All Chapters of The CEO's Unwanted Wife : Chapter 191 - Chapter 200

Fiona POVThe waiting room felt bigger without him.I sat in the same chair Maverick usually chose, near the window, where the light came in soft and steady. Today the seat next to me stayed empty. No quiet presence, no small nods when the receptionist called my name, no hand resting lightly on the armrest like he was anchoring himself as much as me. I told myself it didn’t matter. He’d warned me he’d be in London. Business. Important. He’d be back next week. One appointment. No big deal.But the room felt quieter than it should have.Dr. Joanna Dale greeted me with her usual calm smile. “Just you today?”“Yeah,” I said, climbing onto the exam table. “Maverick’s out of town. Work stuff.”She nodded like it happened all the time. “He’ll catch the next one. Let’s see how these two are doing.”The ultrasound wand glided over my skin, cool gel spreading in its wake. Two heartbeats filled the speakers almost immediately—strong, steady, slightly out of sync like always. One a little faster

Third POVSebastian ended the call with Fiona and let the phone drop onto the marble countertop. The screen went dark, but his reflection stayed, sharp jaw, calm eyes, the faintest upward curve at the corners of his mouth. She had seen it. She had heard every broken word Ross and Helen had forced out of their mouths. The world had heard. And Fiona, his Fiona, had sounded shaken, but not shattered. Relieved, even. The truth was finally out in the open, ugly and complete, and none of it pointed back to him. Not a single fingerprint.He exhaled slowly, the kind of breath that carried satisfaction instead of air.The house above him was quiet. Sunlight poured through the tall windows on the main floor, turning the hardwood golden, making everything look clean and civilized. Down here, two flights below, it was a different world.He descended the stairs again, footsteps deliberate, unhurried. The steel door opened with the same soft click. The basement air hit him first—damp, metallic, la

Third POVIrene’s apartment sat high above the city, one of those sleek penthouses with floor-to-ceiling windows that turned the skyline into living wallpaper. Tonight the lights of Manhattan glittered below like scattered diamonds, soft and distant. Inside, the space felt warmer, more intimate. Low jazz drifted from hidden speakers, something slow and smoky, the kind of music that invited secrets rather than drowned them out. Candles flickered on the long dining table, their flames reflected in the polished black marble. Two place settings waited: white plates, simple silver, a single deep-red rose laid across each napkin.Irene had cooked herself. No caterer. No staff. Just her in the kitchen earlier, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back in a loose knot, moving between stove and counter with quiet confidence. The smell of roasted garlic, rosemary, and seared steak still lingered in the air. She wore a simple black silk slip dress that caught the candlelight every time she moved, ele

Third POVFiona barely slept.The bedroom ceiling had become too familiar, every crack in the plaster, every faint shadow cast by the streetlight outside her window. She lay on her back, hands resting on the gentle curve of her belly, feeling the twins shift every so often like they were trying to comfort her. But comfort didn’t come. Instead her mind looped the same reel over and over: Maverick at some glittering London event, arm brushing a beautiful brunette’s, heads close as they laughed at something only they could hear. The reporter’s voice echoed in her ears—“very cozy,” “high-society,” “another woman”—each word sharper than the last.She rolled onto her side. Then onto her other side. She tried the pillow between her knees the way Dr. Joanna had suggested for back pain. Nothing helped. The clock on the nightstand ticked past two, then three, then four. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Daphne Donovan’s face, elegant, confident, everything Fiona suddenly felt she wasn’

Fiona POVThe hospital room felt smaller with Maverick in it, his presence filling the space like a warm blanket after a storm. Dr. Joanna had just finished checking my vitals one last time, her stethoscope cold against my skin even through the thin gown. "You're good to go," she said, clipping my chart back onto the foot of the bed. "But take it easy, Fiona. Bed rest for the next couple of days, light activity after that. No stress. Call if anything feels off."I nodded, still a little foggy from the sedative, but the nausea had faded and the twins were kicking softly again, like tiny reassurances. Maverick stood beside me the whole time, one hand on my shoulder, thumb rubbing small circles that grounded me more than any medicine could.When she left, he helped me sit up slowly. "Ready to get out of here?""More than ready," I whispered. My voice was hoarse from crying earlier, but the ache in my chest had shifted—not gone, but lighter. Manageable.He drove us home, Mom’s home, real