Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Cross Family: Kabanata 1 - Kabanata 10

The Smith mansion was as vast and immaculate as the photographs in glossy lifestyle magazines suggested, but Mya had long since stopped seeing its grandeur. The marble floors reflected her heels as she crossed the foyer, each step echoing back at her as though mocking the silence. The high ceilings and chandeliers were impressive to guests, but to her they were only reminders of how empty this house felt. It was beautiful—coldly beautiful, like the surface of a diamond that cut her skin every time she touched it.She had been Mya Smith for three years. Three years of luxury clothing, designer jewelry, and chauffeurs waiting at the curb in sleek black cars. On paper, she had everything a woman could want. In reality, she had never felt so invisible. Damon was rarely home. When he was, he lived behind the glow of his phone or buried in meetings that carried into the night. Their marriage, hailed in the press as a “power couple union,” was nothing but a hollow shell.Mya paused in the li

The sound carried down the polished marble hallway, muffled at first but unmistakable. Laughter — low, intimate, sharp-edged. Mya paused, the tray in her hands balanced so carefully it might have been made of glass itself. She hadn’t been asked to bring anything to Damon’s study. No one ever asked her for anything in this house. But sometimes she walked the corridors with a book or a cup of tea, just to feel present. Just to remind herself that she was still here, still alive, still human.She shifted the weight of the tray slightly, her fingers tightening on its handles as another ripple of laughter floated through the half-open door. This time, it was clearer. Damon’s voice first, rich with amusement — a sound so unfamiliar that it startled her. When was the last time she’d heard her husband laugh like that? Certainly not with her. Not at her jokes, not at her attempts to make conversation over cold dinners.Then came the second voice, lilting and satisfied, smooth as cream poured o

Mya folded the first dress with the slow precision of a ritual and laid it into the suitcase. It was a quiet blue, the kind Lorraine always said made her “graceful.” She pressed her palm to the fabric, not in farewell, but in assessment, deciding what to leave behind. The walk-in closet glowed with soft recessed lights and mirrored doors, a chapel to consumption. Silk hung beside cashmere in neat runs of color; boxes with gold-embossed logos climbed the shelves like a skyline. It should have felt like treasure. It felt like inventory in a store that did not belong to her.She took two more dresses—practical ones she’d bought with her own small pre-marriage savings—and rolled them tight. She added a pair of dark jeans and a simple white blouse that fit her like truth. The rest stayed on their velvet hangers. She zipped the first case and set it by the door.Her jewelry tray glittered on the vanity: diamonds Damon’s mother had insisted upon for galas, a necklace Mya had never worn witho

The television played in the background, muted but relentless. Across the screen, clips of reporters and flashing banners cycled: “Smith Industries CEO Damon Smith Faces Divorce”, “Wife Walks Out, No Official Statement Released.” The same loop of grainy footage rolled again — Mya in crimson silk, suitcase at her side, the faint sound of reporters calling questions that she hadn’t answered.Damon sat in his father’s old leather chair in the study, his tie undone, one arm draped along the armrest. He wasn’t watching the TV so much as letting it watch him. The images replayed in his head even when he closed his eyes.His mother’s voice cut through the silence.“Honestly,” Lorraine said, perched on the edge of the sofa, her pearls gleaming in the lamplight. “The girl has no sense of propriety. Walking out without an announcement? Leaving the staff whispering? It’s vulgar.”Caroline laughed, sharp and mean, sprawled against the cushions like she owned them. “The networks are having a field

The dining room gleamed like a museum at closing time—perfect, a little too quiet, every surface waiting to be admired. Damon had always liked this room: the long walnut table, the low chandelier with its glass teardrops, the cool silver on linen. Tonight the polish made his teeth ache. The crystal caught the light and threw little stars across the walls. He wished the lights would stop trying so hard.Lorraine sat at her end of the table, posture erect, napkin creased just so. Caroline lounged halfway down, chin propped in her palm, her phone face down beside her plate like a restrained animal. Sloane had taken the seat to Damon’s right—close enough to share the same air, far enough to pose for any camera that might materialize in his imagination.The first course arrived, all pale halibut and dill foam that looked like a cloud had lost its way. Damon cut into it and chewed because chewing kept him from saying anything he might later have to explain.Lorraine cleared her throat with