All Chapters of Falling For My Ex Husband’s Uncle Wasn’t Part Of My Plan : Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

Callum POV I sat alone in my penthouse that evening, the city lights spread out below me in every direction, and found myself turning the same question over and over in my head, refusing to let it go no matter how many times I tried to set it down. Was there a version of this where I still got to be part of whatever came next in Nadia’s life? I didn’t have an answer. But I had stopped pretending I didn’t want one, which felt like progress. I thought about what I had seen outside the showcase. Nadia, getting into Richard’s car. I had stepped outside to go get my own car, fully intending to drive her home myself, to spend just a little more time with her before the night had to end. But by the time I came back around, Richard had already beaten me to it. Already opening her door for her. Already guiding her toward his car. I told myself it meant nothing. Richard was family. Richard was a good man, genuinely, one of the only decent people that family had ever produced. He had prob

Nadia POV I woke up first the next morning, the early light coming through my curtains in soft, pale strips across the ceiling. For a few seconds, in that hazy space between sleep and being fully awake, I genuinely forgot where I was. My mind was floating in a warm, heavy fog, and my body felt completely relaxed in a way it hadn't in a very long time. Then I felt the massive radiating warmth beside me. I turned my head slowly, the fabric of the pillowcase scraping softly against my cheek. Callum was still asleep. He was lying on his stomach, one large arm stretched completely across the mattress toward my side, his dark hair a complete, wild mess from the night before. His face looked calm in a way I hadn’t seen in months. It was unguarded. He looked completely at peace. I allowed myself a few seconds to just look at him. I watched the steady rise and fall of his broad back, breathing in the scent of him that now completely covered my sheets… champagne, clean sweat, and that disti

Nadia’s POV The heavy click of the lock closing behind him resonated through the apartment. The exact second the door shut completely, I fell apart. It wasn't a loud, dramatic crying fit. There was no screaming. It was just a sudden, total collapse. My legs gave out entirely beneath me, sliding down against the face of the kitchen counter until I was sitting flat on the hardwood floor, my knees pulled up to my chest, my coffee mug still somehow clutched tightly in my shaking hand. The hot liquid sloshed over the rim, burning my fingers, but I didn't care. I pulled my knees tighter and whispered, “I’m sorry,” to the completely empty apartment. Nobody answered. There was nobody there to answer me. I was entirely alone, exactly the way I had engineered it to be. ~~~ I sat there on my kitchen floor for a very long time after that. The morning progressed, the pale strips of light shifting across the wood. My coffee had long gone completely cold, a dark skin forming over the top, but

Callum’s POV “You ruined good things for people your whole life,” I said, keeping my voice completely level, “because you couldn’t stand watching anyone around you get something you had decided they didn’t deserve.” “I was only protecting my family—” “Just like you destroyed your best friend’s life? Was that also protection?” I asked. The words landed exactly the way I intended them to. I watched her face go very still. “You know what I’m talking about,” I said. “I was young when it happened. I was young enough that nobody thought to explain it to me properly. But I wasn’t so young that I couldn’t understand what I was seeing.” Vivienne said absolutely nothing. “Richard was in love with someone else,” I said. “You knew that. Everyone knew that. He was going to marry her. He was genuinely happy with her, and she was your best friend.” Silence. “A friendship,” I continued, “that you were apparently perfectly content with right up until the moment she stopped staying in the pla

Nadia’s POV The fourth page was photographs. I had already seen some of these. Vivienne and the man in various locations. Various days. The same comfortable intimacy in each one that told the story clearly enough without any words attached to it. I turned to the final page. And I stopped. Family. A wife. Twenty years of marriage. Two daughters, four and two. I stared at that page for a long time without moving. “He has children,” I said. Ethan nodded quietly. “Yes.” I looked at the photographs again. Then back at the family page. Then at the photographs. Something was bothering me about his face. Beyond just knowing he was Vivienne’s affair partner, beyond the evidence spread out in front of me, something about the specific angles of his features kept nagging at the back of my mind, like a memory trying to push its way forward through fog. I kept staring. Then it hit me. “Oh,” I said quietly. A Christmas party at the Hargrove house, years ago. I had been standing near