All Chapters of Lawfully Wedded Nanny (BWWM): Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

“Mrs. Monet Abbott,” Monet whispered, the words trembling against her lips as she studied her reflection. Her face looked pale, hollow, as though the weight of the name had pressed the color out of her.The room door closed with a muted click, and her heart seemed to plummet straight through her body. She turned on the tap and let the water run, flushing the toilet though she hadn’t used it, stalling, trying to catch her breath. She cupped her hands beneath the stream and splashed her face, the icy sting jolting her thoughts into sharp fragments.Silence outside. The faint shuffle of movement had stilled. Her heart thundered so loud it made her ribs ache. She smoothed her cream-colored silk pajama shorts—Florence’s bridal shower gift—and opened the door.Richard stood before the windows, his back to her, the white dress shirt sliding off his shoulders. Moonlight from the tall panes spilled over him, carving every plane and curve of his body into something sculpted and alive. The muscl

Richard stared at the simple gold band circling his finger with quiet intensity. The horns and chaos of the city outside barely registered. His thumb worried against the metal as though the ring held the pulse of his memories.He had promised Hannah he would wear this ring until the day he died. And yet it was Monet who now bore his name, while Hannah’s band still sat on his hand like a silent vow unbroken.“Are you celebrating your anniversary, sir? Looking for an anniversary or promise ring for your wife?” The jeweler’s smile was smooth, professional, her voice pitched with practiced brightness.Richard tore his gaze from the band. February would have marked nine years of happiness with Hannah—nine years cut short.“I want a wedding band,” he said, the words clipped, rough in his throat.Their marriage had been rushed, licenses pulled by strings only Florence could tug, and Monet hadn’t uttered a single complaint about the absence of rings or ceremony. She had accepted him, accepted

Richard stepped into the room, dropping the coffee on the table and moving toward her with unhurried steps.Monet almost moved backwards, but her back met the cool glass walls behind her. She clutched the sides of his shirt when he drew close, the fabric feeling thin and inadequate under his solid frame, under the weight of his stare.He stopped two feet in front of her, tall enough that his shadow swallowed hers. His gaze was an unreadable mask, the jeweler’s bag held tightly in his hand, knuckles faintly white.He raised it up between them. “I got you something. I should have expedited this before our wedding, but…” his voice softened, almost uncertain, “I got it now.”Her fingers trembled as she accepted the small velvet bag. Her eyes dropped—unwillingly—towards his left hand. Toward that band. His wedding band. Hannah’s. The sight of it gleaming there sent a sharp twist through her chest, and she forced a small, sad smile onto her lips.It was fitting, wasn’t it? She had left a ma

The cab smelled faintly of leather and old perfume, the city rushing by in streaks of neon and headlights. Monet sat pressed against the cool glass of the window, the garment bag clutched to her chest like a shield. Vivian’s words replayed mercilessly in her mind, each one sharper. Never enough.Still, the girl no one wanted.Men like Richard don’t marry women like you.Her throat tightened as she blinked furiously, but the tears came anyway, slipping hot and silent down her cheeks. She turned her face toward the window, praying the driver wouldn’t glance in the rearview mirror.By the time the cab pulled up to the hotel, she had dabbed her eyes dry with trembling fingers. She tipped the driver with more than she should have, desperate to get out before the sobs returned.Upstairs, she forced herself into motion. The brown satin gown slid over her skin like warm water, hugging her curves, whispering of elegance. The strappy gold heels made her legs endless, the bracelet gleamed, and

The manor still held its breath in the last stretch of night, heavy with silence, the kind that pressed against the walls like a warning. Beyond the frosted panes, snow drifted slowly and soundlessly, a pale curtain softening the dark, but no softness touched her.Inside the kitchen, only the low hum of the old radiator and the faint crackle of the kettle kept her company. Monet cupped her hands around the steaming mug, letting the warmth bleed into her palms as though it might quiet the restless storm inside her, though nothing could thaw the ache lodged deep in her chest.Every cupboard, every gleam of copper pot, every shadow stretching across the tiled floor belonged to a house asleep. Yet her thoughts refused slumber. They pressed and clamored, louder than the winter winds rattling against the glass, until it felt as though the whole of Elmsworth should stir awake with them. Instead, she stood alone in the dim kitchen, wrapped in the hush of falling snow, her tea cooling while he