บททั้งหมดของ The reluctant vow: บทที่ 121 - บทที่ 130

Soft morning light filtered through the sheer curtains, casting golden lines across the plush carpet and the sleeping figure on the bed. Zara stirred, her body aching, her mouth dry. She blinked up at the ceiling, momentarily disoriented. Her head throbbed gently—dull, but nagging. Her robe had slipped slightly off one shoulder, and the faint scent of whiskey still lingered in the air.She sat up slowly, the silk robe hugging her frame. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the surroundings—their shared bedroom. The one she rarely slept in.Then it hit her.Images of the night before came rushing back in jagged flashes—pouring herself a drink, venting to Kemi, broken glass, Regan’s voice… her tears, her frustration… and that overwhelming heat of touch, emotion, desire.Her eyes shifted across the room.Regan stood by the window, back turned to her. He was already dressed, crisp joggers and a black T-shirt clinging to his frame. He held a cup of tea in one hand, his other resting

The Kareem mansion was steeped in its usual hush—luxury coated in silence. Late afternoon light dripped through the tall, wide windows like honey, golden and warm, casting long, angled shadows across the marble floor. The scent of cinnamon tea lingered faintly in the air, mingling with the distant hum of the central AC.Regan entered the living room without hurry, his steps measured, deliberate. He wasn’t in a rush. The kind of truth he was after didn’t need to be chased—it simply needed to be lured out.He found Imani exactly where he expected her—sitting on the cream sectional, one leg crossed over the other, flipping slowly through the pages of Luxe Vogue, her manicured fingers idly toying with the corners. Her posture was elegant, relaxed. Almost too relaxed.Regan didn’t speak at first. He let the silence stretch just a little. Just enough for her to feel his presence, but not enough to draw suspicion. He walked past the couch to the side table and picked up a decanter of cognac,

The house was quiet under the weight of nightfall. Light from the chandelier pooled across the marble floors of the living room, casting gentle shadows that danced to the faint flicker of the television.Zara sat curled up on the couch in a pair of soft pajamas, her legs tucked beneath her and a large bowl of popcorn cradled in her lap. Though the room she shared with Regan had its own sleek flatscreen, she’d chosen the common area tonight. Something about being downstairs made her feel grounded, less caged.The TV hummed softly, casting warm colors across her skin. Her eyes were fixed on the screen, lips twitching with amusement as the characters on her favorite show exchanged sarcastic barbs.Footsteps echoed down the stairs—measured, familiar. Regan entered the room, his eyes sweeping gently over her form, lingering for just a moment too long.“You’ve got a whole TV upstairs,” he said lightly, nodding toward the screen. “What brings you down here?”Zara didn’t look away. “I don’t k

The morning sun spilled into the Kareem mansion like a silent observer, weaving golden threads across the marble floors and bathing the room in an almost sacred stillness. Yet beneath that peaceful hush, tension brewed—subtle but palpable.Zara sat on the cream velvet couch in the main living area, her body angled stiffly, both feet flat on the ground, hands interlocked in her lap so tightly the knuckles had turned pale. Her eyes were fixed on the window, though her mind wandered far from what the world outside had to offer. The shawl draped around her shoulders felt heavier than usual, as if it were holding the uncertainty that pulsed beneath her skin.Regan hovered in the background. He didn’t sit. He couldn’t. His arms remained folded across his chest, the muscles in his jaw twitching every few seconds, betraying his internal restlessness. His gaze traveled from Zara to the antique wall clock and back again. The slow tick-tock did little to soothe him.Neither of them spoke.It was

Sunlight streamed in through the sheer curtains, casting warm, golden patterns across the floor of Zara’s bedroom. The space had become her quiet cocoon—a place where the chaos of the mansion didn’t quite reach her. But today, it buzzed with gentle life.There was a knock.Zara barely had time to call out before the door creaked open and Kemi stepped in, balancing a paper bag in one arm and a stack of glossy baby books in the other.“Mama Kareem in the making!” she sang, grinning wide as she kicked the door shut behind her.Zara blinked, then laughed softly—really laughed—for the first time in days. She stood, arms outstretched.“Kemi…”They hugged tightly. Familiar warmth. A piece of home in the middle of the storm.“I brought snacks. Plantain chips, chin-chin, and those little vanilla sponge cakes you like. Oh, and two books on pregnancy, one on baby names, and one on how to raise feminist daughters.”Zara smiled, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”“I’m thorough,” Kemi said, dro