Semua Bab I was more than pretty: Bab 41 - Bab 50

The sun was still high.Golden.Warm.Deceiving.We sat on the blanket, the remnants of sandwiches and fruit scattered between us. The lake shimmered. A breeze carried the scent of cut grass and distant barbecue. Birds chirped. Laughter echoed from a nearby playground.It was the kind of afternoon people frame.And in the middle of it, Julian Vale looked at another woman.Not long.Not boldly.Just a flicker.A woman in a red sundress walked past — tall, tan, hair flowing — and his eyes followed.Not her face.Not her smile.Her body.Like a reflex.Like a habit.Like a man who had never learned how to be faithful — only how to hide it.I saw it.Of course I did.But Serena didn’t.She was low, thumb flying across her phone screen — probably texting someone, maybe even him, maybe planning their next secret glance.And then, as if the look had triggered something in him — as if seeing another woman reminded him of what he wanted — he turned to me.Smiling.Soft.Like he was doing me a f

When I came home, I didn’t turn on the lights.The house was still, wrapped in the quiet hum that only night understands. Mom had gone to bed hours ago. Only the faint glow of the hallway nightlight followed me down the corridor, stretching my shadow long and thin against the wall.I walked to my room as if carrying something heavy — not my tote, not my coat, but the weight of the entire day.I undressed slowly, letting the fabric slide from my skin, letting it fall where it wanted. The silence didn’t bother me. It felt deserved. Inside the bathroom, I turned the faucet and watched the water fill the tub — hot, deep, steam curling upward like a whisper.When I sank in, the heat swallowed me whole. It climbed over my shoulders, the base of my neck, settling against my skull until my heartbeat was the only sound I could hear.I closed my eyes and breathed — in, out, again.I wasn’t trying to forget. I was trying to free.To release the echo of Julian’s voice telling me, You’re not qualif

The morning unfurled in its ordinary way, sunlight poured through the Parsons atrium and turned the marble into a sheet of warm glass. People moved with practiced efficiency—coats straightened, shoes tapping, coffees clasped like tiny anchors. The office smelled faintly of lemon cleaner and ambition.Down the east wing, in a part of the building that time had nearly forgotten, Julian and Serena had found themselves a hiding place. A narrow alcove behind a decorative screen, hedged by a planter’s trailing ivy, was as private as the building ever offered. They stood so close the shadows between them seemed to vanish.They were not speaking. Their mouths met with a kind of hurried, dangerous need—briefer than a confession, louder than a whisper. He held her with the kind of urgency that pretends there’s a clock counting their minutes. She answered with the same fierce, careless grace.Nobody saw them. That was their only comfort. Or rather, that was what they believed. They trusted the of

I didn’t dress to seduce.I dressed to endure.A charcoal coat, sharp as a blade. Black trousers tailored to precision. My bob smoothed into place, not a strand daring to stray. Makeup so minimal it whispered rather than announced: I see myself.Tonight wasn’t about desire, or power, or even curiosity.It was about truth.And truth wears intention, not lace.I left early, walking instead of taking the car. The city pulsed around me—horns, laughter, neon spilling onto wet pavement—as though the world itself was bracing.When I reached Luna & Ivy, I understood immediately why he’d chosen it.No garish glamour. No ostentation.Just quiet wealth.Polished wood under soft amber lights. Abstract art that demanded to be felt, not understood. Jazz low and honeyed—Nina Simone’s voice lingering like smoke in the air.I stepped inside and let my eyes adjust.A waitress approached—young, steady, black apron neatly tied, name tag reading Mira.She didn’t ask what I wanted. She didn’t hand me a menu

I didn’t stop walking until I reached the curb.Cold air stung my cheeks, the night pressing sharp against my skin. The city lights swam, smeared into streaks of gold and red, while my heels beat a frantic rhythm on the pavement. Only when I tasted the bitterness of iron in the back of my throat did the truth strike me.I hadn’t walked out on just a man.I had walked out on Soren Bellandi.The Chairman of Parsons Worldwide.My boss.The one man who could unravel everything I had built with a single word.And I had said no.Not simply to money, not merely to a role — but to power itself.And power never forgets.My breath came in shallow bursts. It wasn’t the cold that shook me. It was regret — sharp, raw, unrelenting.I hadn’t left with strategy. I hadn’t left with grace. I had left because I was hurt. Because for a fragile instant, I believed he might be different. That his gaze wasn’t calculation, but curiosity. That the silence between us wasn’t emptiness, but possibility.I was wro