All Chapters of He Chose my Cousin, so I Chose Revenge: Chapter 211 - Chapter 220

The morning began with silence that felt heavier than usual. I made coffee slowly, waiting for the world to stir, waiting for something unnamed to arrive. Julian was still asleep, his breathing steady in the bedroom, while I stood in the kitchen with the radio low in the background.It was the voice of the newscaster that pulled me from the drifting haze. I heard Alessia’s name spoken with clipped seriousness, followed by the words bankruptcy and liquidation. My hand tightened around the mug, the sound of porcelain faint against my palm.I turned up the volume, letting the report fill the space. The words came with precision, every sentence designed to strike. Alessia’s empire had officially filed for bankruptcy protection overnight, her investors had pulled away, and her boutiques would close within weeks.Julian appeared in the doorway, his hair still a little disheveled from sleep. “What happened?” he asked, his voice rough with morning. I only gestured toward the radio.The news a

The morning came quietly, without any announcement or demand, only the slow light that began to stretch across the walls of my room. I opened my eyes to the sound of leaves brushing against the windowpane, stirred by a gentle wind that seemed less like weather and more like invitation. For the first time in many days, I felt no urgency to rise quickly, and yet I knew I could not stay in bed forever.The thought of the river had been with me for weeks, like an unfinished sentence that lingered in the back of my mind. I remembered how I had once walked there in a state of grief, when the world felt broken in ways I could not name. That walk had been heavy with silence and sorrow, but now the thought of returning seemed almost tender, as if the place could hold a new meaning for me.I moved through the house slowly, letting my hands brush against familiar objects as though they might remind me of who I had been when I first arrived here. A scarf left on the arm of a chair, the soft inden

The day had been long but in a gentle way. There were no headlines waiting at the door, no letters that carried the weight of battles yet to be fought. Instead, the hours moved slowly, as if they were waiting for something warmer to unfold in the evening. Julian and I had tidied the apartment earlier, not out of necessity but out of the small joy that comes from preparing for the people you love. By the time the sun had softened into gold and shadows stretched across the living room, the table was already set.The plates were simple, white porcelain that reflected the candlelight I had placed at the center. A linen cloth rested beneath them, not elaborate, just enough to signal that tonight was meant to be shared and savored. Simone had promised to bring bread from the bakery she loved, the one tucked away on a side street that always smelled of yeast and warmth. Claudia had insisted on bringing dessert, while Lena said she would come with wine. I wanted to believe that the evening wo

The house felt still that morning. I lingered by the window, staring out at the faint frost that had settled on the edges of the glass, and I thought about how silence sometimes speaks louder than words. Julian was already gone for a meeting, leaving behind only the warmth of coffee he had made for me.I wrapped my hands around the mug and let the steam brush my face. It was not just a morning like any other; there was a sense of something forming in me, something that I had been carrying quietly. The kind of weight that was not heavy but steady, asking for a choice.I had spent so long responding to what others threw into my life, from Alessia’s wars to the shifting winds of investors. Now, for the first time in years, I felt like the page was blank. I had the pen, and the paper waited.Simone called me while I was still watching the street below. Her voice carried its usual lightness, though I heard the edge of curiosity. “You sound far away, Juliana. What’s in your head today?”“I’

The box had been sitting at the back of the wardrobe for years, tucked beneath folded blankets I never used and behind the suitcases I only pulled out for long trips. I had almost forgotten it was there until I decided to clear space. The cardboard had softened over time, corners sagging, and the tape that once sealed it had yellowed and peeled away. I pulled it forward slowly, brushing dust off the lid with the back of my hand, and felt something inside me stir before I even opened it.For a moment I sat on the floor, cross-legged, staring at it. I remembered packing it away quickly one night years ago, right after everything had collapsed, when I could not bear to look at my own work or the fabrics that once made me feel alive. Back then, it was easier to shut the box and hide it than to confront the weight of what it carried. Now, however, the air felt different, as though I could open it without breaking apart.I lifted the lid and the faint smell of old fabric rose up, a mix of c