Semua Bab Be Mine Again, Dear Wife: Bab 41 - Bab 50

Harper stood frozen in the hallway. The cardboard box suddenly felt like a live grenade.Her pulse hammered in her throat. The last box she had received had exploded at Summer's birthday party. The memory of the flash, the smoke, and the screams still lived under her skin. She could feel the phantom heat on her face.She glanced towards the bedroom. Summer's laughter had gone quiet. She was probably brushing her teeth or playing with her bath toys. Theo was dozing off in her arms, his small head heavy against her shoulder. Sierra had already gone home for the night.No one else was here.Harper crouched slowly, setting Theo down on the hallway rug so he wouldn't wake up if she startled. She pressed one palm to the box lid, feeling for wires or anything that might trigger an explosion. But there was none.She exhaled through her nose, and then she lifted the lid.There was no flash or bang. Only a small, white sneaker.Summer's left school shoe. The one with the glittery purple

Harper sat curled on the far end of the sofa in the sitting room, her knees drawn up, one arm draped protectively around Theo. The toddler was fast asleep against her side, his tiny chest rising and falling in a slow and even rhythm. His chubby fingers were still curled around the hem of her nightie. The soft blue glow from the lamp on the side table was the only light in the room. She hadn't bothered turning on the overhead lights.Detective Reyes sat on the other end of the sofa, close enough that she could smell his cologne and far enough that the space between them felt like it was kept on purpose. The blood-smeared threat note and Summer's stolen shoe lay on the coffee table like evidence exhibits. He'd already photographed them both.He was reading her handwritten list again.His brows were furrowed slightly, his thumb rubbing absently along the edge of the paper."Detective—" Harper started in a small voice.Finally, he looked up."Harper." He gave her a small, tired ha

Aiden sat hunched on one of the plastic chairs near the vending machines, elbows on his knees, a half-empty bottle of water dangling between his fingers. The antiseptic smell of the hospital tickled his nose and made him want to sneeze.He took another sip of water. It tasted metallic. He grimaced and set the bottle on the floor between his boots.Across the lobby a little boy who looked no older than five ran in circles around a row of chairs, giggling. His dark curls bounced. He wore a Spider-Man T-shirt two sizes too big and light-up sneakers that flashed red and blue every time his feet hit the tile.Aiden watched him with a tired, absent smile. The kid was cute, full of life in a way that made the waiting room feel less dead.Then a soft voice called out, "Ezra, slow down before you crash into someone."Aiden's head snapped up so fast his vision swam.His Ivy.She stepped through the sliding doors holding two paper cups of coffee, her scrubs wrinkled from a long shift, her

Aiden stirred to the steady beep-beep-beep of a monitor. The sound drilled into his skull like a nail gun. His mouth tasted like metal. Something tugged at the back of his hand, and when he cracked one eye open, he saw the IV line taped to his skin. A clear fluid dripped slowly from the bag overhead.Everything hurt.Especially the left side of his head. It felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to his temple and then kindly decided to leave the hammer embedded there.He tried to lift his hand to touch it. The IV tugged again. A soft hiss of pain escaped between his teeth."Hey—hey, easy."It was Ivy's voice.Aiden's heart skipped a beat, hard enough to make the monitor reflect it. He turned his head slowly, because moving fast felt like his skull was going to split open. And there she was.Nurse Ivanna stood beside the gurney in fresh scrubs, a stethoscope draped around her neck, her arms crossed loosely. Her expression was calm and professional... but her eyes were worrie

Harper had chosen the black dress on purpose. It wasn't the one she'd worn to the club with L. This was different. It was sleeveless, fitted through the bodice, with a softly flared skirt that stopped just above the knee. The fabric caught the low candlelight in the private booth at La Lumière and turned it into liquid obsidian. A single thin gold necklace rested against her collarbone. Tyson hadn't looked away once since she walked in. He sat across from her now, his sleeves rolled to the elbows, his tie loosened. His expensive navy suit jacket hung over the back of his chair. He looked like he'd spent the last hour trying and failing to act casual. The waiter had just cleared the appetizer plates. A bottle of Bordeaux sat between them. Harper lifted her glass and took a slow sip, watching him over the rim. "You're staring," she said mildly. Tyson didn't even try to deny it. His gaze traced the line of her shoulders, the curve of her neck, and the way the candle flame reflected i