Semua Bab Twice His Wife: Bab 81 - Bab 90

The phone on Anaïs’s desk vibrated once — not with a call, not with a text. Just a silent push notification: Julien Kaba: “Live in 30.”She stared at it, half-knowing what was coming. The broadcast had been hinted at all week. Political analysis, some low-pressure panel on public trust and new political ethics. But Julien didn’t do anything low-pressure, not anymore. Not since Angela’s exposé. And not since he stopped calling her back.Cassian stood by the window, backlit by dying sunlight, arms folded in that way that always made him look ten years younger — and ten times more defensive. “Do you think he’s about to sell you out?”Anaïs didn’t answer. She just tapped the screen once, opened the livestream, and waited.The studio came into view. Clean background. Three chairs. Two young analysts and Julien, dressed like he was born under stage lights — no tie, but sharp lines, perfect posture, and a calm that felt practiced.He leaned forward into the mic. “Let’s talk about corruption.

You ever watch someone keep smiling while everything around them is falling apart? That was Anaïs. She sat on the edge of a sleek conference table in an unfamiliar high-rise downtown, legs crossed at the ankle, hands folded too neatly in her lap. She looked like a woman about to give a pitch, not someone whose life was burning from the inside out.Cassian stood beside the window, facing away. The view outside was breathtaking, all steel and clouds and silence, but it wasn’t what held him there. He couldn’t look at her.“You don’t have to say anything,” Anaïs said softly, voice like paper tearing.He didn’t turn.She took a breath. “I already know. You’re furious. You’re—”“I’m not furious,” he cut in. His voice was steady, but it wasn’t calm. “I’m trying not to hate you.”That made her blink. Her fingers clenched in her lap.“I didn’t plan it like this,” she said. “Angela going public—none of us saw it coming.”“That’s not what I’m talking about.”He finally turned around. And the loo

They say silence is golden, but the silence that followed the message Anaïs received felt like lead in her throat.The text was simple. Untraceable. No sender. Just:“We have the ledger. Tell Cassian, and you both fall.”She stared at the screen as if the message might vanish. As if she could will it out of existence. But it stayed — blinking in the soft light of her hotel room.Cassian hadn’t said anything since she walked away from him outside. Maybe he was giving her space. Maybe he was bleeding in a way she couldn’t fix. Either way, she knew this: the storm wasn’t coming. It was here.And the storm had teeth.Anaïs didn’t sleep.The night dragged itself across her body like barbed wire. She paced, she drank cold coffee, she scrolled through encrypted files from the server drive she had stolen — the one they thought would give them leverage. Except now, the real threat had leverage over her.She had burned too many bridges to run to anyone. Not Julien, not even Maris. Not now.When

She couldn’t hear the anchor’s voice anymore. Just the sharp ringing in her ears, like a fire alarm that wouldn’t shut off.Anaïs blinked once.Twice.The words were still there, in that bold crawl at the bottom of the screen:BREAKING: FOLU ALADE ATTACKED. CONDITION UNKNOWN.Her knees went out.Cassian caught her just before she hit the marble, gripping her shoulders hard like he was anchoring her to reality. But his voice—his voice was shaking.“What is it?” he asked. “Anaïs, what—”She turned the screen to him.His eyes widened. And for one terrifying second, even Cassian—the man who never cracked—looked afraid.“No,” Anaïs said. “No. No, no, no—”She broke free from him, snatching her phone, bolting into the hallway like a woman possessed. She didn’t care that her shoes slapped the marble. Didn’t care that her dress was falling off one shoulder. She just needed to see. She needed proof. She needed to know this wasn’t real.She called Folu. It rang once.Twice.Three times.No answ

Cassian didn’t sleep.He stood by the window of the hotel room as Lagos blinked under the weight of midnight. His hands rested on the windowsill, head bowed. The city lights stretched for miles, but he couldn’t see any of it. All he saw was the look on Anaïs’s face when she read the message. That bloodless, steel-walled look she only wore when she was close to breaking.He hadn’t spoken since.Anaïs was curled up on the armchair across the room, legs pulled to her chest, eyes open and unblinking. Her phone was still on the table, screen black now. But the words were seared into both their minds:“If you don’t return what you stole, someone you love will bleed for it.”And then the news. Folu Alade — attacked. Hospitalized. Barely holding on.She didn’t cry. That was what scared him the most.“You should sleep,” he said quietly.She didn’t even blink.Cassian turned around and crossed the room. He crouched in front of her, searching her face.“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “Bu