All Chapters of Turning Heads After Divorce: Chapter 311 - Chapter 320

The sound of running water had echoed through the bathroom for a long time. The young woman was carried out of the bathroom. Her body was flushed pink, and her limbs were limp as she slumped in the man's arms. She was weak. All she could do was let him feed her, spoonful by spoonful. The young man's hair was damp and tousled. A robe draped over his frame loosely, with its front carelessly parted, revealing his sculpted skin. His usual noble elegance was softened by a lazy satisfaction of a man thoroughly sated. Although the young woman had bitten his ear hard enough to draw blood, he didn't seem to mind. He didn't even glance at the wound. He simply fed her patiently.The young woman had no strength left. She turned her face away from the offered spoon. One hand was pressed weakly against his chest in protest. Her voice was hoarse and barely above a whisper."When are you going to let me go? You wanted to sleep with me—fine. You've gotten what you wanted. Now, let me leave. I

The rain had stopped, but the night air hung heavy with a biting chill. Huddled inside the tent, Marisol and Zachary could hear the rhythmic dripping of water on the rocks outside, along with indistinct animal cries that echoed. A warm light glowed inside the tent. Zachary had insisted on keeping the light on. Though he had dismissed the earlier crying sounds as Marisol's altitude-induced hallucinations, the eerie possibility had clearly unnerved him. Who would've thought a grown man would be afraid of ghosts? Marisol, however, felt no fear. She was puzzled, but unexpectedly not afraid. What plagued her instead was the sharp, needling pain that shot through her skull in waves, leaving her dizzy and disoriented. Every time she tried to think, her head throbbed as if it would split apart. As midnight crept in, the stillness outside was suddenly broken by heavy, rasping breaths, followed closely by a rapid thud of hooves pounding the ground. In an instant, both Marisol and

He had done nothing wrong. Lucian's eyes burned red as he restrained the hysterical young woman in his arms. He held her tight, refusing to let go. This was just the beginning. He couldn't afford to soften now. "Don't be afraid. It'll get better. Just be good. Listen to me," he whispered. But the young woman in his arms refused to listen. She cried uncontrollably, gasping until she could barely breathe. Didn't he understand? It would never get better. Not ever. She was clueless. What had she done to deserve this? Was it all because of that damned drink? But Lucian had been the one to snatch it away. She'd never meant for him to drink it. Why was she the one being punished? Why? Her cries grew weaker before consciousness slipped from her. Eventually, Marisol blacked out.Zayne entered at the sound of commotion, only to be greeted by the wreckage in the dimly lit room.Lucian stood in a daze amidst the destruction, cradling the unconscious young woman in his arms. Blo

The golden sun rose, casting soft morning light across the landscape. Nestled between snowcapped mountains, jagged rocks, and winding streams, a green meadow stretched out, hosting several black tents. Nearby, a herd of yaks lumbered leisurely, drinking along the stream. The chimneys atop the tents were puffing curls of steam into the crisp air. A young man in crimson Marosian robes darted from one tent to another, exclaiming, "Marisol, time for some spiced tea." Inside the tent, Marisol, who was dressed in similar robes, snapped back from her reverie as Zachary entered. Accepting the steaming cup, she took a sip of the drink that resembled a chai latte. Warmth spread through her, soothing her to the core.They had been lucky. What they'd thought was a wild yak encounter the previous night turned out to be a local herder's livestock. The man had seen the smoke rising from their wrecked SUV. Fearing that it might be a wildfire despite the rain, he had come to check, leading t

Marisol couldn't afford to think of anything dark. She fought against the tide of fear-induced terrible memories and imaginings, forcing herself to recall only the beautiful moments that had once warmed her soul. Marisol remembered her childhood days spent with Emilia, sharing a bed as her great-aunt taught her needlework. Emilia used to tell her that the world was vast and waiting, and that she must never let youth become her cage. Those words had cracked something open inside her and taken root in her heart like wildflowers. Then, she thought of her high school literature teacher, who took her in when she ran away from home. Before sending her off to Everton, the teacher secretly tucked five thousand dollars into her backpack, afraid she'd go hungry in a strange city. That was the first time Marisol truly felt the weight of love and kindness. It was more precious than gold and more enduring than mountains. She recalled her friendship with Alinta—their shared meals, fun mo