All Chapters of From My Ex's Betrayal To His Father's Bed: Chapter 211 - Chapter 220

JULIAThe car ride felt endless.Every second stretched into an eternity. Nero drove fast but carefully, hands tight on the wheel, eyes flicking between the road and the rearview mirror where I sat in the back seat. Phoebe had climbed in beside me, her arm wrapped firmly around my shoulders as if she could physically hold me together. My body shook with sobs that wouldn’t stop. They came in violent waves, tearing out of me until my throat burned and my chest ached.“I should have been there,” I cried, voice hoarse and broken. “They were coming to see me. To see the boys. If something happens to them… it’s my fault. I wanted this visit so badly.”“Shhh, Julia, no,” Phoebe whispered, her own eyes red and wet with tears. She pulled me closer, rocking me gently like I was a child. “This is not your fault. None of this is your fault. You hear me?”I couldn’t stop crying. The tears kept falling, hot and endless, soaking the front of my dress. My hands never left my belly. I could feel the

TERRABy the time the last course was cleared and Joaquin retired with a satisfied nod, I could feel the electricity crackling between Quino and me. His hand had never left my thigh under the table, fingers digging in possessively every time someone toasted to our success. The moment the doors to the dining hall closed behind the last servant, Quino stood and pulled me up with him, his grip on my wrist firm enough to bruise.“Enough talk,” he growled low in my ear. “I need to fuck you right now.”I didn’t resist as he led me down the dimly lit corridor to our private chamber. My heart raced with a dark thrill—part anticipation, part the heady rush of power. The door to our quarters barely clicked shut before Quino shoved me against it, his mouth crashing down on mine in a brutal kiss. His hands roamed roughly over my body, yanking the expensive black dress up around my waist.“You were perfect tonight,” he muttered against my lips, biting down hard enough to draw a gasp from me. “Si

MARCUSThe hospital room was quiet except for the soft, steady beep of the monitors and the faint hum of the air-conditioning.The room held two hospital beds. I sat in the armchair beside Julia, my hand resting lightly on her shoulder as she slept curled up on the narrow cot the nurses had brought in right next to her mother’s bed.She had refused to leave Scribonia’s side even for a moment, and eventually the nurses had brought in the extra cot so she could lie down without being too far away. Her head rested on the edge of Scribonia’s mattress, one hand gently holding her mother’s, as if afraid that if she let go, something would take her away again. Even in sleep, her brow was slightly furrowed, exhaustion and lingering fear etched into her beautiful face.Scribonia was sleeping too, her breathing even now after hours of surgery and recovery that happened a week ago. The bruises and bandages on her face and arms were a harsh reminder of how close we had come to losing her.In the

JULIAI woke up with a low groan, my back aching in a dull, heavy throb that radiated down my spine. The hospital bed was narrow and uncomfortable, and I had fallen asleep in an awkward position curled up beside my mother’s bed. My hand was still loosely holding hers, fingers intertwined even in sleep. For a moment, the fog of exhaustion made everything feel distant , the beeping monitors, the soft lighting, the faint smell of antiseptic.“Marcus…” I muttered, voice hoarse and small. My eyes fluttered open fully, searching the room. The chair beside me was empty. The spot where he had been sitting for hours, holding me, comforting me, was vacant. Panic spiked through me instantly, sharp and cold. My heart hammered against my ribs. I sat up too fast, wincing at the pull in my back and the heavy weight of my belly.“Marcus?” I called again, louder this time, voice cracking. My hands trembled as I looked around the room.He wasn’t here. He had promised he wouldn’t leave my side. Where

PHOEBEThe kitchen smelled like comfort and worry all at once.I stood at the big marble island, sleeves rolled up, chopping fresh vegetables with a rhythm that was more nervous energy than skill. The chicken soup I was making for Julia had to be perfect—light enough for her sensitive stomach, nourishing for the twins, and full of the gentle flavors she loved when she was stressed. Scribonia and Don Augustus were still on strict food management from the doctors, so everything I cooked today was solely for Julia. She needed something warm and homemade after the hellish day she’d had.Lina was beside me stirring the broth, Maria was slicing bread, and Elena was arranging a tray with fresh fruit and herbal tea. The three of us had been working in near silence for the first few minutes, but the tension in the mansion was too thick to ignore for long.Maria was the first to break it, her voice low and shaky. “Did you hear what happened? There was a spy. Right here in the mansion. Someone’