Dear Husband, My Turn To Love You のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 171 - チャプター 180

– Olivia The funeral began, but I might as well have been standing in a soundproof box. The officiant’s lips moved, words spilling out in polished rhythm, yet nothing reached me. The air was thick, muffled, like grief had pressed its palms over my ears. My parents were gone. Not in the metaphorical way people say when they leave for a long trip. No. Gone, cold and lifeless, lying inside two polished oak coffins like strangers trapped in boxes. Just a week ago, they were alive, my father still arguing over property deals, my mother planning her next charity gala with that bossy sparkle in her eyes. And now they were reduced to silence. A silence that screamed louder than anything I’d ever heard. The church smelled too much like roses, artificial, suffocating, the kind you buy in bulk for appearances. My mother despised roses. She said they were predictable, overrated, flowers for people without imagination. Of course, the room was filled with them, a final insult she couldn’t roll

Olivia I folded one shirt after another, placing them carefully into the open suitcase on my bed, though my hands were trembling too much to fold them neatly. My tears kept dripping onto the fabric, leaving wet spots behind. God, I didn’t even know what I was doing—whether I was running away or breaking apart piece by piece. Maybe both. Sometimes, I wished that fire had taken me that night in the warehouse. At least then, my suffering would have ended there. Fate had been cruel enough to hand me a second chance, but this second chance felt more like punishment than mercy. I came back only to fix the mess of my first life, only to love him better this time. Instead, I was here now—divorced. Alone. Both my parents buried six feet under. And the only man I ever wanted to hold on to… gone. I zipped the suitcase with a sharp tug, the sound slicing through the silence of the room I once loved. My eyes lingered on the space—the walls, the bed, the memories burned into every corner. Memor

Olivia I don’t even remember when night bled into morning. One second, I was curled on the cold floor, drowning in tears, and the next, pale daylight was leaking through the curtains like a cruel reminder that the world keeps turning, even when yours has stopped. My face was tight from dried tears, my body stiff, and my heart felt like it had been stomped on over and over again. I pushed myself up, legs heavy, and caught sight of myself in the mirror. God. What a disaster. My hair was tangled, my eyes red and swollen, my skin ghostly pale. I looked like a stranger—or worse, a ghost of who I used to be. For a terrifying second, I swore I saw another reflection behind me. My pulse shot through the roof. Great. Perfect. Now I’m officially losing my mind. My hands shook as I grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, desperate for some kind of distraction. Big mistake. Every channel screamed my name. “Socialite Olivia Davenport—former wife of business mogul Sebastian Lancaster—has bee

Philip “How the hell did you even find me?” Olivia’s voice was sharp enough to cut glass. She stood in the doorway, arms braced against the frame, irritation practically radiating off her. “Olivia… please,” I softened my tone, lowering my eyes like I was some broken man crawling back to the only woman who ever mattered. “We need to talk.” Her brows arched. “Talk? Or stalk? Which is it, Philip?” She folded her arms across her chest, shoulders squared. I forced a deep breath, slipping into the role Julian demanded I play. “I came because I heard about your parents. I… I wanted to be there for the funeral. I’m so sorry, Olivia.” I let my voice tremble, as if sorrow was squeezing it from my throat. But before I could even finish my performance, her laugh, cold, hollow, and utterly humorless—echoed through the small apartment. “Save it. What are you really doing here?” For a second, heat licked at the back of my neck. Damn her. She wasn’t falling for the act. She never made it easy,

Sebastian “Olivia,” the lawyer called after her, but she was already gone, storming down the corridor like the very air inside that room had turned poisonous. “I’ll get her,” Lucas said, halfway out of his chair. I rose at the same time, cutting him off with a hand to his arm. “No. Let me.” He gave me a look, skeptical and sharp, but after a moment, he sat back down. Maybe he wanted me to make a fool of myself. Maybe he knew this was a disaster waiting to happen. But I didn’t care. She was mine to go after, even if she hated me for it. Especially if she hated me for it. My steps echoed against the marble floor as I followed the trail of her anger through the Dravenport mansion. Every hallway smelled faintly of polished wood and old memories. Every door we passed used to hold a piece of her laughter. The silence now was unbearable. When I reached the balcony, she was there—her back to me, arms gripping the railing like it was the only thing keeping her upright. The sky stretched