Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 221 - Chapitre 230

I pull him down and kiss him again. That’s the last mistake that still has a chance to be taken back. After that, everything moves too fast and too slow at the same time. Sebastian lifts me without asking. One hand on my waist, the other under my ass, as if my body already knows the route to his arms. My legs automatically wrap around his waist. The kitchen marble vanishes. Dark hallways blur past the corner of my eye like a movie playing too fast. I don’t even remember when his bedroom door opens. I only remember the smell of his soap being stronger here, the scent of warm skin, and the sound of our breaths colliding. The bed meets my back. Soft. Expensive. Cold at first, then warming up fast as his body covers mine. Sebastian doesn’t rush. He props himself up on his elbows, knees pressing into the mattress between my thighs, and his mouth goes back to my neck as if he’s memorizing every inch that used to be his. “I missed you,” he whispers, his husky voice sticking to my skin.

I stopped in front of the mirror.It fit perfectly.The shoulders fell exactly where they should. The belt sat at the right point. The hem hit mid-thigh. Modest enough, indecent enough, enough to make me look like a mafia wife, well, maybe like Krystal, who had just taken control of the family resort after three elegant murders.I narrowed my eyes. “Interesting,” I muttered.I walked out of the bathroom, then noticed the walk-in closet door was slightly open.I shouldn’t have gone in.I really shouldn’t have.But I had already ruined my life once because of a computer that hadn’t been logged out. Apparently, I learned nothing. Or maybe I was simply the kind of woman who saw a secret door and immediately opened it while carrying fire and family problems.Sebastian’s walk-in closet, unsurprisingly, had never heard of the concept of enough.The left side was suits.A lot of suits.Black, navy, charcoal, several shades of gray that could only be distinguished by rich people and Daniella.

“I see?” I repeated. “That’s your response?”“What response were you expecting?”“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe something that starts with, ‘Jasmine, there’s a perfectly normal explanation for why my house has a miniature women’s department store hidden inside my bedroom.’”“It’s not hidden.”“The door was closed.”“Closets tend to have doors.”I hated him. “And the robe.”“The robe.”“The ivory robe.”“I know what ivory looks like.”“Well, at least your education paid off.”Sebastian picked up his coffee and leaned lightly against the counter.“Because this is fascinating. Yesterday, you said no woman lives here.” I kept going before he could introduce logic into the conversation.“Correct.”“No Kelsey.”“Correct.”“And then this morning I wake up and find a women’s robe in your bathroom, lingerie in your closet, sweaters in a very specific size, and enough clothes to make me question whether you’re secretly running a socialite relocation program.”He drank his coffee.I stared at him. “Ar

I sighed and walked ahead of her to take a seat at the quiet end of the lobby.There were two low chairs near the side window, separated by a small round table with nothing on it but a slim vase of white flowers. Very corporate. Very clean. Very inappropriate for a conversation with the woman who had once turned my marriage into an expensive pile of rubble.I sat first because I didn’t want her choosing the chair that would leave my back to the room.Kelsey sat across from me, knees together, handbag in her lap, that camel coat still folded too neatly over her arm. She used to sit like that in the waiting area outside Sebastian’s office, shoulders slightly hunched, big eyes, soft voice, making everyone want to give her a second chance before she had even used the first one properly.I had once been one of those idiots.“So,” I said, setting my coffee on the table. “Talk before I change my mind and have security remove you in a way that still fits my company branding.”Kelsey opened he

Kelsey left.Not dramatically enough. Well, for someone who had just walked into my office carrying a fetus like a VIP access card and threatened my daughter with the energy of a woman who had practiced her lines in the mirror too many times, her exit was deeply disappointing.Her heels clicked across the lobby floor, neat, small, expensive in an unconvincing way. Her camel coat moved behind her like the flag of a country that had just lost a war but still insisted on standing upright. At the glass doors, she paused for a fraction of a second, maybe hoping I would call her back. Maybe hoping I would change my mind. Maybe hoping the lobby would collapse and bury her with dignity.I gave her none of the three.The glass doors opened. Outside air slipped in for a moment, carrying the smell of the city, rich people’s perfume, and a trace of exhaust from the boulevard. Then the doors closed again, leaving behind the clean lobby, the white flowers in the slim vase, the small round table, an