All Chapters of MY CRUEL HUSBAND : Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

HELPMaxwell’s POV The evening arrived quietly, slipping into the restaurant like a familiar guest. The sun had already lowered itself beyond the horizon, leaving behind a dim orange glow that clung to the windows like fading warmth. The atmosphere inside the restaurant shifted with the night. The crowd grew thicker. The laughter became louder. The plates clattered more frequently, and the voices of customers blended into a restless hum that filled every corner of the space.My body, however, had begun to protest.My legs felt heavy, as though stones had been tied to my ankles. My back ached from constant movement, and my fingers were sore from gripping trays and writing orders repeatedly. Yet I did not complain. I could not complain. Fatigue was now part of my life, just like grief. Just like hunger. Just like the bitter memory of what I once had.I had been running around for hours, taking orders, serving food, apologizing for delays, cleaning tables, and forcing smiles even when m

REFLECTION VISIT Maxwell POV That night, even after my shift ended, sleep refused to come quickly.I lay on my narrow bed, staring at the ceiling as though the cracked paint might suddenly rearrange itself into a new destiny. My body was exhausted, my legs heavy, my hands still smelling faintly of soup and dishwater, but my heart was restless—alive in a way it had not been for weeks.A sponsorship. The word kept echoing in my mind like a sacred chant.It sounded too good to be real. Like the kind of miracle people whispered about in churches, the kind that only happened to strangers in testimonies, not to boys like me who had been stripped of everything and thrown into humiliation.Yet, it had happened. Someone had seen me. Not Maxwell Foster the fallen heir. But Maxwell Foster the boy trying not to drown.And for the first time since the mansion was taken, since my world collapsed, I did not feel like life was only punishing me. I felt like life had paused—just for a moment—to offe

OCCUR IN COINCIDENCE Maxwell’s POV My entire body locked as the figure stepped fully into the living room, the air around him charged with a presence I knew too well. For a fraction of a second, my mind betrayed me, dragging up old memories of polished marble floors, towering gates, and the suffocating weight of a mansion that had once been mine before it was stripped away. The scent I had associated with that world—expensive cologne, confidence sharpened to a blade, privilege worn like armor—hit me first. And then my eyes focused.“Daniel?” The name escaped me before I could stop it.He stood there, slightly out of breath, his hand still on the door as though he had pushed it open too hard in his haste. But there was no sneer on his face. No cold triumph. Only shock—mirroring my own—and something that looked dangerously close to concern.“Maxwell?” he said, scanning the room quickly before his gaze settled on me. “I—I didn’t mean to barge in like that.”The tension inside my chest

PACKING INMaxwell’s POVWe did not leave the Harrison estate immediately.There were handshakes, reassurances, a final review of small details that Mr. Harrison insisted were important but that I barely absorbed. My mind had already begun drifting ahead to what leaving would mean, to the quiet apartment that had sheltered my pride when everything else fell apart.When Mira and I finally stepped back into the car that had brought us there, I exhaled slowly, as if I had been holding my breath since signing the papers.“Well,” she said, buckling her seatbelt and turning to study me carefully, “how does it feel to have your life rewritten in one afternoon?”“I’m not sure it’s rewritten,” I replied, staring out the window as the gates opened for us again. “Maybe it’s just… edited.”She laughed softly. “Trust you to make it sound academic.”The car rolled forward, the mansion shrinking in the rearview mirror. For a moment I wondered if I should feel guilty for leaving so quickly, as though

MORNING VOICEMaxwell’s POVThe bathroom mirror reflected a version of me that still felt slightly displaced within the frame of this house. Steam curled against the glass in soft clouds, blurring the edges of my face before clearing again, as if the room itself was adjusting to my presence. I stood there longer than necessary after bathing, towel draped around my shoulders, studying the subtle changes that rest had already etched into my features. My eyes were clearer. The faint shadows beneath them, once permanent from late shifts and restless nights, had softened. It unsettled me how quickly the body responded to stability.I ran the towel through my hair and reached for my shirt, the fabric crisp beneath my fingers. The closet behind me still held too much empty space, my few belongings arranged neatly along one side as though hesitant to claim territory. As I buttoned the shirt carefully, aligning each button with more focus than required, my phone vibrated against the marble cou