Semua Bab After Divorcing My Ex-husband, I Returned And Shined: Bab 31 - Bab 40

Michell povI was pouring myself a cup of coffee when Ms. Taylor walked into the kitchen. She was dressed simply—jeans, a fitted sweater—but there was something different about her today. She looked well-rested, for one. And she wasn’t moving as stiffly as yesterday. The only reason I knew that was because I had noticed. Unfortunately. She walked to the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and then, as if she had just remembered something, turned to face me. Her lips pressed together for a second before she exhaled. “Thanks.” I arched a brow over my coffee. “For what?” “For the ointment,” she said stiffly. “I appreciate it.” I took a slow sip, letting her words settle. I hadn’t expected her to acknowledge it—at least not this quickly. Ms. Taylor was stubborn, almost irritatingly so, and I figured she’d rather suffer than admit she needed help. But here she was. Saying thank you. I set my coffee down. “I didn’t do it for you.” Her brows furrowed. “Sorry?” I lean

MICHELL POV I exhaled sharply, shaking my head as I reached for my glass again. This conversation was heading somewhere I didn’t want it to. The last thing I needed was Ethan dissecting my feelings—or lack thereof—about Audrey. So, I changed the topic. “So,” I leaned back against the couch, swirling the whiskey in my glass, “remember that time we almost got arrested in Miami?” Ethan burst into laughter, the kind that shook his shoulders and had him nearly spilling his drink. “Which time? You gotta be specific, man.” I smirked. “The jet ski incident.” He groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Oh, hell no. I still have nightmares about that cop chasing us down the pier.” “You were the idiot who thought we could outmaneuver a police boat.” “Hey, in my defense, we almost did.” I snorted. “Almost doesn’t count.” We fell into easy conversation after that, talking about old times—stupid stunts, reckless nights, the kind of shit we could only pull off back then. Ethan

MICHELL POV. I was pissed at myself at what happened two nights ago. At the fact that no matter how much I tried to shove it out of my head, it was still there—like a damn brand on my skin, refusing to fade. I ran a hand down my face, exhaling sharply as I sat in my office. The morning light streamed through the windows, but it did nothing to clear the fog in my head. What the hell was I thinking? I hadn’t lost control like that in years. I hadn't let myself be that weak, but I had with her. I gritted my teeth, leaning back in my chair. I told myself I had been drunk, that my judgment had been clouded. But that was just a sorry excuse. Being drunk didn’t justify what I did. I shouldn’t have touched her. I shouldn’t have kissed her. I damn sure shouldn’t have spent the night in her bed, taking her over and over like a starved man. I slammed my fist against my desk, the sharp pain grounding me for a second. This couldn’t happen again. It wouldn’t happen again. Audrey

MICHELL POV Audrey didn’t notice me at first. She was too focused on the call, her phone pressed tightly against her ear even though it was loud enough for anyone to hear her conversation. I hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but the second I heard the voice on the other end—sharp, cold, and uninterested—I knew I wasn’t walking away. Her voice had started out steady. Cautious. And then, piece by piece, I heard it crumble. I hadn’t meant to listen. But the moment I heard her mother’s voice—cold, distant, almost bored—I couldn’t walk away. Then she told her about the divorce. And the woman laughed. Ms. Taylor had curled into herself, like she was trying to make herself smaller, like she wasn’t sure she was even allowed to take up space. And I knew, then. This wasn’t the first time. This wasn’t new. This was just another wound from a lifetime of them. I had never wanted to be wrong about something so badly in my life. But I wasn’t. The conversation kept going. She told

MICHELL POV. I stood outside the MRI room, arms crossed, watching through the glass as the machine whirred to life. Audrey lay on the table, perfectly still, but I caught the slight tension in her hands, the way her fingers curled just a little too tightly against the fabric of the hospital gown. The doctor had asked me to step outside before beginning the scan—not that I had argued. I wasn’t about to interfere. Still, I didn’t like standing here. Didn’t like watching without being able to do anything. I glanced at the physician, who was focused on the monitors, reading the images as they appeared on the screen. His expression remained neutral, unreadable. I had seen enough medical professionals to know that meant nothing. The rhythmic thunk-thunk-thunk of the MRI filled the silence, and I shifted slightly, resisting the urge to speak. To ask. To demand an answer now. The moment the call came through, I knew something was wrong. My assistant’s voice was tight, uneasy