Semua Bab I Am Dead To You Husband : Bab 91 - Bab 100

"You've got to be kidding me," Camila muttered. Her eyes darted between Antonio, the strange documents, and the name on the adoption papers. Cole? Adoptive parents: Mr. and Mrs. Lopez? This was beyond weird, beyond anything she could have imagined. Her mind raced, trying to connect the dots. Cole adopted?“Camila,” Antonio said softly, his voice cutting through her spiraling thoughts. He pointed at another document, another birth certificate. Her eyes followed his finger, and there, in bold letters, was “Baby Camila.”“I think the both of you were adopted,” he said.“I can see that,” she spat, without even realizing it. Then she shoved the papers to Antonio's chest and slumped onto the couch, running a hand through her hair. She just sat there in silence.Antonio sat right beside her. “You alright?” he asked gently.“Do I look alright? We've been adopted! Meaning, we've been lied to all these years! Julie didn't even…" She trailed off, taking a giant breath that smelled like anger.“D

It's been exactly a week since Jose's abrupt, "Gotta go. We'll pick this up later, alright," and the line went dead. And since then, nothing. No texts, no calls. Even when Camila called, it went straight to voicemail every single time. And Cole? Since then, he didn't really say much. He didn't even bother to check in, aside from one quick call asking if Jose was reachable. Camila has even thought about just throwing in the towel, closing the whole case. It feels like a losing battle, right? Even if she hated to admit it. Maybe if she hadn't even tried to fight for her inheritance, maybe Jose wouldn't have flipped out or bothered to drop the adoption bomb. Now, she's standing in front of Julie's home, on the porch, about to knock. It's 7 AM. Yeah, early, but this is the surefire time to catch those two busy bees before they buzz off to their respective morning routines. Camila figures if she wants some real talk, maybe some closure, and definitely someone to just vent to about all

Jose and Julie just kept at it, sharp words flying back and forth. Jose's jaw was clenched, spitting out every syllable like it was a tiny, painful jab. Julie, though, was really losing it, her voice getting higher and higher. She even lunged a bit, not exactly at him, but as if the pure force of her anger could somehow make him take back what he'd said.Then, clatter!Diane's crutches hit the floor. Both Jose and Julie froze, heads snapping over to the sound. Diane didn't say a word. She hopped a few shaky steps, picked up the crutches, steadied herself, found her balance, and then, with this weird, quiet determination, she started to drag herself away from the couch. She moved right between both of them.Their eyes, totally fixed, followed her. She didn't even look at them, didn't make a sound. Her gaze was just straight ahead, like she was looking at something way past the messy living room as she headed for her bedroom."Diane—""Nope, don't even explain." Diane snapped, cutting J

Camila's protests died on her lips as Antonio's hands found their mark, his fingers expertly finding the places that made her shiver and made her forget all about alarms and meetings. Her "no, no, no" dissolved into a breathless moan as he leaned in against her neck. The fight simply evaporated.It was always like this with Antonio – his mischief, his touch, the way he just knew what would make her melt. One minute she was all professional resolve; the next, she was a happy tangle of limbs again, just like earlier, lost in the rhythm of his body against hers, the scent of him, the intoxicating heat."One more round" had turned into several.The alarm clock was silent now, probably having screamed itself hoarse and given up. Camila lay tangled in the sheets, Antonio's arm heavy around her waist, his head still nestled comfortably against her breast. A soft, satisfied sigh escaped her. She stretched a bit, feeling the ache in her muscles.She glanced at the clock on his bedside table: 7

The villa was… big. And quiet. Too quiet, sometimes, especially after the constant hum of Ernesto’s house or the controlled chaos of his own old place he practically grew up in.Three weeks. It had been three weeks since he’d practically cut ties with Ernesto. Three weeks since he’d slammed the door in his face. Deleted his contact, everything. Call it dramatic or even foolish, too much, but he called it necessary. He'd needed the space to clear his head, to feel something other than the suffocating weight of Ernesto's presence. At least let it go back to the days when Ernesto was rotting in prison. His absence had been a blessing then.Alberto was loving it, surprisingly. The sprawling garden was a wonderland, and the pool was a constant source of splashy delight. Abuelo, after an initial period of dramatic pronouncements about being a refugee, had found a comfortable armchair and a stack of old novels, content to be waited on by the staff Antonio had hastily brought in.Antonio, on