บททั้งหมดของ MARRIED TO MR POPULAR : บทที่ 121 - บทที่ 130

Paris had a way of slowing time. Even the air felt softer, warmer, almost like it wrapped itself around Cynthia every time she stepped onto the balcony of their suite. The city hummed beneath her, a distant blend of laughter, traffic, and the melodic French language drifting through the wind. She loved the view, the glitter of the Seine, the rooftops stacked like art, and the gentle orange tint of the sunset that seemed to settle directly into her chest.But today, her mind was somewhere else entirely.Xavier had left for a series of business meetings hours ago. They had spent most of the week together, exploring tourist spots, shopping, attending dinners, even sneaking kisses at street corners like teenagers. But ever since they arrived in Paris, something had been stirring inside her. A small, persistent tug she couldn’t ignore.Cooking.It started the night before when she tasted a bowl of onion soup in a tiny restaurant. The flavors were layered, warm, almost nostalgic. She had fo

Cynthia woke to the soft morning light spilling through the curtains of their Paris apartment, the distant hum of the city drifting up from the streets below. The memories of the day before lingered, warm and vivid—the private session with the renowned chef, the way her hands had danced across the ingredients, the rich aromas that seemed to weave themselves into her very soul. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she recalled Xavier watching her, his gaze soft and admiring, the quiet pride in his eyes that made her feel seen in a way she never had before.As she stretched and made her way to the kitchen, she felt a flutter of anticipation in her chest. Today was different. Today she would think seriously about her future, about taking her passion for cooking beyond the confines of their apartment and into something more formal, more structured—a culinary program that would hone her skills and challenge her creativity. She poured herself a cup of coffee, inhaling its rich aroma

Cynthia woke up to a strange quiet, the kind that didn’t feel heavy or frightening but almost… expectant. Paris mornings always seemed softer than the ones she was used to back home, the light slipping in like a gentle visitor. She lay still for a moment, listening to Xavier’s even breathing beside her, warm and steady. Normally, she’d curl closer, but today her heart felt too restless for sleep. Something pressed at the back of her mind, something she had been avoiding for days.Her email.She hadn’t checked since the interview. Partly because she didn’t want bad news to ruin this trip, and partly because she was afraid of wanting something too much.Quietly, she slipped out of bed, pulling on one of Xavier’s shirts and padding barefoot into the small living room of the apartment they now called home in Paris. Her laptop sat on the couch exactly where she left it last night. She hesitated with her fingers hovering over the lid, as if the entire future of her life sat behind that thin

Cynthia woke up to the soft, muted glow of a Parisian morning filtering through the curtains. The room smelled faintly of lavender from the diffuser Xavier had set beside the bed a few nights earlier, insisting she needed something calming after long days in school. For a moment she lay still, listening to the quiet hum of the apartment. Usually she heard Xavier’s deep voice on the phone or the quiet shuffle of his footsteps as he prepared for the day. This morning there was silence, and it took her a moment to remember why.Today was the day he was flying back home.She sat up slowly, hugging her knees and letting the realization settle. He wasn’t leaving forever, she reminded herself. It was just for work. He had responsibilities, and she had hers. But the apartment already felt too big, too quiet, too unfamiliar without him moving around in it.She found him in the living room, dressed in dark slacks and a fitted shirt, reviewing files on his tablet. His luggage was packed neatly b

The morning of the competition arrived with a kind of nervous stillness that Cynthia had never felt before. Paris woke slowly beneath her window, soft light spilling across the city like a blessing. She stood in front of the mirror, palms pressed to the edges of the dressing table, breathing deeply as she tried to settle the butterflies cartwheeling in her stomach. Months of hard work had led to this moment. Every cut, every burn, every long day and late night, every tear and every triumph. Today would determine whether all her effort had been worth it.She touched her apron, embroidered with her name in delicate gold thread. It still amazed her that she, Cynthia Sanchez, the girl who once hid in her kitchen at home trying to follow recipes from her phone, now stood as one of the top competitors in one of Paris’ most demanding culinary institutes. She whispered a prayer under her breath, then straightened her shoulders and stepped out of the bedroom.Her parents were already in the li