MY CRUEL HUSBAND 의 모든 챕터: 챕터 101 - 챕터 110

WHISPERS AND SURPRISESMaxwell’s POVThe car slowed in front of the school gates, tires crunching lightly over gravel before coming to a smooth stop. Through the window I could already see clusters of students in uniform gathering beneath the jacaranda trees, some laughing too loudly, others hunched over last minute homework. The morning sun cast long shadows across the assembly ground, and for a brief second I wished I could remain inside the quiet cocoon of the vehicle.Daniel opened his door first, stepping out with the ease of someone who had never had to measure his entrances. I followed, adjusting the strap of my backpack over my shoulder. The car door closed behind me with a muted thud that somehow felt louder than the school bell.The murmurs began almost immediately.“That’s Harrison’s car.”“Wait… isn’t that Maxwell?”“Since when does he arrive like that?”The whispers were not cruel, but they were sharp with curiosity. In secondary school, change spreads faster than rumor b

SOFT REFLECTION Maxwell’s POV The house was quiet when I arrived, the kind of quiet that does not soothe but listens. The lights in the living room were dim, casting soft amber shadows against the walls. Anne was seated on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her, a book resting open in her lap though her eyes were not moving across the page. She looked up the moment she heard the door close behind me.“You’re late,” she said gently, studying my face almost immediately. “And something is wrong.”I loosened my tie, suddenly aware of how tight it felt around my neck. “We need to talk.”Her expression shifted. The book slid from her lap onto the cushion beside her. “That serious?”I crossed the room slowly and sat opposite her rather than beside her. The distance was instinctive. What I was about to say required space.“I met with Michael today,” I began.Her fingers tightened slightly against the fabric of her sleeve. The name alone carried history; neither of us pretended it did not ex

CONFRONTATION Maxwell’s POV Morning arrived quietly. Maxwell did not wake with the usual urgency that often pushed him out of bed before the sun had properly risen. Instead, he opened his eyes slowly, staring at the ceiling as the pale light of dawn filtered through the curtains. For a few seconds he remained still, allowing the reality of the day to settle into his mind.Today was the day. The meeting with Greg.The beginning of a confrontation that had been decades in the making, long before Maxwell had even understood the meaning of corporate rivalry or inherited betrayal.He inhaled deeply and sat up on the edge of the bed. The house was silent except for the distant hum of the city beginning to stir. Normally he would have rushed to prepare for work, moving quickly through his morning routine with the efficiency of someone who had trained himself to respect every passing minute.But today felt different.Today demanded clarity, not haste.Maxwell rose slowly and walked toward t

THE THOUGHT Anne's POVAnne stood by the window long after Maxwell had finished speaking, her arms folded tightly across her chest as she stared out into the dim glow of the city lights. The room behind her was quiet, but her mind was anything but. His plan lingered in her thoughts, unfolding layer by layer, each part demanding to be tested, questioned, challenged. She had learned long ago that strategies built on emotion collapsed under pressure, and while Maxwell’s voice had carried calm conviction, she could not afford to accept it without scrutiny.She turned slowly, her gaze finding him across the room.“You’re not planning to confront him again,” she said, her tone measured.Maxwell, who had just stepped out from the dining area, did not answer immediately. Instead, he carried a polished tray in his hands, two glasses resting neatly upon it, filled with a deep amber wine that caught the light softly. There was something deliberate in his movement, a quiet control that contras

HE CALLS AGAIN, I REJECT HIM Anne's POV The house felt unusually quiet when I stepped in, as though it were holding its breath along with me. The meeting at the restaurant still lingered in my mind, replaying in fragments, the expressions on the men’s faces, the shift in their posture when truth replaced assumption, the weight of the documents now no longer just paper but leverage. I closed the door gently behind me, pressing my palm against it for a moment as if sealing the outside world away. For the first time since this plan began, I felt something close to control.I slipped off my heels and moved toward the kitchen, instinct guiding me more than thought. Cooking has always grounded me. It required attention, precision, patience, qualities that mirrored the kind of strategy we were building. I tied my hair back, rolled up my sleeves, and began preparing dinner with quiet focus. The rhythm of chopping vegetables, the soft hiss of oil meeting heat, the aroma of spices rising in