Semua Bab The Billionaire Married Me, Then Forgot How to Love Me: Bab 171 - Bab 180

(Serena)There’s a knock on the hotel door.I check the peephole. It’s James. Hoodie. Hands in his coat pockets.Damp curls at his temple from the freezing air.What does he want. Some damn grand gesture to convince me not to divorce him, I suppose.I consider not opening it. Just letting him stand there until he goes away.“Serena, I know you are looking at me.” He stares right back in the peephole at me. “It’s a little fresh out here.”I crack the door. “What are you doing here?”“I’m not here to fight,” he says. “Or beg. Or lecture. Okay… maybe beg…”“Beg… like down on the knees type?”“If that’s what it takes.”“I’m still divorcing you, Hale.”“I know. All good. I want to make a deal.”“James—”“Just hear me out. Can we do it inside please?”I open the door and let him in.The room is warm from the heater I turned up high.There’s a half-packed suitcase on the bed and my laptop’s open to my bakery’s expansion to-do list.He scans the room. Then looks at me.“Are you flying home al

(Serena)The plane touches down on a frozen runway flanked by snowdrifts taller than my bakery’s delivery van.We come out in our coats and woolen hats and I realize we are severely underdressed.The wind is bitter and howling. I’ve never been this cold in my life.The wind slaps my face like a bitter ex-girlfriend and I nearly fall backwards into James.“You didn’t say it would be this cold,” I yell over the wind, gripping the sleeves of my coat, which is more fashion than function.“I didn’t know,” James says, clearly freezing. He’s wearing a wool blazer like we’re headed to a board meeting.His ears are already turning red.We hustle into the tiny arrivals building that smells like woodsmoke and old leather.Inside, it’s warmer… barely. But the shop next to baggage claim is open and stocked with every kind of snow gear imaginable.Twenty minutes later, I’m wearing fleece-lined everything, a thermal layer, snow boots that feel like miniature mattresses, and a hat that makes me look

(Serena)I look at his profile in the flickering firelight. I try to calm down a little.But something inside me is raw and broken and I can’t stick it back together this time.“She stayed until he quit. And yeah, he did quit. He got help. He’s a good man now.”“He is.”“But that doesn’t erase the years of mental anguish feeling like it was my fault. It sure as hell doesn’t mean I walked into adulthood knowing how to be happy.”Silence.“I’ve got damage too, James. I didn’t get therapy and a trust fund. I got secrets and shame and parents who now say they just want me to be happy—”My voice cracks “—but they stayed. They stayed in a miserable, volatile marriage, and sometimes I wonder if that’s what I’m supposed to do, too.”I turn to him. “So don’t you dare act like I don’t know what pain looks like. It’s the wallpaper of my childhood.”James swallows. “Serena… I think maybe we’ve a had a little much to drink.”“And maybe that’s why this—” I lift the bottle and take a deep swig— “fee

(James)The wind cuts hard this morning.I stay out in it anyway, no coat, just boots shoved on and my sleeves rolled up.But I want the sting of the icy coldness.I welcome it. It matches what’s in my heart right now.The snow’s crusted with ice where the sun hasn’t touched yet, and the air is sub-zero. It scrapes through my lungs with every breath.I walk to the edge of the clearing, just before the tree line. Where the world looks endless and blank and brutal.She’ll be gone soon. And this time, I’m not going after her.Last night… Fuck.It wasn’t what she said that shook me. Although what she said was awful.It was how she said it. Like she needed to hurt me enough to match the pain sitting in her own chest.Like she wanted to see how far she could go.And maybe I deserved it. I should’ve taken more time to find out about her.Maybe I earned that slap across the soul.But it wasn’t just honesty. It was something else — jagged, sharp-edged. Like she needed to wound her way out of

(Serena)Eventually, I stretch, sit up, and pad barefoot to the balcony.Wow! I’m actually in Paris.The Eiffel Tower is just visible between two buildings, this feels like magic.Out in the small dining room, on the breakfast table, there's a covered tray someone’s delivered. My stomach growls.I lift the cover.Croissants, of course. But also warm pain au chocolat, tartine with butter and jam, soft-boiled eggs, fruit arranged like someone expected royalty.It smells like heaven. I don’t even hesitate. I eat some of everything. It’s just perfect. Authentic and effortless.And then, of course, I can’t help myself. I get dressed in jeans and a red sweater.I grab my notebook, a soft grey wool coat, sunglasses, and head out.I need to visit every pâtisserie I can find.The first one I see has pink-tinted glass and a window display that nearly makes me cry. Tiny confections shaped like orchids. Raspberry mousse domes with crystallized rose petals. I’m breathless.This is my absolute dre