All Chapters of My contracted wife: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Luna hadn’t rested.Not truly. Not deeply. Not in the way that brings peace.Even on the nights she closed her eyes, her mind remained alert,tense,suspended between memory and anticipation. Sebastian still occupied a space in her mind that she couldn’t evict. Like a shadow that lingered even in full sunlight.She had tried to track him down.She wasn’t even sure why anymore. Was it fear? Was it closure? Was it curiosity? Perhaps all three.Either way, she had gone to his favorite bar. Not once. Not twice. But four times. Each time wearing different disguises of confidence, but inside, always the same bracing for the echo of his voice, the familiar lean of his frame at the counter, the way he would smile like he owned the room.But he never showed.The bartender grew familiar with her face, but always shook his head when she inquired.“No one’s seen him, not in weeks,” he said the last time. “Almost like he disappeared.”And the messages those cruel, venom-laced texts that used to come

The mansion was silent again too silent. The kind of silence that made George’s thoughts louder, more accusing.He stood by the tall windows of his study, phone in hand, screen dark. No new messages. No missed calls. His father still hadn’t returned his call, and that fact bothered him more than he wanted to admit. It wasn’t like the old man to ignore him. As strained as their relationship was, there had always been a rigid pattern of power and response between them, one that was disturbingly absent now.George clenched his jaw and let the phone drop onto the table with a soft thud. His mind shifted again to Emily.The divorce.He had buried it beneath layers of distraction, pretending the delay didn’t gnaw at the edge of his sanity. But it did. It was a thread constantly tugging at him. He hadn’t filed the papers yet. He hadn’t told her either. In truth, he didn’t know if his father was purposely stalling out of time because he was sure Mr Thompson must have contacted his father aft

The mansion was quiet when George returned.Too quiet.The kind of silence that crept under the skin not comforting, but ominous. The rain hadn’t stopped. It followed him all the way home like a ghost, dripping off the brim of his coat as he stepped inside.He didn’t announce his return.Didn’t expect anyone waiting.He handed his coat to the maid without a word and made his way toward the study. The hallway lights flickered behind him. Everything looked the same, but he wasn’t.Nathan lingered near the entrance. “Want me to stay?” he asked, voice low.George didn’t look back. “No. This part I do alone.”---The study was dim. Only the glow from his desk lamp illuminated the room. Books lined the shelves, but it was the locked drawer he reached for—one that hadn’t been opened in over a year.His hand trembled only slightly as he pulled it open.Inside was the letter.The one he had kept hidden even from himself.The handwriting, his mother’s. The words had once made no sense.Now, eve

The walls of the mansion were too thick.They held secrets like breath.Tight. Stale. Waiting to be exhaled.Luna sat on the edge of her bed, her hands pressed flat against the mattress as if grounding herself to something real. The silence wasn’t peace anymore, it was surveillance. Every creak of the old wood, every distant footstep down the polished hallways, felt like a question she wasn’t ready to answer.She had felt him outside her door hours ago.The pause in his breath.The weight of him George, just standing there like he was gathering pieces of himself.But he never knocked.He never asked.And somehow, that hurt more.Luna wouldn't deny the fact that having George around made her feel safe. And quietly, dangerously she was beginning to expect that safety. To need it.---The mansion was beautiful and modern in design, but built with the kind of quiet grandeur that didn’t beg for attention. Clean architectural lines, vast glass walls, and carefully curated elegance flowed th

The city melted into shadows as George’s car sped through the empty roads, the rain now falling in a quiet, haunting rhythm like a lullaby sung through gritted teeth.Luna sat beside him, her arms folded tightly around herself, her gaze locked on the blur of passing streetlights. Her pulse hadn't calmed since the message. Her body knew what her mouth hadn't yet spoken. Sebastian was close. Too close.George hadn’t said much since they got in the car. He had simply handed her his coat when he saw the way her hands trembled and told the driver to take the long route out of the estate less predictable, less exposed.Even now, his hands were firm on the steering wheel, jaw tense, every muscle alert. But it wasn’t panic, it was control. Calculated. Cold. The kind of cold that burned at the edges.“I’m taking you to the penthouse downtown,” he said at last, voice low. “It’s off-grid. One of the few places only I know about. No staff. No surveillance feeds. No trace.”Luna nodded, unable to