Semua Bab FORSAKEN WIFE, NOW A BILLIONAIRE'S GREATEST REGRET: Bab 41 - Bab 50

The gentle melody from the music box became the soundtrack to our new life. It was a sound of peace, a ghost from a gentler past that now blessed our present. LJ played it every night before bed, a ritual that seemed to soothe him, connecting him to a father he could only know through stories and a tinkling tune.Months melted into a year. The foundation, bolstered by Elara’s generous endowment, expanded, opening two new centers in other cities. Angela’s name was becoming synonymous not with tragedy, but with hope and healing. It was the legacy she deserved.One crisp autumn evening, Arthur and I were married. It wasn't a grand society affair. We held the ceremony on the beach behind our house, with the sunset painting the sky in brilliant oranges and purples. LJ, now proudly bearing the title of "Best Man," held the rings with a solemnity that made everyone smile. He beamed when Arthur, during his vows, promised to love and cherish not just me, but "our remarkable son." There were no

The key to Box 734 sat in our safe, a dormant serpent coiled in the dark. We didn't speak of it. We didn't look at it. Its presence was a paradox—a source of profound security and a reminder of a darkness we had sworn to leave behind. Life, true life, began to flourish around its silence.LJ started second grade, his world expanding to include soccer practice, sleepovers, and a stubborn obsession with a video game involving building elaborate, blocky worlds. He no longer jumped at sudden noises. The word "mommy" fell from his lips as easily as "please" and "thank you." He was healing, his roots digging deep into the fertile ground of a normal childhood.Arthur's practice thrived. He came home with stories of small victories—a child overcoming a fear of dogs, a couple mending their communication. His work was an antidote to the poison we had survived, a daily reaffirmation of the good in the world. In the evenings, we'd sit on the deck, his hand finding mine as if by instinct, a silent

it was. For so long, Angela’s memory had been a private, painful wound, then a banner for a war. Now, it could simply be a beautiful part of our story, a touchstone of love, not loss. LJ, with the unerring instinct of the child who had become our son, had understood that before we did.We turned back toward the house, its windows glowing like warm amber in the twilight. Inside, the scent of garlic and rosemary from the dinner we’d cooked together still hung in the air. LJ was at the kitchen table, his physics textbook open next to his laptop, a scene of such normal teenage domesticity it made my heart ache with a gratitude so profound it was almost a pain.“The framing project is a go,” I announced, slipping my jacket off.He looked up, a grin spreading across his face. “Cool. I found a place online that does shadow boxes. We can use that blue fabric from the foundation’s art supply as a background. It’ll look like the sky.”Arthur clapped him on the shoulder. “Project manager material

The forty-eight-hour deadline loomed like a storm cloud over our home. The peace we had cultivated felt fragile, the air thick with unspoken dread. Arthur was a silent, worried presence, his attempts at normalcy—making coffee, suggesting a walk—ringing hollow. LJ, thankfully, was immersed in his final exams, a world away from the gathering tempest.I spent the first day in a state of paralyzed fury. Valeria’s threat was a masterstroke of psychological warfare. She wasn’t threatening physical harm; she was threatening to rewrite our history, to poison LJ’s understanding of his own past, to paint me as the villain in a story where I had been a victim.On the second morning, as the sun rose over a deceptively calm ocean, I knew I couldn’t just wait for the axe to fall. I had to see her again. I had to look her in the eye one last time before I decided how to fight.I didn’t tell Arthur. I simply drove back to the Cliffside Hotel.Valeria opened the door to Room 712 as if she’d been expec

The world had narrowed to the four walls of our kitchen, the air thick with the dust of a collapsed reality. Arthur sank into the chair opposite me, the fight gone out of him. The silence was a living thing, feeding on our shock and despair.“He wouldn’t listen,” Arthur repeated, his voice a ragged whisper. “He said… he said we’d kept him in the dark. That we’d hidden his father from him.” He looked at me, his eyes begging for an answer I didn’t have. “How could he think that, Gwen? After everything?”“Because she’s offering him a fairy tale,” I said, my own voice hollow. “A fairy tale where his father was a tragic prince, and she was the lost princess, and I’m the wicked stepmother who ruined it all. It’s simpler than the messy, painful truth.”We sat in helpless silence for what felt like an eternity. My phone, lying on the table between us, remained stubbornly dark. LJ wasn’t going to call back. Valeria had him in her thrall.The sound of a car door slamming outside made us both ju