Todos los capítulos de Falling For My Ex Husband’s Uncle Wasn’t Part Of My Plan : Capítulo 91 - Capítulo 100

Vivienne had spent years arriving in places as a woman people noticed when she walked in, the one rooms quietly rearranged themselves around, the one whose presence changed the temperature of whatever space she occupied. Standing outside Callum’s penthouse door, she was no longer that woman. She was now a woman who had run out of other options, and the awareness of that sat on her. The door opened and Callum stood in the doorway looking at her with an expression she recognized immediately as surprise. “Vivienne,” he said. “Hi.” She produced a smile. “I was nearby. I thought I’d stop in.” Callum looked at her for a moment without saying anything. They both knew it was a lie. His building was not on the way to anything she was ever nearby for. She had never simply stopped here without a motive. He stepped back from the door anyway. “Come in,” he said. He didn’t offer her a drink and she didn’t ask for one. She sat on the sofa in his living room and looked around the space wi

Nadia POV It was a quiet Saturday afternoon. I had no meetings scheduled. No fittings to supervise. Just my apartment, my sketchbook, fabric swatches spread across the coffee table in colors I was still deciding between, and a cup of tea that had gone slightly cold because I kept forgetting to drink it whenever I got absorbed in something. Business was doing well. Better than well, actually. That still surprised me sometimes when I sat down with the numbers, which I was slowly getting better at reading without needing Priya to translate everything into plain language for me first. The apartment was peaceful. But suddenly, the doorbell rang. I assumed it was the delivery I had been waiting for, two bolts of fabric I had ordered from a supplier Priya had connected me with, which had been delayed twice already and whose arrival I had mentally rescheduled three times. I pulled open the door. And then I went very still. My first reaction, in the half second before my brain caught

Callum POV I had closed deals worth more money than most people would see in several lifetimes. I had sat across tables from men who used silence as a weapon and had stayed quieter than them. I had walked into rooms where the entire energy was designed to make me feel like the smaller person and had walked out with what I came for. I had built my business from nothing but a set of blueprints, a belief that it was going to work, and a stubborn refusal to accept any version of the answer that wasn’t yes. None of that had prepared me for buying an engagement ring. The box was sitting on my kitchen counter, small and dark blue, it was completely unremarkable from the outside. I had picked it up from the jeweler two days ago and had opened it approximately fourteen times since then. Not because I was worried about the ring itself. But because opening it and looking at it was the only thing that made the whole plan feel real rather than something I had constructed in my own head. I ope

Nadia POV I woke up on the morning of my wedding and lay still for a moment, looking at the ceiling. The room was quiet. Early light was just beginning to come through the curtains, before the noise started. I stayed there for a little while, just breathing. Then I got up and went to the window. Standing there, looking out at the city in the early morning light, a memory came back to me. Another morning, years ago. The morning of my first wedding. I had woken up early that day too. I had believed, that morning, that love meant someone would always choose you. That a person who loved you would stand beside you in every room, without question. I had been wrong about all of it. Not wrong to want those things. Just wrong about where I was going to find them. I stood at the window this morning and felt certain. I smiled at the window. Then I went to make coffee. Mara arrived at eight-thirty, carrying a bag large enough to suggest she was planning an extended stay rather than a

EPILOGUE Three Years Later Paris was everything Nadia had imagined it would be, and also nothing like she had imagined it would be, which was the thing about Paris that nobody could really prepare you for until you were actually standing in it. She had imagined it from photographs as a child, from travel books she had bought and kept on her shelves long before she had any real reason to think she would ever go. The reality was louder. More alive. More everything. And backstage at Paris Fashion Week, with thirty minutes to go before her collection walked, it was also the most concentrated version of chaos Nadia had ever personally occupied. Models moved in every direction. Stylists applied final touches. A translator was speaking rapidly near the door to a French production assistant who was speaking equally rapidly back, neither of them apparently arriving at an agreement but both of them clearly committed to the attempt. Nadia stood at the edge of all of it, looking at the co