บททั้งหมดของ Married To Him By Midnight : บทที่ 61 - บทที่ 70

The photo burned into my mind long after I locked my phone screen.I lay there, staring into the darkness, every nerve awake, replaying the angle, the distance, the casual precision of it. Whoever had taken it hadn’t rushed. They hadn’t been sloppy. That was what unsettled me most.This wasn’t intimidation born of impulse.It was intention.I swung my legs off the bed and stood quietly, moving toward the door. The apartment was still, too still, the soft hum of the city muffled by glass and height. Adrian’s door was slightly ajar, a strip of light cutting through the dark.I knocked once, softly.“Adrian,” I said.He was awake before I finished his name.He opened the door immediately, eyes sharp, already alert. One look at my face and his expression changed.“What happened?” he asked.I handed him my phone without a word.He studied the screen, jaw tightening with every second. When he looked up, the calm he wore earlier was gone, replaced by something colder, more dangerous.“She cr

The silence after Adrian’s words was louder than the applause that followed.It rolled through the room in waves—confusion, curiosity, calculation. People leaned forward, as if proximity might help them understand what they were witnessing. A declaration without labels. A stand without explanations. It was enough to unsettle everyone.Including me.The screen behind us dimmed, the images disappearing as if they had never existed. Lydia recovered first. She always did. Her smile returned, slower this time, more deliberate, as though she were filing something away for later use.“Bold,” she said lightly into her microphone. “Very… theatrical.”Adrian didn’t respond.He didn’t need to.The damage—if that was what this was—had already been done.We left the stage together, not hurried, not triumphant. The gala resumed around us with forced enthusiasm, conversations restarting a half-beat too late. I could feel eyes following us as we moved through the crowd, measuring, reassessing.“What

The morning light was harsh, cutting across the apartment in sharp lines that made the shadows seem deeper than they were. I sat at the edge of the bed, folder in hand, rereading the pages Marcus had given me, trying to memorize the patterns of Lydia’s moves, her contacts, her timing. I didn’t like it. I didn’t like knowing how much effort, how much calculation, had gone into undermining Adrian—and now me.Adrian appeared in the doorway, coffee in hand, his gaze heavy but calm.“You’re up early,” he said, setting the cup down beside me.“I can’t sleep,” I replied. “Not with her still maneuvering.”He sat beside me, careful to leave space. “She’s patient,” he said. “And she’s smart. But you… you’ve got something she can’t predict.”I looked at him, wary. “And what’s that?”“Me,” he said simply. Then, after a pause: “And that you’re not afraid to step into the fire rather than hide from it.”I let his words settle but didn’t respond immediately. There was something intoxicating about th

The city glittered like a scattering of stars as Adrian and I stepped out of the car. Even at this hour, the streets pulsed with life, unaware that the night ahead was anything but ordinary. I straightened my gown, feeling the weight of every careful stitch and fold, but also the invisible weight of the choices we had made—the choices that had now placed us center stage in Lydia’s game.Adrian’s hand found mine as we approached the gala doors. He didn’t squeeze, didn’t guide—just held. The restraint itself felt like a declaration: we were stepping in together, not just physically, but strategically.Inside, the atmosphere was charged, the hum of conversation punctuated by laughter that didn’t quite reach the eyes of those participating. Everyone here had a role, a script, and most would not admit the tension under their practiced smiles. But I could feel it. I always felt it. Lydia’s signature was everywhere—not in her presence, not in her physicality, but in the careful threads of in

The room smelled faintly of polished wood and expensive restraint. Every chair was occupied, every face carefully neutral, but tension threaded through the air like something alive. This wasn’t a meeting meant for comfort. It was meant for decisions.I took my seat beside Adrian, aware of how many eyes followed the movement. Not curious eyes — assessing ones. Measuring what I represented. A liability. A statement. A provocation.Lydia sat across the table, legs crossed, posture immaculate. She didn’t look at Adrian first. She looked at me.That, more than anything, told me this was intentional.The chairman cleared his throat. “Let’s begin.”The discussion moved quickly into figures, projections, partnerships. I listened closely, absorbing more than I let on. Lydia spoke only when necessary, her voice smooth, persuasive, threading subtle implications into otherwise neutral statements. She didn’t contradict Adrian directly. She didn’t need to. She suggested alternatives. Raised questio