Semua Bab The Substitute Bride's Revenge : Bab 111 - Bab 120

ARIAI wake up feeling like I’m drowning in silk.The sheets beneath me are impossibly soft—softer than anything I remember from last night and they seem to swallow me whole as I fight my way toward consciousness.My limbs feel heavy, weighed down by an exhaustion that goes far beyond just being tired. It’s the kind of bone-deep weariness that hits after trauma, when your body finally gives in and collapses after surviving something it had no right to.The first thing I notice is the smell. Instead of the warm vanilla and peony from my bedroom last night, the air here carries a faint trace of lavender. It’s clean, almost unnaturally so.Pale morning light filters through sheer curtains I don’t recognize, casting everything in this soft, perfect glow that feels too pristine and too untouched.This isn’t my room. The bed is bigger, the ceiling higher, and every surface sparkles with perfection.It’s beautiful in the way model homes are beautiful… flawless, but completely lifeless.For on

ARIAThe past three days blur together, smearing into one indistinct haze much like watercolors in the rain.I’m like a ghost haunting someone else’s life. Every corner I turn reveals another guard in this new estate, always polite, always respectful. They nod when I pass yet their eyes track me with a professional courtesy that doesn’t quite hide the fact that I’m being watched. Constantly.The familiar faces try to make up for it.Mei brings me tea every day at exactly three o’clock, her smile warm and genuine as she asks about my day.The chef sends out elaborate meals that I barely touch. Even the housekeeping staff go out of their way to keep me comfortable, switching out flowers every morning and adjusting the temperature to what they somehow know is my preference.Their kindness feels like a beautiful cage wrapped in silk and good intentions.But it’s my husband’s absence that cuts the deepest.Dale.His name still rings in my ears.Three days, and I’ve barely seen him. He’s bec

ARIAA week has passed in a blur of transformation, and now the day of my grand debut has arrived.I should feel exhilarated, ready to step into the spotlight and finally take the first step toward reclaiming everything I’ve lost. Instead, there’s a weight in my chest I can’t seem to shake, a gnawing unease that grows stronger with every passing day.My nights have been restless, haunted by nightmares or perhaps fragments of memories I can’t tell for sure.They come in flashes, vivid and raw, leaving me shaken long after I wake.In one, I’m younger—sixteen or seventeen—trapped beneath a heavy body and my voice is hoarse from screaming for help that never comes.I can feel hands where they have no right to be, touching me in ways that make my skin crawl. The smell of alcohol and sweat is so vivid it makes me gag, even in the dream.I hear my own voice, desperate and broken, begging for it to stop.Then it shifts, dissolving into another scene.I’m in an alley with cold rain pouring over

ARIAThe convoy pulls up to the Harrington building like something out of a blockbuster movie, a spectacle that could make even world leaders jealous.I watch through the tinted windows as six black luxury vehicles glide in perfect formation around us, flanked by motorcycle escorts whose engines rumble with authority that shakes the downtown streets.One of the Bentley’s in the convoy rolls to a stop at the entrance, where a red carpet stretches out, waiting for tonight's most anticipated guest.Me.Camera flashes explode like fireworks outside, illuminating the crowd of reporters and onlookers who've been camped out for hours, desperate to catch a glimpse of the elusive Elizabeth Sinclair."Ready, Mrs. Sinclair?" Mei's voice cuts through the hum of anticipation in the car.Her tone is calm, but I can see the flicker of excitement she can't quite hide. She's been waiting for this moment almost as much as I have, having been by my side through every painstaking detail of preparation.I

The tension in the small space becomes almost suffocating. The elevator is designed to impress, with its crystal fixtures and gold accents, but right now it feels more like a pressure cooker about to explode.Silence stretches between them as the elevator begins its ascent.Sophia's eyes remain fixed on Aria constantly, studying every detail of her appearance, every nuance of her behavior. She's trying to reconcile what she's seeing with what she thinks she knows, and the cognitive dissonance is clearly eating away at her composure.‘It can't be her’, Sophia's thoughts scream, even as the evidence mounts before her eyes. ‘Aria Taylor was fat, plain, pathetic. She had no style, no grace, no presence whatsoever. This woman is elegant, sophisticated, powerful. She has breeding, class, everything that little nobody lacked. But there's something about her smile, the way she tilts her head, the curve of her lips...’The memories come flooding back unbidden—Aria at family dinners, trying so h