Semua Bab Seducing My Ex-husband's Brother : Bab 101 - Bab 110

Angel stood frozen.That… was the longest Monica had ever spoken to her. Not with polite smiles or backstage nods. But with truth—raw and stripped bare.Angel had always told herself Monica was just a proud bitch. Aloof. Perfect on purpose. The kind of girl who acted like she had everything handed to her.But now?It was like the floor under that belief cracked.She didn’t look proud. She looked tired. Tired of pretending, tired of carrying it all without snapping.Angel’s throat tightened.She thought about the way she used to laugh with the other models, whispering behind Monica’s back. Rolling her eyes anytime Monica got featured. She used to think Monica deserved the criticism—because it must be easy for someone like her.But it wasn’t.It never had been.Her fists clenched at her sides.She turned to head back down the hall when she saw someone staring—an old janitor, maybe in his sixties, leaning slightly on his broom, blinking at her like she was part of a movie scene.“What?”

Monica sat by the edge of the hospital bed, her hands tightly wrapped around Liam’s pale, motionless fingers. The soft, rhythmic beep of the machines was the only thing reassuring her that he was still alive. Still here.Barely.Tears streaked silently down her cheeks, her eyes red and swollen from the hours she’d spent crying since the doctor delivered the news, . She had refused to move. Nurses came and went. Beatrice paced outside. Brie sulked in the hallway. But Monica remained right there, rooted to that chair like her very presence might keep him tethered to this world.“Please…” her voice cracked as she whispered the word.Her forehead dropped to their intertwined hands.“Please, wake up. I don't want anything to happen to you.” Her breath hitched. “Not like this.”The weight of everything pressed down on her chest. The betrayal. The hurt. The lies. But all of that… paled now against the fear that she might lose him before he ever truly understood what he’d done to her.“You do

Max pushed the front door open with one hand, the other still holding a paper bag of warm takeout. The scent of garlic and chili filled the entryway, but the usual sarcasm that he was expecting was missing.No Lake lounging on the couch.No frown or rolled eyes.Just silence.He stepped in, shutting the door behind him.“Lake?” he called, tone easy at first. “I brought food. The kind you pretend to hate.”Still nothing.Max’s gaze swept the space. The blanket Lake had used was still folded at the foot of the couch, his phone charger still plugged in by the wall. The pajama top Max had given him hung off the back of the kitchen chair. A mug sat on the counter—half-drunk tea. Cold.He checked the bathroom.Empty.Bedroom.Untouched.Max’s chest tightened.He got a call from his mother, so he left in a hurry—Lake was still asleep when he went out.He set the bag of food down and grabbed his phone. No message. No missed call. He unlocked it and dialed Lake’s number.Ring.Ring.Voicemail.

Monica’s phone rang, the sharp vibration against the nightstand jolting her from the drowsy warmth she’d been cocooned in. Spencer’s arms were still wrapped tightly around her, his breath brushing the back of her neck.She blinked, reached over, and grabbed the phone.Spencer stirred behind her, eyes opening slowly. The sky outside had dimmed into deep blue—late evening.“Who is it?” he mumbled, voice still thick with sleep. “Please don’t say the hospital.”Monica didn’t answer immediately. Her face tightened as she listened. Then: “Okay, I’ll be there.”She hung up.Spencer pushed himself upright, frowning. “What’s going on?”“The hospital just called,” Monica said, swinging her legs off the bed. “Liam needs an emergency blood transfusion. They’re trying to contact his immediate family members.”Spencer exhaled slowly. “So… you’re going?”“Of course I’m going,” she said, tugging on her clothes. “Spencer, he’s your brother. You might need to donate blood for him.”Silence.Then Spence

The hospital lights dimmed to their nighttime setting. Monica hadn’t moved from the chair. Her arms were folded tightly around herself, her back stiff, her heart heavy. Liam hadn’t stirred. Nurses had come and gone, adjusting tubes and IVs. Still nothing. But Monica stayed. She didn’t cry anymore. She just sat, silent, eyes occasionally drifting to his face. What would he say when he woke up and learned the truth? That the man he called father had walked out. That the woman who raised him had lied. That the only one left in the room was the woman he’d betrayed. She should’ve left. But she hadn’t. A blanket had been draped over her by one of the nurses who had gently whispered, “You’ve been here a while, miss.” She hadn’t responded. Just stared at the pale rise and fall of Liam’s chest, her own breathing shallow. And she stayed. Spencer stood by his car, parked across the street under the dim glow of a streetlamp. The window was halfway rolled down. He’d been there for hours.