บททั้งหมดของ I Slept With The Wrong Man: บทที่ 31 - บทที่ 40

~ Seraphina ~ "He’s not just taking the baby, Seraphina," Lucien said, his voice as sharp and cold as a winter morning. "He’s taking your inheritance, your home, and your name." I stared at the digital tablets spread across the mahogany table of the private suite. The screens glowed with a harsh, clinical light, displaying rows of legal text and highlighted clauses that felt like a death warrant. I hadn't touched the espresso Lucien had ordered for me; the very thought of the bitter liquid made my stomach roll. "Look at this," he commanded softly, tapping a finger against the glass of the center tablet. He didn't move toward me, yet his presence seemed to fill every inch of the sterile room. "This is the 'moral clause' in your prenuptial agreement. Adrian’s legal team has spent the last forty-eight hours drafting an amendment that links 'reputational stability' to 'asset retention.' If he proves you were unfaithful, he doesn't just get custody. He triggers a total forfeiture of t

~ Lucien ~ “He’s making a move toward the botanical gardens, sir,” Marcus’s voice crackled through the intercom, sounding as dry and professional as ever. “He’s keeping a three-car gap, just like we trained him to. He thinks he’s invisible.” I leaned back in my chair, the leather creaking softly under my weight. In the dim light of my office, the glow from my three monitors cast sharp, blue-tinged shadows against the mahogany walls. It was three in the morning—the hour when the world belonged to predators and ghosts. I had spent years in this room dismantling empires, but now, the stakes felt heavier than any corporate takeover. “Let him think that,” I replied, my eyes fixed on the center screen. “The Ghost is good, but he’s predictable. He follows the manual. He doesn’t realize I wrote the manual.” On the left screen, a digital map of the city pulsed with a small, steady light. It was the GPS tracker I had embedded in Seraphina’s car. On the center screen, a high-resolution feed

~ Lucien ~"The bait is set, then?" Elias asked, his voice cutting through the heavy silence of the penthouse office.I didn't look up from the monitor. On the screen, a small red dot pulsed steadily—a GPS signal from a burner phone currently sitting in the pocket of a discarded jacket at the Vale Foundation’s satellite office. "It’s exactly where it needs to be," I replied. My voice was as cold as the glass-walled room surrounding us. "Adrian’s lead security detail, Miller, does a sweep every Tuesday at four. He’s predictable. He’ll find it, he’ll crack the simple four-digit passcode, and he’ll think he’s found the holy grail of leverage." Elias paced the length of the room, his footsteps muffled by the thick Persian rug. He stopped at the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the city that we were systematically taking apart. "And what exactly is he going to find on that phone, Lucien? You aren't usually this sloppy. If there’s even a hint of your real identity on that device,

~ Adrian ~“Is this all of them?” I asked. My voice sounded like dry parchment rubbing together. I didn’t look up from the mahogany surface of my desk.Miller, my head of security, stood perfectly still. He was a man I paid to be a ghost, a professional shadow in a world of high-gloss surfaces and higher-stakes lies. He nudged a manila envelope toward me. It slid across the polished wood with a soft, mocking hiss. “The latest from the sweep, sir. Found on the device we recovered. High-resolution, long-distance. They never knew they were being watched.”“They,” I repeated. I didn’t want to acknowledge the plural. I didn’t want to admit there was a ‘they’ that included my wife and the man currently dismantling my board of directors. I reached for the envelope. My fingers were trembling—not with fear, but with a cold, electric fury I hadn’t felt since I was a boy watching my father lose his first mill.I had built an empire on composure. I was the man who kept his tie straight while the

~ Seraphina ~“Is that all for today, ma’am?” the courier asked. His voice was a flat, professional drone that seemed to bounce off the cold marble of the Vale penthouse foyer.I looked down at the small, padded envelope in his gloved hand. It was unremarkable, devoid of any branding or return address. My name was printed on the front in a sharp, mechanical font that felt like a needle prick against the cream-colored paper.“Yes, thank you,” I said, my voice steadier than the erratic thumping of my heart. I reached into my pocket, fished out a twenty-dollar bill, and handed it to him. Our fingers brushed for a fleeting second—a rare moment of human contact in a week where I had felt more like a ghost than a woman.He nodded once, a quick, practiced gesture, and disappeared back into the sterile hallway. The heavy oak door clicked shut with a metallic finality. I stood there for a long moment, the silence of the apartment pressing in on me. The penthouse was a masterpiece of glass and