Semua Bab Surrogate For The Mafia Lord: Bab 41 - Bab 50

ArmaniThe sharp sting across the back of my skull jolts me forward. I haven't even turned around fully before Xavier's hand connects with my head, the sound echoing in the quiet forest clearing."What in God's name did you do, Armani?" My brother's voice is low but carries the weight of thunder.I rub the tender spot where his hand landed, wincing slightly. "What are you referring to, exactly?" The question slips out automatically, though the knot in my stomach tells me I know precisely what he means. For months now, I've been living in a haze of self-deception, pushing away the consequences of my actions. Perhaps there's a strange comfort in finally facing what I've done.Xavier's face darkens. "Don't play the fool with me." His eyes drift meaningfully down the path where Rena disappeared moments ago, her slim figure having vanished among the trees. "You allowed your wife to marry you without understanding the actual terms of her marriage contract. How could you possibly let that ha

ArmaniThe hospital room seemed to close in around me, the antiseptic smell burning my nostrils as Rena's question hung in the air between us. Her pale face, framed by tangled hair against the stark white pillow, made my chest constrict."Did I lose him, Armani?" she whispered again, her voice breaking. "Our baby... tell me I didn't—"The words stabbed through me. In that moment, the concept of fatherhood—which had until now been abstract, distant—suddenly crashed into me with the force of a tidal wave. My child. Our child. His existence had been a fact I'd acknowledged intellectually, but seeing Rena like this, vulnerable and terrified about our unborn son's fate, transformed everything.I moved closer, taking her delicate hand in mine. Her skin felt cool, fragile, like porcelain that might shatter if I held too tightly."No, my love," I said, surprised by the thickness in my voice. "Our baby is fine. He's perfectly safe."Relief flooded her features, her shoulders sagging as tension

ArmaniThe moonlight spilled through the half-drawn curtains, casting silver shadows across Rena's skin. Armani could barely breathe as he gazed down at her, his heart thundering against his ribs. Something was tugging at the edges of his consciousness—a warning, a reminder—but he pushed it away, drowning in the moment he'd dreamed of for what felt like forever."Rena," he whispered, her name a prayer on his lips. "Do you know how long I've wanted this? Wanted you?"Her eyes, luminous in the dim light, held his. "Show me," she breathed.There was something important, something he needed to tell her before they crossed this line. The thought floated just beyond his grasp, but then her fingers traced the line of his jaw, and coherent thought scattered like autumn leaves in a storm."I've imagined this moment a thousand times," Armani confessed, lowering his mouth to the hollow of her throat. His lips brushed against her pulse point, feeling the rapid flutter beneath her skin. "The taste

Armani The sunlight filtering through the half-drawn curtains felt like an accusation. I rolled away from it, burying my face deeper into the pillow that no longer smelled like her. How long had it been since Rena walked out? Two days? Three? Time had blurred into a meaningless haze of self-loathing and regret.My throat burned with thirst, but the thought of moving seemed impossible. There was a glass of water somewhere—Marta, our housekeeper, had left it before I'd growled at her to leave me alone—but reaching for it required more energy than I possessed.The bedroom still held Rena's ghost. Her perfume lingered in the air, fading but present enough to torture me with every breath. The indent of her head on the pillow beside mine had long since disappeared, but I could still see it, could still feel the weight of her body on the mattress beside me.I closed my eyes against a fresh wave of pain. This emptiness was unfamiliar territory. I, Armani Ambrosius Kingsley, heir to the Kings

ArmaniThe antiseptic smell hit me the moment I stepped off the elevator. Hospitals were the same everywhere—even in exclusive rehabilitation facilities like this one. I paused outside room 412, straightening my already impeccable tie and running a hand through my hair. Twenty hours of travel had left me disheveled, a state unbecoming of Montovian royalty. But I wasn't here as Prince Armani today. I was here as a husband trying to salvage what remained of his marriage.My royal advisors would have a collective aneurysm if they knew I'd flown commercial, with only a single security detail who I'd instructed to wait in the lobby. No entourage, no press, no diplomatic arrangements. Just me, following my wife across an ocean because I couldn't bear another day without her.Seven days of silence. Seven days of imagining the worst. Seven days of realizing that the arrangement I'd once viewed as a convenient solution to multiple problems had become the most important relationship in my life.