All Chapters of Accidentally Married to my Ex-Boyfriend’s Father : Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

~NathanielI never thought a bottle of whiskey could feel this damn useless. The amber liquid sloshed inside my glass as I swirled it, staring blankly at the half-empty bottle on the nightstand. It had done nothing—nothing to dull the ache in my chest or silence the storm inside my head. The room around me was dimly lit, but I didn’t need much light to see the mess I had made. Crumpled papers, an ashtray filled with untouched cigarettes, and most importantly—the pictures. They lay scattered across the bed like broken pieces of my past, taunting me with what I had destroyed. Pictures of me and the lady from last night, scattered on the bed. Pictures of Sophia. Pictures of Lily. Pictures of what could have been a perfect damn life if I hadn’t been a complete idiot. I ran a hand through my hair, gripping the strands tightly as I let out a shaky exhale. If I could turn back time—God, if I could just go back to that night—I’d never have stepped foot into that fucking club.

~IsabellaI stormed out of the room, my heels clicking sharply against the marble floor, the echo bouncing off the high ceilings of the hallway. My blood was boiling, my fingers curled into tight fists at my sides. Damn that woman. Sophia was just as stubborn as ever, refusing to break, refusing to give in to the truth I had so carefully constructed for her. If she had just believed the picture, she would have walked away by now, broken-hearted, taking her daughter with her, leaving Nathaniel all to me. I wouldn't have to stress about this plan B of getting 100 million euros from Nathaniel. But no. She had to fight. She had to question. She had to resist. The nerve. The mask i wore felt suffocating. With a sharp yank, I pulled it off, letting my true expression settle in—fury, frustration, and a cold determination that had carried me this far. A voice cut through my thoughts. "Isabella!" I turned sharply to see Lydia, one of my most trusted girls, hurrying toward me.

~SophiaThe piece of paper fluttered to the ground as the masked woman hurried out of the room, locking the door behind her. I stared at it, my heart pounding. Something told me this was important. Slowly, I bent down and picked it up. My fingers trembled as I unfolded it. A receipt. My eyes scanned the details—some hotel expenses, a transaction… and then, my breath caught. Name: Isabella James. Address: 18 Rue de Lys, Paris. My entire body stiffened. My fingers clenched around the paper so hard it crumpled. Isabella. That vile, conniving woman. I knew it. I had a hunch from the very beginning. Something about the masked woman felt too familiar. Even though she tried to disguise her voice, even though she hid behind a mask—I still knew. Her eyes. That cologne she always drowned herself in. I threw the paper onto the bed and slammed my fist down. "Shit!" I hissed. My jaw clenched so tight it ached. Rage burned through my veins. She did this. She locked me

~SophiaMartha’s sitting room was as lavish as ever—plush cream-colored sofas, an elegant glass coffee table, and a scent that reminded me of vanilla and fresh lilies. She had always had a knack for making any space feel both luxurious and welcoming. I sat across from her, flipping through a wedding planner's portfolio while Martha sipped her herbal tea, a glimmer of excitement in her eyes. Across from us, her event planner, Vivian—a sharp-looking woman with sleek black hair tied in a bun—adjusted her glasses and prepared to discuss the details. "So, Mrs. Lancaster," Vivian said in a smooth, professional tone, tapping her pen against her notepad, "you want your wedding to be elegant, timeless, and unforgettable. But we need to narrow down the theme. Have you given any more thought to the styles I suggested?" Martha hummed, glancing at me before answering. "I want something different. Not just another grand wedding where people come, eat cake, and leave. I want it to feel magical

~EthanI clenched my jaw as I stood in front of the large, rusted gates of the Blackridge Correctional Facility. This was the last place I ever thought I’d find myself. The sky was grey, the air thick with the metallic scent of rain that hadn’t fallen yet. I exhaled slowly, trying to push down the rising anger inside me. The past few days had been a blur—coming back from my vacation only to hear that my own mother was locked away like some common criminal. I still didn’t know what to believe. Yes, Mom could be… difficult. She could be manipulative and controlling, but she was still my mother. Whatever happened, she didn’t deserve this. Right? Taking a deep breath, I approached the front desk where a heavyset guard sat behind a scratched-up counter, flipping through some files. "I’m here to see Isabella Hayes," I said, keeping my voice even. The guard lifted his head, his bored expression shifting into something amused. His lips twisted into a smirk as he looked me up a