บททั้งหมดของ Dear Ex Husband, You Lose!: บทที่ 51 - บทที่ 60

Thomas’s eyes fluttered open, and everything around him was hazy and distorted. His head throbbed with an intense, relentless ache, as if a hammer had been pounding inside his skull. The distant wail of sirens echoed faintly in the background, muffled and indistinct, as if he was underwater or trapped in a fog. His body felt heavy, unresponsive, and yet he was painfully aware of every ache and twinge. His hands were bound tightly behind his back, rough ropes biting into his wrists, and he instinctively tried to move—only to find himself sprawled on cold, uneven pavement. The rough surface scraped against his skin, and a thin layer of dampness clung to his clothes, making him shiver. The alley was eerily silent save for the muffled sounds of sirens and distant city life, but he knew better than to trust the silence. In the shadows, darkness stretched long and ominous along the walls, flickering faintly under the weak glow of flickering streetlights. Every shadow seemed to pulse and s

Thomas’s mind spun in chaos as the shadowed figure receded into the darkness, leaving him trembling on the cold pavement. The faint beeping from the camera still echoed ominously in his ears, a stark reminder that he was being watched—and perhaps always had been. His heart hammered against his chest, each beat a deafening drum in the suffocating silence of the alleyway. He struggled to sit upright, the rough ropes biting into his wrists, making every movement a torment. Pain shot through his body, and he winced, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. The distant wail of sirens had faded into the background, leaving only the muffled hum of the city’s underbelly. The flickering streetlights cast long, shifting shadows that danced along the alley walls, almost alive with a malevolent intent. His eyes darted around, searching for anything that might give him a clue—an object, a sign, a way out. The image of the camera and microphone haunted him. Someone had been watching him all a

The faint, almost imperceptible hum of the city’s distant pulse was the only sound permitted to penetrate the soundproofed walls of Frank’s penthouse office. He stood before a panoramic window, the glittering tapestry of the metropolis spread out beneath him like a personal kingdom. A half-empty tumbler of amber liquid sat on the polished mahogany desk, a faint scent of aged scotch lingering in the air. Frank wasn't a man who indulged in theatrics, but he appreciated control, and this view, this silence, offered a profound sense of it. His phone, a sleek, custom-built device, vibrated softly in his hand. He didn't need to look at the caller ID; he knew who it was. The timing was precise, as it always was with his operations. He brought the phone to his ear. "Status report," Frank's voice was a low rumble, calm and steady, betraying none of the anticipation coiled within him. "We got him, boss," the voice on the other end, gruff and familiar, confirmed. It was Marcus, h

Frank’s words, intended to reassure, only amplified the sudden, cavernous quiet that swallowed the apartment the moment the door clicked shut behind him. Delia watched his silhouette through the frosted glass, a broad, unreadable shape against the muted light of dawn. He looked so serious; a tension seemed to cling to his shoulders even when he was still. Was he okay? The question felt intrusive, intimate, and entirely out of place for a man she barely knew. She ran a hand over her swelling belly, a silent acknowledgment of the life burgeoning within her, a life now inextricably linked to the strange events of the past week. Samantha, her exes mistress had turned on her so savagely, a cruel betrayal that had left Delia reeling, adrift. Then, the shock of early labour, the panicked rush to the hospital, and through it all, Frank. He had been there. A rock, a steady hand, a calming voice when chaos reigned. He’d helped her, a stranger, when her own world had imploded. Delia

The words hung in the air, thick and suffocating. Mafia. Giancarlo family. Samantha’s brother. Eliminated. Killed. Thomas felt the bottom drop out of his stomach, a dizzying spiral into a nightmare far more real and terrifying than anything he could have imagined. His affair, his stupid, selfish mistake, wasn’t just a personal failing; it was a tripwire for his own execution, and worse, Delia's. “K-killed?” Thomas stammered, his voice thin, barely a whisper. The cold dread that had gripped him earlier now froze his veins. “Samantha… she wants us killed? For… for what? Because I broke up with her? That’s… that’s insane! She’s vindictive, yes, but this is… this is beyond anything.” His mind raced, flashing back to Samantha’s theatrical outbursts, her threats of ruining his life, but never, not once, had he conceived of actual murder. This was a jump from petty revenge to outright professional assassination. Frank watched him, his ice-blue eyes unblinking, like a clinician observin