to hear it.Not in this house.The door creaked open, and instinctively, I wiped my face, hastily smearing the wetness away. My heart kicked up, thumping erratically as heavy footsteps crossed the threshold. I didn’t turn. I didn’t breathe. I pressed my eyes shut and stilled—pretending.He stood there for a moment.Watching.I could feel it—Maxwell’s presence was like a storm cloud in the doorway, the air shifting and growing heavier. He sighed. Quiet, but deep, like something in him was unraveling. I heard the rustle of fabric, the sound of him rubbing a hand across

Maxwell POVThe room was silent again. Not the peaceful kind. The kind that screamed in your ears, filled every corner and made you aware of your breathing. And yet, all I could think about was her voice from the night before.“I want a divorce, Maxwell.”I hadn’t been asleep. Not really.I heard her walk in. I listened to the words fall from her lips like something she’d practiced a dozen times before saying it. There was no shaking in her voice. No tears. Just that firm, a final tone that cut deeper than any blade ever could.And I stayed still.Pretended to be asleep.Because if I moved—if I looked at her—I knew I would’ve shattered and I couldn’t afford to let her see that part of me. My mother’s voice had already poisoned enough of my thoughts. Her words days ago still lingered like the stench of smoke in a burned room.“You don’t need her anymore, Maxwell. You’ve gotten what you wanted. The press is quiet, the board is happy, and Victoria… she’s back. With your child.”I hadn’t

Amelia POVThe ride back was quiet. Too quiet.Maxwell kept talking—low, careful sentences about the stars, about how the city looked better from above, how he used to come to that rooftop as a boy when everything else felt like too much. His voice was calm—almost… content.And I hated him for it.I sat beside him in the passenger seat, hands folded in my lap, knuckles white. My gaze fixed on the passing lights outside the window, but I wasn’t seeing them.I was watching him. Not just with my eyes. With every inch of me.He looked so at ease. One hand on the wheel, the other tapping a slow rhythm against his knee. Like tonight had been some beautiful moment. A memory.For him, maybe it was.But for me?It was a slow unraveling.He kept glancing my way like he wanted to say more. Like he was still inside that rooftop fantasy, still tasting the wine, still convinced the moment hadn’t died.It had.It died the second that message came in. The second I saw the words Maxwell Cole & Victori