Semua Bab Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine: Bab 141 - Bab 150

Viola McCoyThe elevator ride up to the executive floor feels longer than it should.Maybe it’s the silence. Logan’s next to me, tall and steady, wearing that navy button-up I love, hands tucked into his slacks like he doesn’t have a single worry in the world. Meanwhile, I’m clutching a laptop case like it’s a bulletproof vest and silently running through every line of my presentation.Again.My palms are damp. My stomach’s a mess of iced coffee and nerves. This isn’t about my book. Not anymore.This is bigger than that.Logan looks at me as the elevator dings open. “You ready?”I meet his eyes, and for a second, everything steadies.He believes in me. Even if my voice shakes. Even if they don’t.“I’m ready.”The conference room is glass-walled and sleek, overlooking downtown Chicago. A long table dominates the room, flanked by a handful of Logan’s senior team—editors, brand strategists, the head of marketing. Familiar faces, some I’ve seen in passing, some I only know from articles.

Viola McCoyI don’t remember falling asleep.One moment, Logan’s arms are wrapped around me and we’re listening to the storm breathe against the windows. The next, I’m somewhere else entirely.It’s raining there too.But this rain isn’t warm and soft. It’s cold. Heavy. Gray like dishwater and just as suffocating.I’m a little girl again—barefoot, standing at the edge of a cracked sidewalk in front of my childhood home. My dress is soaked, clinging to my knees. I watch the house across the street. I know what’s inside. A man yelling. A woman shrinking. The sound of something breaking. The silence afterward.I blink, and suddenly I’m not that girl anymore.I’m… older. Still me—but not the me I am now.My hair is longer. My eyes are duller. My spine… curled like a question mark. My hands shake as I pick up a shattered mug in a kitchen I recognize with sick familiarity. I turn toward the living room and—Julian.Sitting in that damn leather chair like a king no one crowned. His tie is loo

Logan Reynolds The drive to the beach is quiet. I’m focused, more than usual. The road winds past darkening fields and sleepy houses, the sky turning from bruised purple to inky navy as the sun dips just below the horizon. There’s a slight chill in the air, but the windows are down. I pull the car up on a narrow access road, just a few steps from the sand where Viola and I first shared that dinner she invited me to. I breathe in, feeling that familiar knot in my chest—part nervousness, part hope. I’ve planned this simple evening for days, but the stakes feel high. Tonight isn’t about grand gestures or fireworks. It’s about quiet truths and real love.The ocean hums softly, waves lapping against the shore with a steady, calming rhythm. It’s like a heartbeat, strong and constant, just like the feelings I’m trying to put into words.I grab the small cooler and a bag of candles, my fingers brushing against the fabric of the blanket tucked inside. The sand beneath my feet is cool and sl

Logan Reynolds I’ve been dating Viola for a year now. Twelve months of waking up with her on my mind, watching her laugh, hearing her voice, learning every curve and crack in the woman I love. And God knows I’ve wanted to go beyond just that for months. But I held back, careful not to push her or overwhelm her. This isn’t just about me. It’s about her—the scars she carries, the ghosts she’s fought hard to bury.Her birthday’s in a few days. And I know the time is now. The moment I’ve been waiting for, the one that feels both terrifying and inevitable. I’m going to propose.The city hums around me as I step into the massive glass doors of Levitt’s Jewelers. The cool air conditioning hits me. The smell of polished wood and faint citrus cleaner hangs in the air.Bonnie’s already here, arms crossed, leaning casually against the counter. She’s the perfect blend of no-nonsense and sass—just what I need right now.“You don’t have to do too much, Logan,” she says, eyes glinting as she watc

Logan ReynoldsThe sun hasn’t even pushed fully through the curtains when I wake up. I blink slowly, disoriented, then glance to my right.Viola’s still asleep.She’s curled into my side, hair falling like silk across the pillow, mouth parted the slightest bit as she breathes softly. Her lashes flutter when she shifts, murmuring something I can’t quite catch. I smile, instinctively brushing a hand over her arm before slipping out of bed carefully so I don’t wake her.The floor’s cold under my feet as I stretch. The old wood creaks softly beneath my weight. I head to the bathroom, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Hot water steams against the frosted glass once I twist the knob. The heat hits my back as I step in, washing away the stiffness in my muscles. The pressure is good, steady—like a reset.By the time I step back out and towel off, the air’s thick with citrus and mint from her shampoo on the counter. I glance toward the bed again. She hasn’t moved. Still in that soft, peaceful sp