All Chapters of The Unwanted Wife's Return (Ex-Husband Wants Me Back): Chapter 431 - Chapter 440

MARL'S POV:She and I had once mourned the loss of a sweet life together. I owed a massive personal debt to her late sister. That was the simple, undeniable truth of the matter, a heavy debt that weighed on my shoulders, a deep moral obligation, and a shared sorrow that had briefly tied our lives together before the terrible weight of it pulled us apart forever. I had given my absolute word to protect her younger sister, and I had failed to keep that promise. The heavy guilt of that failure had followed my footsteps for years, serving as a dark shadow I could never shake off my back.​Only a complete fool like Alistair would ever look at a cunning woman like Vesper and treat her like some kind of precious treasure, while completely failing to see that she was nothing more than a dangerous, venomous snake sitting in his house. She had been playing him for a fool from the very beginning, manipulating his emotions, using his family name, and taking full advantage of his wealth. And he wa

MARL'S POV: ​I grabbed Mary's hand without thinking. ​The cupcake was still half-eaten in my other hand, the taste of vanilla and sugar lingering on my tongue. But my mind was elsewhere, spinning, searching for connections that had been buried for over a decade. The flavor had unlocked something in me, something I had kept locked away for years, something I had been afraid to touch. I stood frozen in the small kitchen space, the quiet noise of the refrigerator filling the heavy silence between us. The air in the room suddenly felt thick, almost difficult to breathe. ​"Did your mother teach you how to make this cake?" I asked. ​The words came out rougher than I intended. I could hear the urgency in my own voice, the barely contained desperation. I was so agitated that I didn't realize how tightly I was holding her wrist until I saw her wince. My fingers were wrapped around her like a vice, the bones of her wrist pressing against my palm. ​Mary replied in surprise, her eyes widenin

MARL'S POV:​Mary patted my back, and I cleared my throat, stepping back.​"You're not treating me like your daughter, are you?" I asked, my voice light and teasing.​Mary lightly smacked my back before letting go. "Don't be ridiculous. My daughter is much better behaved than you."​I laughed, the sound was so genuine. "I'm offended."​"You'll survive."​We stood there for a moment, the tension between us shifting into something lighter, easier. I could feel the warmth of her presence still lingering and her embrace still imprinted on my skin. I wanted to stay in that moment, to freeze it and hold onto it forever.​But I couldn't.​I had work to do. Alistair was still on the phone.When I returned to the living room, Alistair was surprisingly still on the other end of the line.​I had left my phone sitting on the table with the call active, leaving him talking to empty air, but he had apparently spent the last ten minutes rambling to himself in frustration. His voice drifted faintly t

MARY'S POV:​"Precisely." Marl offered me a sharp, extremely satisfied smile. "You just have to remain patient through the whole process. Let him do all the talking. Let him explain his foolish thoughts. Let him dig himself deeper and deeper into his own pit. And by the time he is completely done boasting, you will hold every single piece of evidence you could ever need to crush him."​Standing there, I thought deeply about my little girl Elowen. I pictured her soft face, her hopeful eyes, and the way she had promised me earlier that she would be brave for her mommy. I had to actively fight off the strong urge to pick up my phone and call her line again. I had already called her twice tonight, and every single time I heard her small voice through the speaker, my heart had ached with deep pain.​My daughter was far too sensible for a child her age. She did not cry loudly into the phone or ask me complicated questions about why I was not home. She simply kept repeating in her quiet voic

MARY'S POV:​The person who had just opened the door and walked into the grand entryway was Beatrice.​She stood frozen in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the dim, quiet light of the foyer, her pale face completely flushed with barely contained fury. Her hands were entirely full as she stood there, heavy shopping bags from the market, her expensive leather handbag, and a warm container of homemade food she had carried all the way to our home. She slammed everything down onto the polished entryway table with a resounding crash that echoed almost loudly through the quiet, empty rooms of the house.​The sharp sound was violent, and intimidating sudden noise that made you flinch in surprise even when you were not the direct target of the anger. I stood silently in the living room and watched her stride inside with long steps, her high heels clicking loudly against the floor, her dark eyes blazing with pure righteous anger. Her long winter coat was still wrapped around her body, her