Semua Bab Never Forgive You, My Ex-Husband: Bab 71 - Bab 80

HANNAHThe dress wasn’t mine. Nothing about tonight was mine.Nico had laid it out on the bed like some offering from a king to his queen. Midnight silk, soft under my fingers, the kind of fabric that whispered luxury. A neckline that dipped low enough to make me self-conscious, and diamond earrings so heavy they felt like a bribe. He didn’t ask if I liked them. He just stood there, smug, like he was watching me step back into a role I’d abandoned.“Try it on,” he said. His voice was velvet over steel.I slipped into it, every inch of fabric a reminder that this wasn’t about me. When his hand grazed my waist under the pretense of helping with the zipper, I forced myself not to flinch. The jewels sat cold on my collarbones, glitter dressed up as chains.“You look perfect,” Nico whispered against my ear. “My wife, exactly as she should be.”The word wife scratched against my skin like sandpaper.The ride over was quiet except for Nico rehearsing lines under his breath. I knew that look

HANNAHThe door slammed so hard the chandelier rattled. Nico stood there in the frame, chest heaving, his eyes wild. Papers fluttered in his fists like broken wings. He threw them across the room, and they scattered at my feet.“Explain this,” he snarled. His voice was raw, shredded by rage.I didn’t move right away. I forced my face into wide-eyed shock, my lips parted just enough to tremble. Slowly, deliberately, I crouched down and picked one of the photos off the carpet.David. His profile bent toward mine. My face, blurred, close enough to suggest intimacy.Fabricated. Twisted. Sydney’s handiwork.But Nico didn’t see forgery. He saw betrayal.I let my breath hitch. “What… what is this?” I whispered, like a woman whose world had just collapsed. I pressed a hand to my chest, sinking onto the edge of the bed as if my legs couldn’t hold me.“You tell me!” he roared, stepping closer. His shadow loomed over me, filling the room. “Tell me why you’ve been sneaking around with him. Tell me

DAVIDI waited until the last guard passed the corridor. The monitors in front of me showed the usual: Nico’s men on lazy loops around the mansion, Sydney fuming in her bedroom like a storm cloud with lipstick, Veronica sipping her late-night tea, composed and poisonous.And then there was her.Hannah stood by the window in the east wing suite, moonlight carving her into something spectral. She touched the curtain twice—our signal. Safe. Alone.I slipped out of the control room, crossed the grounds through shadows I knew better than my own reflection, and took the service stairs two at a time. By the time I reached her door, my pulse was steady again, my hand already curling into a fist like it always did before a negotiation. Except this wasn’t business. It was worse.She opened the door without a word.The first thing that hit me was her eyes. Tired, rimmed with defiance, like she hadn’t decided whether to collapse into my arms or push me out into the hall.“You’re late,” she whisper

HANNAHThe office smelled like leather and old smoke, even though Nico hadn’t touched a cigar in years. I eased the door shut behind me, pressing the handle down until it clicked without a sound. My heart was already hammering, a traitor against my ribs.I shouldn’t have been here. Not alone, not after midnight, not with Nico asleep down the hall. But “shouldn’t” had stopped mattering weeks ago.I crouched by the mahogany desk, fingers brushing against the drawer David had told me about—the one Nico never used during the day but kept locked every night. “Behind the false wall,” David had murmured, sliding the scrap of paper across the table. Numbers written in his careful, spare hand. A code. “Don’t try unless you’re sure. Once you cross this line, there’s no going back.”I’d crossed it the moment I tucked that paper into my bra instead of burning it.The drawer groaned open, revealing nothing but neat rows of pens and stationary, the same glossy emptiness that fooled everyone else. Bu

SYDNEYHumiliation doesn’t fade. It lingers. Clings. Seeps into your pores until you can’t wash it off. That’s what I feel every time I replay Nico’s rage in my head—the way he turned on me, his voice raised, eyes full of fury, defending her.Her.The woman who should have been gone. The woman who should have stayed buried under grief and shame. Instead, she’s thriving. Walking the halls of this house like she never left, wearing that ring like she owns the place again.And me? I’m the fool standing in the wreckage.Nico believed her over me. Not just believed—he tore me down for daring to accuse her. For daring to speak what he wouldn’t let himself admit.That moment replayed like a wound that won’t stop bleeding. His finger jabbing in my direction, his voice raised—“You betrayed me!”No. I didn’t. She did. But he’s too blind to see it.So I’ll make him.If Hannah thrives on her act, then I’ll write her downfall myself.The thought crystallizes one night as I lie awake, staring at the