Semua Bab The First Wife’s Revenge : Bab 41 - Bab 50

The words on the mirror wouldn’t leave her head.WELCOME BACK, JESSICA.Olivia had smashed the glass with her fists until shards glittered across the bathroom floor, but the words had already carved themselves into her mind. She pressed her hands to her ears now, sitting against the bathtub, whispering to herself over and over.“My name is Olivia. My name is Olivia. My name is Olivia.”But each time she said it, the name sounded thinner. Like paper wearing away under water.The next morning, Ethan acted like nothing had happened. He read the paper at the table, sipped his coffee, folded the pages neatly when he finished.Olivia watched him, searching for cracks, for any hint that he had seen the mirror too. But his face was calm, too calm.Finally, she asked, “What was my name before I met you?”He froze for a fraction of a second. Then he smiled, careful and easy. “Olivia Castillo, Same as now.”Her stomach tightened. That pause, did it mean he had lied? Or was she so suspicious that

Olivia couldn’t sleep.The word clung to her skull like poison.Jessica.Ethan had said it so calmly, like it was natural, like it belonged to her. He hadn’t corrected himself, hadn’t laughed it off, hadn’t looked confused.He had looked certain.She pressed her hands to her face, rocking on the edge of the bed.Who was she?Her memories felt like broken glass. Some sharp, some dull, some missing altogether. She could see her wedding to Ethan, the vows whispered, the ring sliding onto her finger, but when she focused too hard, the images blurred. Her own face flickered. Sometimes it was hers. Sometimes it was Jessica’s.And the scariest part?She didn’t know which one was real.She crept downstairs, careful not to make a sound. The house was silent except for the hum of the fridge. But silence had become dangerous, she’d learned Jessica thrived in silence.The papers Ethan had burned still smelled faintly of smoke. She stared at the ashtray, heart hammering. He had destroyed them, des

Olivia woke on the kitchen floor.The tiles were cold under her cheek. Her mouth was dry. Her body ached like she had been running.The clock on the wall said 5:13 a.m.She didn’t remember lying down here. She didn’t remember the night before at all.Slowly, she pushed herself up. Her knees were stiff, her head heavy.The smell of smoke clung to her clothes.Her hands trembled as she reached for the counter. That’s when she saw it, ashes in the sink. Burned paper.Her chest tightened.She leaned closer. One edge of paper hadn’t turned to dust. She could still read the name.Olivia.Her own name, burned away.She stumbled into the living room. Ethan was asleep on the couch, his shirt half open, his chest rising and falling in calm rhythm.She stared at him.Did he know she had blacked out? Did he put her on the floor? Did he burn the papers?Her throat closed.She wanted to scream, but no sound came.Later, sunlight filled the house like nothing had happened. Ethan made breakfast. He w

Olivia could barely breathe as she sat at her desk, staring at the half finished manuscript that had started to look more like a confession than a novel. The pages smelled of ink, sweat, and fear. Every sentence she wrote about Ethan and Jessica felt like a razor cutting closer to bone. The danger wasn’t only outside anymore, it was inside her own words.Her hands trembled. She slammed the laptop shut. She couldn’t keep writing. But she couldn’t stop either. Each time she put the story aside, something in the house shifted, footsteps where none should be, shadows that lingered longer than natural, whispers at the edges of silence. The line between the book she was writing and the life she was living blurred more every day.Ethan appeared in the doorway, his shirt half buttoned, his face pale but his eyes burning with some need she couldn’t name. “You’re still at it?” His voice was soft but sharp, like velvet covering steel.Olivia stood quickly, defensive. “I’m trying to make sense of

Olivia could not sleep after the words appeared on her window.YOU MADE ME UP..They glowed in the moonlight like a scar. She pressed her forehead against the cold glass, searching the yard below for a sign of Jessica. But the night was empty, no figure, no sound, only shadows that swayed with the trees.Her chest rose and fell in ragged bursts. Maybe Jessica had been there. Maybe she hadn’t. The lipstick writing was proof, but proof of what? Jessica’s presence? Or her own fractured mind?She whispered to herself, “I didn’t make her up. I didn’t.” But even as she said it, she felt the doubt spread through her like smoke.The next morning, she wiped the words from the glass, but the faint red smear stayed no matter how hard she scrubbed. Ethan found her on her knees, nails raw from scratching at the windowpane.He crouched beside her, his voice quiet. “What are you doing?”She didn’t look at him. “She wrote it. She’s taunting me.”Ethan took her hands, turning them over, examining the