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《His Forgotten Love Returns: The Return of the Ex-wife》全部章節：第 161 章 - 第 170 章

255 章節

159: She’s Coming Around

* RACHEL’S POINT OF VIEW * I stood in the center of the room, which was now overflowing with flower arrangements and expensive plush toys that Beatrice had sent over. It was an overwhelming display — perhaps her only way of showing she wanted to reconcile. A woman who spoke in transactions was finally trying to speak in gestures. I looked at her, softened by the effort. “Thank you,” I said quietly. “I’m trying…” she murmured, her voice uncharacteristically small. She looked almost shy, avoiding my direct gaze as she toyed with the strap of her handbag, a rare flicker of insecurity crossing a face that was usually a mask of stone. “Listen, it’s okay. You can take it slowly,” I encouraged. “Maybe I should have brought food… fruit. It’s just that Miranda brings them over,” she said. “Yes, Miranda brings them,” I replied. She reached out and held my hand, her grip surprisingly firm. “No matter what the doctors say, Rachel, you have to hold onto hope. Fiona will be alright. She wil

160: When Memory Tempts.

* SLADE’S POINT OF VIEW * I don't know what is going through Rachel's mind, trying to let Beatrice back into our lives. It’s like she’s forgotten the poison that woman is capable of. Beatrice doesn't deserve a seat at our table, let alone a second chance. I know exactly what she’s doing — she’s manipulating Rachel’s guilt to wedge herself in. It’s a classic Beatrice maneuver: strike when the enemy is vulnerable and call it “redemption.” I was about to storm out of the hospital when I spotted Aurelia standing near the exit, her figure framed against the glass. She looked small against the vastness outside, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on the cold pane as she stared out. “What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice still rough from the argument with Rachel. “Oh, hi…” She turned, looking slightly startled. “Just watching Mia and Declan go for a stroll. But you have nothing to worry about; they went with a caretaker — a caregiver,” she said, stumbling over her words. I r

161: A Room Full of Lilies

* RACHEL’S POINT OF VIEW * I sat on the edge of the bed, my gaze locked on my daughter’s face. For the first time in days, her lips were curved into a faint, sleepy smile. Rick had just finished his assessment; the neurological checks were perfect, and her coordination was returning quickly. Now, it was just a matter of monitoring her for any delayed concussion symptoms and waiting for her strength to fully return before she could take her first steps off the bed. “I’m sorry for not listening to you, Mummy. You were right,” she whispered, her voice still a bit raspy. She was talking about the swing — the warning I’d given her a thousand times that had finally come true. “It’s okay… I forgive you, my brave girl,” I said, stroking her hair. “But you are grounded from heights until you’re thirty, okay? I was so scared I almost turned gray! I think I saw a white hair this morning.” I pretended to examine my hair, as if expecting to find a dozen more. She giggled, her eyes sparkling w

162: An Uncomfortable Gathering

* RACHEL’S POINT OF VIEW * We had just finished arranging the platters on the long mahogany dining table for the lunch Beatrice had organized to celebrate Fiona’s discharge from the hospital. The room was filled with the mouthwatering scent of roasted meats and expensive spices — a celebratory feast fit for a return to health. I had originally wanted to host this at our home, where the walls felt safe and familiar, but Beatrice had a way of weaving her words until she convinced me to have it here at the mansion. I felt compelled to say yes; she had been trying so hard lately, showing a softness I’d never seen before, and I couldn't bring myself to snatch this olive branch away from her. Slade, however, remained a wall of granite. He still refused to believe she was capable of any real change. When I first mentioned the lunch, his “no” was immediate and final. It was only when I sent the children to him — Fiona with her wide, hopeful blue eyes and Finn with his relentless excitemen

163: The Space Between Us

* RACHEL’S POINT OF VIEW * “I—” I began, the question about how they all seemed to know one another sitting on the tip of my tongue, but Abbie cut in first. “How’s Declan doing?” Abbie asked, her voice casual but her eyes observant. “He’s doing much better, thank you for asking,” Aurelia replied with a small, tight smile. After that, lunch dissolved into a heavy, awkward silence. The only sound was the rhythmic clink of silver against china, a cold substitute for the lively conversation a family celebration should have had. Eventually, we migrated back to the expansive living room while Beatrice excused herself and headed upstairs. As we sat sipping wine, I looked around at the people gathered. These were the friends who had become my family along the way. We talked about work, about the city, about everything and nothing at all. But throughout the conversation, I couldn’t help noticing the way Aurelia looked at Slade. It wasn’t casual. It wasn’t friendly. It was a deep, linge

164: The Apology I Refused

* SLADE’S POINT OF VIEW * To be honest, I’m beyond frustrated. I’ve reached a point where I just need to be alone to wrap my head around this mess. The walls feel like they’re closing in, and every time I try to fix one leak, three more spring up. I know now that there’s no stopping Rachel from trusting Beatrice. It’s simply in her nature to believe in the goodness of others — even when that “goodness” is a calculated lie. That’s who Rachel has always been — soft-hearted and hopeful — and she won’t change. But it infuriates me. I’m angry that Beatrice is taking advantage of that light in her, twisting it to suit her own agenda. Rachel won’t listen to me because she’s convinced, in that stubborn heart of hers, that she’s doing the right thing by “healing” this family. But what can I actually do when the person I love is walking straight into a wolf’s den with a smile on her face? When Fiona was discharged, Rachel wanted to organize a small, quiet lunch at our house. But of cours

165: The Space in the Middle

* RACHEL’S POINT OF VIEW * Things between Slade and me have settled into a hollow, predictable rhythm. We go through the motions — discussing the kids' schedules, coordinating work events, and engaging in polite small talk over coffee and meals — but the warmth that once anchored us has evaporated. The intimacy is gone; there are no more lingering touches or whispered jokes before sleep. Now, we lie in the same bed like two strangers sharing a life-sized map of a territory we no longer recognize. Our nights are filled with a heavy, deafening silence that screams louder than any argument ever could. I had just finished helping the twins with their homework, a draining weekend ritual I love, when I headed into our bedroom. My phone was vibrating on the nightstand where it had been charging. I reached for it and felt a familiar jolt of anxiety when I saw Beatrice’s name on the screen. I answered the call, my voice cautious. “Hello?” “Hi there, Rachel. I’ve been trying to get a hol

166: This Changes Everything

* RACHEL’S POINT OF VIEW * I arrived at the restaurant a few minutes early. It wasn't the cold, imposing five-star establishment Beatrice usually frequented; instead, it was a charming, mid-range bistro with warm lighting and wooden accents. It felt cozy and intimate, the kind of place where you could actually hear yourself think. I guessed she had chosen it specifically to make me feel comfortable, and I had to admit, she was succeeding. I watched as Beatrice walked in. Even in a more casual setting, she looked impeccably polished, her presence drawing eyes from every corner of the room. She scanned the tables until she spotted me, then walked over with practiced grace and sat down, placing her designer bag carefully on the table. “I’m sorry for being late,” she said, though she didn't look particularly rushed. “It’s nothing. I just arrived myself,” I replied. “Thank you for coming, Rachel. I truly wanted us to have this time to get to know each other better,” she said, gestu

167: Things That Don’t Fade

* SLADE’S POINT OF VIEW * I walked into Declan’s room, but the bed was empty. Only Aurelia was there, sitting on the sofa with her phone in her hand. “Where is he?” I asked, scanning the hospital room. “He’s out… alone,” she said, a genuine, bright smile spreading across her face. “So he’s doing much better now?” I asked, a wave of genuine relief washing over me. “Yeah. He can roam around on his own now — something I honestly didn’t think would be possible a few weeks ago. When everyone kept saying he would be fine, I desperately wanted to believe them, but a part of me was too terrified to hold on to hope. Yet here we are, and it’s like the worst of it never even happened,” she said, her voice trailing off in wonder. “I’m glad we’ve come this far, though I’m afraid we might have another patient on our hands soon,” I said, finally sinking into the cushion beside her. “Is everything alright? Rachel? The twins?” she asked, her expression instantly clouding with worry. “No, the

168: The Girl in the Photographs

* RACHEL'S POINT OF VIEW * After we left the restaurant, Beatrice suggested we go to the Pierce mansion for more “quality time.” She had my driver — the one Simon had assigned to me — follow behind us as I climbed into her car, my mind a whirlwind of confusion. I still couldn't get the money out of my head. How had I not known something was happening? Was I so blinded by our life together that I had missed the signs? Is this the secret Slade has been trying to tell me, or is it something even darker? The questions were like a lead weight in my stomach. We arrived at the mansion and stepped into the foyer. Beatrice looked at me with a sharp, discerning glint in her eyes. “Why don’t you follow me to my bedroom? We can talk privately and come up with a plan to find out the truth.” I nodded, following her upstairs like a lamb to the slaughter. As we stepped into the long, silent hallway, one of the doors stood slightly ajar. “This used to be Slade’s bedroom,” she said, then pointed

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