All Chapters of He Chose my Cousin, so I Chose Revenge: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

The morning began without urgency. I did not check my phone. I did not reach for my planner or glance at the inbox that waited like a coiled wire. The emails would still be there tomorrow. Today was not for solving anything.I woke slowly, the kind of waking that happened not because of alarms, but because of sunlight. The window let in a pale gold that stretched across the wooden floor in quiet strips. Outside, the city was moving, but from where I lay, it was only a soft hum, like water moving through pipes far beneath the surface.Julian stirred beside me. I did not open my eyes right away. His breathing had changed, just enough to let me know he was awake too. He did not speak. Neither did I.It was the first morning in a long time that did not ask anything of us. No events. No interviews. No strategy meetings. No backlash to consider or public opinion to anticipate. It was not silence born from exhaustion or aftermath. It was peace, the kind that did not need to prove itself. The

The building sat tucked between a shuttered print shop and a florist who only opened on weekends. It had no sign, no plaque, nothing to suggest what lived inside. From the outside, it looked like time had forgotten it, like the city had folded around it so completely that it became part of the background. But when I pushed open the door that morning, light filtered in through tall windows with warped glass, and the scent of cotton and old paper rose to meet me.This was the place.We had spent months looking for the right space. Not something polished. Not something meant to impress. I needed walls that had seen things. Floors that creaked under the weight of purpose. Ceilings that had held laughter and mistakes and the kind of silence that only comes after a long day of real work.This building had all of it.Julian was the one who found it. He said nothing when he brought me here the first time. He only handed me the keys and walked a few steps behind while I opened the door. When I

The boutique did not open with fanfare. There was no velvet rope, no cameras, no orchestrated countdown or curated guest list. The doors simply unlocked at nine in the morning, the same way they had in the early days, back when all we had was intention and a sewing machine that needed coaxing to start. There was no loud announcement. Just a quiet return. A quiet arrival.We had prepared everything with care, not performance. The air inside held the soft weight of lavender and clean cotton, the kind of scent you don’t notice until you exhale. The walls had been painted in tones that didn’t demand attention but invited it. The floors were waxed by hand. Every shelf, every rack, every garment had been arranged with the same care we used to take in our mother’s studio—slow, deliberate, respectful of space.Julian arrived before I did. He had always liked mornings, especially the quiet ones that came before movement. He swept the steps without being asked. Adjusted the florals at the front

The boutique had grown quieter in the weeks since the opening. Not from lack of interest, but from the rhythm we had promised to protect. No rush. No spotlight. Just time. Steady, deliberate time. Lena’s article had already begun to fade into the archives of the internet, but the people it brought continued to arrive quietly, respectfully, as though they, too, understood that this space wasn’t built to entertain. Julian was still arriving early. Sometimes earlier than I did. I would walk in and find him seated in the corner chair by the back window, a cup of coffee in one hand, a pen in the other, making notations on a sketch or drafting measurements with a quiet intensity that never looked strained. His presence had always anchored the boutique, but recently, it carried something else. Something softer. He was still himself, still thoughtful, still cautious with his words, but there was a gentleness now in the way he moved through the rooms. A stillness that came not from exhaustio

We left the gala before dessert was served.It wasn’t that I was tired. It wasn’t even that I wanted to leave. I simply did not need anything more. Not another glass of champagne. Not another photograph. Not another moment trying to be gracious in a room that had already seen enough.Julian took my coat from the attendant without asking. He helped me into it gently, his hands brushing my shoulders with care more than ceremony. Outside, the city air had cooled further. I tilted my head back and let it touch my face.Neither of us said anything until we were halfway down the block.“You did not look at your phone once tonight,” he said.“I didn’t need to.”“You will tomorrow.”“I know.”He adjusted the collar of his coat and tucked his hands into his pockets.“Do you think they meant it?” he asked. “The award. The applause.”“I think they meant to be seen applauding me,” I said. “That’s not the same thing, but it’s enough.”We kept walking. The streets were quieter now. The kind of quie