All Chapters of May We Never Meet Again: Chapter 151 - Chapter 160

The rain poured heavier, drumming relentlessly against the umbrellas like a warning echoing from the heavens above. It wasn’t just a passing shower anymore; it had grown into something fierce, something unforgiving, as though the sky itself had chosen to mirror the storm unfolding between them.Charlotte’s fingers tightened around the handle of the umbrella Marcel had handed to her. Even with the cover above her head, droplets still found their way down her arm, sliding coldly against her skin. Her body trembled, not entirely from the chill, but from the weight of everything she had held in for far too long.Her eyes remained locked on Nathan.They were steady, unyielding, but behind that stillness lay years of buried pain, silent endurance, and wounds that had never truly healed.“Enough of this apology,” she said sharply, her voice cracking slightly yet holding firm. “It only makes you look pathetic. Nothing will make me change my mind.”Her words cut through the rain like lightni

Nathan Mills lay stretched across the long couch, his tall frame barely contained by its length, his body wrapped beneath a thick blanket that hid the soaked clothes clinging stubbornly to his skin. His breathing came unevenly, rising and falling in unstable rhythm, as though his body could not decide whether to rest or to remain trapped in the chaos of the night he had just endured. His lips were dry, slightly parted, and the faint, unmistakable smell of whiskey lingered heavily in the air around him.Mr. Willis stood nearby, his tall figure still composed, yet the worry etched across his aged face betrayed the calm he tried to maintain. His eyes moved slowly from Nathan to Marcel, lingering on the younger man seated across from the couch. Marcel sat stiffly, his elbows resting on his knees, one hand pressed against his face as if trying to push away the exhaustion weighing heavily on him.“Mr. Marcel” Mr. Willis said at last, his voice low but steady, though it carried the weight

“Nathan,” Charlotte called the moment she noticed him standing just a few steps away from the house she now shared with Caleb Briggs.Her voice didn’t carry warmth. It carried surprise, tension, and something else she refused to name.Nathan’s head lifted instantly at the sound of her voice, his eyes locking onto her like a man who had finally found what he had been searching for in the dark. His lips parted, his breath uneven, his entire presence screaming desperation.He looked nothing like the composed, untouchable man he used to be. A long coat hung loosely over his shoulders, unbuttoned, barely shielding him from the early morning chill. Beneath it, he wore nothing but a pair of shorts and simple slippers, as though he had rushed out without thinking. His hair was disheveled, his face pale, his lips dry and cracked. Even from a distance, the faint smell of alcohol and cigarettes clung to him.Charlotte froze the instant she fully took him in. Her body stiffened, her fingers ti

Caleb adjusted the blanket carefully over Charlotte as he laid her gently on the bed. Her body felt lighter than it should, too fragile in his arms, and that thought alone tightened something deep inside his chest. Her lips trembled with a weak smile as her eyes fluttered half-open, struggling to remain present.“I’m fine,” she whispered, her voice faint but stubborn, carrying that familiar strength that both comforted and worried him. “You should return to work. Don’t waste your time watching me like this.”He hesitated, standing over her for a moment longer than necessary, his gaze searching her face as if trying to read what she refused to say. Then he reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, his fingers lingering slightly against her skin. “Rest first,” he said softly. “Work can wait.”She didn’t argue further, but the faint crease in her brows told him she wasn’t convinced.Reluctantly, Caleb stepped away. Minutes later, he found himself in the living room,

Nathan sat in his study, his elbows resting firmly on the polished mahogany desk, his fingers interlocked as though holding himself together by force. His eyes were sharp, focused with a dangerous kind of determination, and his voice carried a calm authority as he gave instructions that would shape the day he had been obsessing over.The air in the room was thick with the scent of leather and aged books, while the chandelier above cast a golden glow that danced across his hardened expression.“Marcel, Mr. Willis,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument, “everything must be arranged exactly as I want it. No suits. No white gown. This wedding will be purely traditional... from beginning to end. Red caps, ivory beads, wrappers, dancers, and if possible, masquerades. I don’t want anything foreign in it. It must show class, but it must also scream our tradition.”Marcel shifted slightly where he stood, his posture respectful but his expression tense. Mr. Willis, who had be