Semua Bab Reborn to Marry My Ex's Enemy: Bab 141 - Bab 149

POV AmyI walked to the head of the table, feeling every inch of my body protest, but I kept my spine straight. Simon sat beside me—a solid, silent presence serving as my invisible shield.Warren sat directly across from me. He didn’t seem the least bit shaken by his wife’s earlier outburst; on the contrary, he looked invigorated. He adjusted his shirt cuffs with methodical calm while my Uncle Aaron cleared his throat, preparing for the kill. The board members—men and women whose fortunes hinged on this company—watched the scene with expressions ranging from disdain to legitimate concern.Aaron stood up. He didn’t look at me; he addressed the board, adopting the tone of an aggrieved patriarch.“We are here to discuss the future of April Enterprises. We all know we built this company on the pillars of stability and long-term vision. However, today we face an alarming situation. Antony April, the man in whom we all placed our trust, has jumped ship. He absented himself at a critical mom

POV WarrenThe mansion’s office had become my private mausoleum. I hadn’t crossed the threshold of the primary bedroom in over a week, preferring the rigidity of the leather sofa and the scent of old paper and cheap whiskey to Maia’s suffocating perfume. There, surrounded by financial reports and market projection maps, I felt in control.A low, rhythmic sound seeped through the cracks of the door like a persistent wail. Occasionally I stopped what I was doing, pen suspended over a contract, just to listen to that agony. I felt no pity—only a deep irritation, a nausea rising in my throat as I remembered that sound was the price I paid to reclaim what Amy had stolen from me. Maia’s crying was the background noise of a life I would rather not inhabit.I avoided her with the precision of a hunter avoiding a trap. I left before sunrise and returned only when the house lay submerged in the silence of the early hours. But that morning, fate—or her pathetic persi

POV MaiaThe host set the table impeccably. Cut crystals reflected the cold light of the Murano chandelier, silver cutlery felt heavy in the hands, and a linen tablecloth shone so white it was blinding. In the center of it all, the lamb I had spent hours preparing exhaled a complex aroma—rosemary, garlic, and the secret ingredient I had kept in the depths of my soul.Aser West entered the dining room first. His heavy footsteps and his aura of an untouchable patriarch always preceded him. When he learned that I—the “trophy wife” they barely noticed—had dismissed Chef Pierre to cook, his eyebrows shot up.“You cooked, Maia?” he asked. For a brief, almost imperceptible second, he smiled at me. It was a rarity, a meteorological phenomenon that occurred once a decade. “I’m surprised. I hope your talent in the kitchen surpasses your talent for keeping your husband in the bedroom.”I returned the smile, though mine didn’t reach my eyes.“I did my best, Aser.”Warren’s mother entered next, gl

POV AmyI sat on the bed, the silk sheets bunched around me like a nest of thorns, while my fingers trembled so violently I could barely scroll through the news.“Tragedy at the West Mansion: Heir Warren West and family found dead. Wife arrested on the scene.”I closed my eyes for a second, and it felt as if a floodgate had opened in my mind. Reality fragmented. Suddenly, I was no longer in that safe room with Simon. I was back… in that other life.With terrifying clarity, the scenes returned. The poison Warren used to kill my parents had a smell of bitter almonds. The sound of their dying sobs. And finally, the weight of Warren’s body over mine, his eyes bloodshot with a madness I never understood as he drove that silver dagger into my heart. I could still feel the cold steel tearing through my flesh, the heat of the blood soaking my white dress, the taste of iron in my mouth as the light faded.History had repeated itself. Fate, in its most cruel and poetic irony, hadn’t changed the

POV AmyThe scent of vanilla and lavender floated through the room, mingling with the soft sound of laughter and the clinking of crystal glasses. I looked around, feeling a strange vertigo—the kind of dizziness that only strikes those who have walked the edge of the abyss and, by some miracle, found solid ground. A month had passed since the night Warren’s blood stained the marble of that mansion. A month since the cycle of poison and daggers, which once claimed my life in another existence, finally closed.It was my birthday. But for me, it signified more than celebrating another year;I watched my father, Antony, and Megan. They stood near the window, sharing a moment of quiet that seemed impossible weeks ago. If you looked at them now, you would never guess that a hurricane of betrayal and death had swept through their lives. A lightness filled my father’s eyes that I hadn’t seen since childhood. Megan smiled, her hand resting gently on his arm—a picture of resilience and grace. Th