All Chapters of I Slept With The Wrong Man: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

~ Seraphina ~“You’re still holding that thing,” Lucien said, his voice rough and low.I jumped at the sound of the heavy oak doors swinging open. I didn't even realize I was still clutching the silver digital recorder Chloe had given me. It was cold against my palm, a small plastic weight that felt like the only real thing left in this house. Outside, the purple sky had turned into a thick, ink-black night. The library was too quiet, the kind of silence that makes your ears ring.Lucien didn't look like a king anymore. His expensive charcoal coat was draped over one arm, and his tie was pulled loose at the neck. He looked like he had been through a war. His eyes were dark and tired, like a man who had seen something he couldn't forget.I rushed to him, my hands reaching out to check his arms and chest. Ever since the shooting at the penthouse, I couldn't help it. I always looked for blood first.“Are you hurt?” I asked, my voice shaking.He caught my hands in his. His skin was warm a

~ Seraphina ~The heavy velvet curtains of my bedroom in the Blackwood estate were drawn back, letting in the weak morning light. I sat on the edge of the bed, my hand resting protectively over the undeniable curve of my stomach. After the false labor and the doctor's strict orders for bed rest, my world had been reduced to the four walls of this hidden fortress.But Adrian's world was still spinning, and he was broadcasting it on every major network.I stared at the flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. On the screen, Adrian stood at a mahogany podium, the Vale Industries logo gleaming behind him. His sister, Naomi, the family's ruthless PR mastermind, stood dutifully at his side. He looked immaculate—the "Golden Boy" CEO returning to reassure his panicked shareholders."The recent rumors regarding Vale Industries and my personal life are entirely unfounded," Adrian lied smoothly to the flashing cameras, his voice a perfect cadence of manufactured sorrow. "My wife, Seraphina, has been

~ Lucien ~ The air in the ballroom was thick with the scent of expensive lilies and the stagnant odor of old money. Below me, standing on the dais under a spotlight that made him look more like a saint than a predator, Adrian Vale was holding court. He adjusted the microphone with a practiced, humble smile, preparing to deliver his "reconciliation" speech—a desperate attempt to salvage his crumbling image. The elite of the city were gathered, their diamonds glittering like ice under the chandeliers, all of them waiting to see if the golden boy of the tech world could spin his way out of the rumors of his infidelity and cruelty. He thought he was the master of ceremonies. He thought this gala was his redemption arc, a stage where he could reassert his dominance over his board of directors and the public narrative. He didn't know that his empire was a house of cards, and I was the wind. He didn't know that every guest in this room had been invited not to witness his triumph, but to at

~ Seraphina ~The cream-colored envelope sat on the edge of the mahogany desk, right where I had left it the night before. Inside was the transfer document—the keys to the kingdom Lucien had burned down and bought back just to lay at my feet. Yesterday, wrapped in the protective heat of his arms, I had spoken of renaming it, of building something new from the ashes.But in the cold, clear light of morning, the truth looked different.I reached out and pushed the envelope back across the polished wood. The soft slide of the paper was the loudest sound in the library."I can't take it, Lucien," I said.Lucien paused in the doorway, his coffee cup freezing halfway to his lips. He was dressed in a simple black sweater and dark trousers, but his posture immediately snapped into the rigid, alert stance of a predator whose calculations had just been thrown off."What do you mean, you can't take it?" he asked, stepping into the room. "The paperwork is finalized, Seraphina. It’s yours.""I'm r

~ Seraphina ~The morning light in this apartment is different from the light in the Vale penthouse. There, the sun always felt like a spotlight, highlighting every speck of dust on the marble and every crack in my composure. Here, in this modest but elegant space on the quieter side of the city, the light is soft. It feels like a beginning.I stood in the center of the small room that would soon be the nursery. My back ached with a dull, persistent throb—a reminder that I was moving into the final stages of this pregnancy—but for the first time in years, the fatigue didn't feel like a weight. It felt like work. Honest work.I reached for a stack of folded organic cotton onesies and began placing them in the dresser. Each motion was deliberate. I wasn't just organizing clothes; I was building a world where Adrian Vale’s name carried no weight. I was finally the one in control.There was a knock at the door, sharp and familiar. I didn't have to check the security feed to know it was Mi