Semua Bab Mafia King's Contract Wife: The Angel of Revenge: Bab 81 - Bab 90

Miley's POV: Emily stood at the far end of the room, surrounded by a cluster of junior designers. She was perfectly styled, as always in a silk blouse, hair styled in a sleek bun, and that familiar performative smile that looked sweet to the untrained eye but felt like poison to me. “Miley!” she said, like we were best friends who hadn’t seen each other in years. “We were just discussing next quarter’s campaign strategy. I know you might be a little out of touch with our current portfolio—would you like me to walk you through the basics?” A couple of the interns chuckled politely. Not at me, not exactly. But definitely because of her. Classic power move. Sweetly patronizing. Right on brand. I didn’t blink. I walked in like I hadn’t just been declared dead in their files six months ago. Like I belonged here. Like I had never left. I slid into the chair at the head of the table and calmly set down the heavy black binder in front of me. Gold initials stamped into the leather. My in

Miley's POV I blinked, confused, the files stacked high in my arms and nearly brushing my cheekbones. The design books were heavy and wide, forcing me to tilt slightly to balance them. I shifted one aside carefully, craning my neck to get a better look at the commotion in the hallway.And there she was.Emily.Clutching her ankle, eyes wide with pain, lying sprawled dramatically across the marble floor.“Aahh…” she moaned, louder than necessary. “My ankle… Miley, what the hell!! Why did you push me?”I stood frozen for a beat, then scoffed—out loud. Was this seriously happening?Did she think I was still that same girl from all those years ago—the one who used to shrink under her tears and try to win back our father’s approval with explanations? The girl who thought proving her innocence meant she might finally earn some love?Not anymore.I was a mafia Don’s wife now. I knew what manipulation looked like dressed in lace and lip gloss. Emily, unfortunately, hadn’t evolved much past p

Miley's POV:I shut the door behind Nico, pressing my palm briefly against the wood like it could cool my racing pulse.God, I needed a moment to breathe. Just one. But of course, Emily was still standing in the room, pretending she hadn’t walked in at the exact worst time.She was staring at the door Nico had just disappeared through, her eyes narrowed, mouth slightly parted like she wanted to say something — or maybe just replay what she’d seen in her head a few more times.I cleared my throat. Loudly.She blinked and turned, that fake little smile snapping into place like a mask sliding down.“What is it, Emily?” I asked, voice clipped. “Why did you come in?”“Oh,” she said, like she’d just remembered her excuse. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and stepped closer, clasping her hands in front of her. “I just wanted to say… about this morning — I have no hard feelings. Really. It was probably just a misunderstanding.”I narrowed my eyes.“A misunderstanding?” I repeated slo

Miley's POV:I was being paranoid. Completely, utterly paranoid.Just because Emily sat in his car, it didn’t mean anything. Nico wasn’t Archie. He wasn’t the boy who used to flash a smile at everyone and keep secrets behind his back. Nico didn’t hide—he confronted. And most importantly, Nico wasn’t mine by convenience or pity.He chose me.I told myself that as I stared at the wallet he’d forgotten. Sleek black leather. His initials faintly embossed on the corner. It smelled like him, still warm from his touch. I slipped it into my bag and shook my head. No, I wasn’t going to spiral. Not again.I had to stop projecting my trauma where it didn’t belong.This wasn’t then. And Nico… Nico would never do such a thing.I returned to my work quietly, but my hands were less precise. I kept glancing at the clock without realizing. Tapping my pen. Redesigning the same spine label three times over. My heartbeat had a mind of its own, already racing ahead, impatient for five o’clock.When the h

Karina’s POV:I dragged myself out of bed like a ghost in my own body. My limbs were heavy, my head thudding with yesterday’s wine and tomorrow’s regrets. The curtains were still drawn, casting the room in a sickly blue from the city lights beyond. When I yanked them open, night stared back.Figures.I padded barefoot to the table, half-empty wine bottle waiting like an old friend. I refilled my glass, lips already sticky from the last pour. My phone vibrated as I raised it for another sip.I should’ve ignored it.I didn’t.A photo filled the screen. From Miley.Her hand entwined with a man’s—broad knuckles, tailored cuff, unmistakable ownership. His grip wasn’t casual. It was a claim.I stared at it. At the soft-focus intimacy of it. The caption said nothing. She didn’t need to write anything. I could smell the smugness radiating off it like perfume.The glass trembled in my fingers.My vision blurred, but not from the wine. I felt it, sorrow dragging me under again like a riptide I’