บททั้งหมดของ Craving The Enemy's Husband: บทที่ 61 - บทที่ 70

Chapter 61: Present Day: Restaurant with Bryan and Matilda **Third Person’s POV** Tony had been threading his way toward the back of the restaurant when recognition slammed into him like a sucker punch to the ribs. Matilda. She was everything she’d been three years ago, only sharper and hotter like someone had taken the same dangerous recipe and turned the heat up a notch. Perched across from Bryan Adams at a corner table, Matilda had one elbow propped on the white linen, her body angled toward him like a cat zeroing in on prey. Her manicured fingers traced idly along the stem of a martini glass. Ice cubes chimed softly each time she gave it a slow swirl, her gaze fixed on Bryan as if she was already imagining him on a platter. Bryan, however, looked anything but flattered. His jaw was tight, the muscle in his cheek flickering every so often. There was a faint furrow between his brows, the kind that came with the thought, ‘I really don’t have time for this.’ Every few seconds, h

Chapter 63: Jealous**Tony’s POV** I waited until Bryan was halfway across the parking lot befor standing . I figured Matilda should have either storm out or slink back into her booth. Instead, she practically rushed towards me like she had been waiting for Bryan to leave so she could get to me. “Well, well, well… look at the pervert” she purred, planting herself right in front of my table. “Do you remember me?” I stared at her for a second, letting my brain replay the memory in question, the wrong bathroom, the wrong stall, the wrong girl walking out with a bag full of sanitary pads and four random packs of panties. Of course, I remembered, how could I forget? “That’s impossible to forget,” I said dryly. “You’re… the stall-stealer.” Her grin widened, delighted. “My name is Matilda. I knew you wouldn’t forget me. I’m not easily forgotten, I leave my prints on the sand of time and that was such a… memorable day.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice like it was some private jok

Chapter 65: Crazy In Love **Bryan’s POV** Is she a mind reader? How the hell did she know that I met with another woman? My chest tightened, the air in the room suddenly too thin. I could feel every flicker of muscle in my face trying to betray me with all the little giveaways guilt loves to leave behind. I fought them off one by one, locking my expression down. But the harder I tried to look innocent, the more I could feel the guilt bleeding through. Damn it. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t fvcking do anything. A whore. Jesus Christ. The word echoed in my skull like a slap. I took a slow step toward her, keeping my eyes on hers, as if holding her gaze would somehow anchor me. “Christiana… it’s not what you think.” The second it left my mouth, I knew I had screwed up. That was exactly the thing every cheating bastard in the history of cheating bastards had said. She gave a small, shaky laugh, the kind that said she didn’t believe a single syllable that was about to leave my li

Chapter 67: In Love. Christiana’s POV Reiterating to how I felt four months ago, I would say I am proud at how I have improved. I have missed my mother so much, words can’t explain how much I wish I could have her for even a minute. I wanted to apologies to her, for being the reason she had to die. I still can’t forgive myself knowing that if I hadn’t involved myself with Bella, none of this would have happened. I would have been happy, excited and scared about what it would be like for me in two years, because I would be thirty and my father would want me to continue with his Salazar Brand, if only he knew he would cooperate with the devil to bring everything down, still baffled me how he is still enchanted by Bella even after all that I told him. Whatever she did to him, she obviously didn’t do to Bryan. I’ve been working for Bryan for a month now and it feels like forever. It baffles me how it doesn’t feel like forever in the exhausting way, but in the kind of way where you

Chapter 69: Bella Vs Matilda **Bryan’s POV** The Adams estate was quiet that afternoon, the kind of quiet that had weight to it, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. It was the sort of hush that only settled when Bella was home alone. No faint hum of the upstairs vacuum, no delicate percussion of pots and pans from the kitchen, no gardener’s steady crunch of boots across the gravel paths outside. Just that stillness that makes you notice the smallest things, the faint ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway, the whisper of the central air, the creak of old timber shifting in the heat. All because the staff members are scared of Bella. No one wants to be used as scape goat. I was upstairs in my study, hunched over the refinery project reports, pen scratching notes in the margin, my mind wrapped in numbers and margins. The world had narrowed down to ink and paper until the sharp peal of the doorbell cut through it. At first, I barely looked up. The sound it