บททั้งหมดของ Dear Husband my ex is back : บทที่ 41 - บทที่ 50

She came. She did. He smiled faintly, his hand tightening around the anklet as if it were his only lifeline. Well it was, because the relief he felt, the loneliness inside him melted, he missed her so much. And he just wanted to scream because he lost her already. She belongs to someone else now. She's married to another man now. Fuck! He lost her, he lost someone he had before and this will be the biggest mistake of his life. Even if he didn’t get to see her face, at least he saw what still belonged to her. The last time he looked into her beautiful face, it was covered in blood. That memory still haunted him. All he prayed for now was that when he finally met her again, he would see her face clearly—no wounds, no pain—just the softness he had once loved. His phone beeped. A new voice message popped up, a message from Yulia. He played it reluctantly. "Franklin, please, I’m worried about you. Will you call me back?" Yulia sounded really worried He sighe

He pulled back from the kiss, as slowly as if time itself had slowed with him. His forehead rested against hers, and his eyes glistened with a softness Rosy hadn’t seen in years. “Saranghae,” he whispered, the word trembling off his lips in his own language. Rosy’s lips curved into a small smile. “Sarang…hae.” She repeated carefully, her voice low and tender, before hugging him again, her arms winding around him telling him she’d never let go. Orion closed his eyes and smiled, wrapping his arms tightly around her. His chest swelled with pride, she had finally mastered his language. She had tried before, stumbling over the syllables, laughing in frustration, but hearing it now from her, it felt like music to his ears. He was half-Korean, half-Parisian. His mother was from Paris, his father from Seoul. After the divorce, he had settled in Paris to be with Eliana's mother who was Korean too, but Eliana had grown up in Chicago after her parents’ separation. Rosy as well, perha

The black luxury SUV rolled through the wide boulevard leading to the Galeries Lafayette Haussmann, the crown jewel of Parisian shopping. George killed the engine of the car, his lips curving into a smile as he unbuckled his seatbelt. Thalia was beside him, and in the back seat their two children were still bickering over something as trivial as a remote control they had fought over before leaving home. “Daddy,” Tracey called softly from the back, her eyes wide, as though the grand mall itself had stunned her into silence. George turned slightly, his smile softening. “Yes, princess?” Before Tracey could answer, Thalia had already opened her door and stepped out, the Parisian air lifting the hem of her summer dress. She leaned in and scooped Jay into her arms, the little boy clutching her shoulder, while George went to the other side and lifted Tracey easily into his arms. The twins stuck their tongues out at each other over their parents’ shoulder. Tracey, lifted her tiny

For a good thirty minutes George didn’t move. He just held her there, his body still pressed into hers, cock still buried inside her, both of them trembling in the aftermath of their release. The mirror was fogged, streaked slightly where her back had slid against it, a silent witness to everything they had done. “You always look so sexy anytime you come for me,” he whispered. Thalia let her head rest on his shoulder, her lips brushing against his collarbone as she whispered back, “You ruined my lingerie.” George chuckled, still breathless, pressing a kiss into her hair. “I’ll buy you a thousand more.” “You're not serious,” Her laugh was soft, almost weak, but filled with warmth. She drew back slightly, her hand cupping his cheek, thumb tracing the line of his jaw. “I love you,”His eyes softened at the tenderness in her gaze, and for a second the world outside disappeared. “I love you more and more,”she replied, her eyes watery. He kissed her again, slowly this ti

Delilah had been standing outside his room for so long that her legs ached. Franklin had locked himself in the room for almost five hours and she was worried about him. “Frank,” she called softly, her voice low, sounding tired. “Open up, son.” She had lost count of how many times she had said those words. Franklin hadn’t come out, not even for water. She knew he was inside, she could hear faint movements sometimes, the shuffle of footsteps, the restless pacing, but he didn’t answer. Delilah sighed, pressing her forehead against the door. Her hair brushed the glass as she closed her eyes. She wanted to knock harder, to demand, to order him to open, but she couldn’t. He wasn’t just her son anymore, he was a grown man with wounds she couldn’t force her way into. “Frank, please,” her voice cracked, but she bit down on her lower lip before tears could follow. For a moment there was nothing. Then, just as she turned to leave, the door clicked open slowly. Delilah stepped ba