Semua Bab Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine: Bab 161 - Bab 170

Viola McCoyAdrian waves me off like he always does—charming, warm, a little too easy about everything. He says something witty about the ending of our manuscript draft, but I’m not really listening. My thoughts are elsewhere.“Don’t worry about the rumors,” he says casually. “Let them talk.”Easy for him to say.I smile faintly, nod, then leave the workshop room behind.The hallway at Reynolds Publishing is quiet. Most of the team’s gone home, the click of my heels the only sound following me out the glass doors. The moment the air hits my skin, I exhale.I should be excited. Dinner tonight is Logan’s idea—an apology dinner, he called it. A chance to make up for the absolute disaster at his father’s house a few nights ago. I could still hear Charles’ voice sometimes in the silence. Sharp, ugly, and cold. I don’t blame Logan for storming out. I’d wanted to do the same.But… something’s different now. Something in him. Something in me.As I cross toward the elevator, a woman stops me n

Viola McCoyAmirah pours tea into two mismatched mugs and sets one in front of me without asking. It smells like cinnamon and honey. Like her.I curl my fingers around the mug and stare at the steam rising in soft spirals. Outside her apartment, the city buzzes in the distance, but here, it’s quiet. Gentle. Safe.“I don’t know what’s going on,” I say finally. “But I can feel him slipping.”Amirah doesn’t flinch. She just sips her tea, eyes on me.“Logan?” she asks, though she already knows.I nod, my throat tightening. “He’s… off. Distant. He tries to hide it, but I see it. It’s in the way he zones out mid-conversation, or how he kisses my forehead instead of my mouth. He used to look at me like I was his whole damn world, Amirah. Now—”“He blinks through you,” she finishes softly.“Yeah.”I exhale shakily, fingers tightening around the ceramic. “He says he trusts me. That he’s not worried about the stupid headlines with Adrian. And I believe him. Or I want to. But… it’s more than tha

Viola McCoyI don’t remember starting the car.I don’t remember pulling out of the parking lot or driving through three red lights or ignoring the texts that keep flashing across my screen like warning signs.LOGAN (2 Missed Calls)LOGAN (5 New Messages)All I know is I’m driving. I’m breathing too hard. I’m trying not to scream.My chest feels like it’s collapsing inward. My hands are tight on the steering wheel, knuckles white, nails biting into the leather. I can’t cry—not yet. If I start, I might not stop.Camille’s voice still echoes.He didn’t want you to find out like this…Missy. His daughter.Three years old.He looked me in the eye and held me every night with this hanging between us.He let me fall deeper into him, while digging a hole between us.And the worst part?I didn’t even see it. I sensed something, sure. The way he pulled away. The way his eyes stayed on the floor too long. But I trusted him. I gave him the benefit of the doubt. I gave him everything.And he gave

Viola McCoyThe rain taps hard against the windshield, a steady percussion that matches the way my heart slams against my ribs. My hands grip the steering wheel tighter than they need to. I’m not even sure I should be driving, not like this—barely breathing, eyes burning, the betrayal still raw in my throat.But I have to see him.Logan.I need to see his face when I ask why.Why he lied.Why he let me fall deeper and deeper into a life that wasn’t real.Why he let me love him while holding a secret this big just beneath the surface.He has a daughter.He let me meet Camille. Without a single word.And the little girl… Missy. That face. Logan’s dimples. Logan’s eyes. Logan’s everything.Tears blur the road ahead, and I blink them away just in time to see the red light I’m running. A horn screams from my left—blaring, furious. Metal screeches against metal.The world jerks sideways.And everything goes black.***The ceiling above me is white. Blurred around the edges.My head pulses w

Viola McCoy It’s been twenty-four days since everything fell apart. Twenty-four mornings where I wake up in Amirah’s guest room and remember I’m not whole anymore.I haven’t written a single word.Not a sentence.Not even a line of poetry on the back of a napkin. My notebooks sit untouched in a box by the closet. The cursor in my email drafts blinks like a pulse I no longer have the energy to follow.Adrian is in jail.And the worst part is—I still think about how brilliant his mind was. How his advice shaped the best parts of my book. How he saw me when I felt invisible. How he killed someone.I close my eyes and try not to drown in the contradiction.And then there’s Logan.He’s come by every single day. Same time. Same quiet knock. Same pleading voice just beyond the threshold, begging Amirah to convince me to come outside. He leaves flowers. Letters. Food I’m not hungry for.But I haven’t opened the door once.I can’t.I don’t want to look into those eyes and wonder how long he w