All Chapters of The abandoned wife and her secret son: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Julian’s POVMy hand didn’t leave the doorknob. I just stood there, forehead pressed against the cold wood, eyes squeezed shut. Through the door, I could hear Aria sobbing—broken, raw sounds that tore through the silence of our home. Each sob felt like a knife twisting in my chest, and I couldn’t understand why it hurt so much.My heart ached. It physically ached in a way I’d never experienced before.I couldn’t bring myself to leave. Not until she stopped crying. Not until I knew she’d found some semblance of peace, even if it was just exhaustion dragging her into sleep. So I stood there, my palm pressed flat against the door, as if somehow my presence on the other side could comfort her, even though I knew it couldn’t. Even though I was the reason she was crying in the first place.Minutes bled into an hour. Maybe two. I lost track of time, counting only her sobs, the hitches in her breath, the moments of quiet that gave me false hope before another wave of tears came.Finally—final

Aria POVMarcus hadn’t changed at all.He sat sprawled in the leather wingback chair near the fireplace, one leg crossed over the other like some king presiding over his court. His salt-and-pepper hair was slicked back with too much gel, and his expensive watch caught the light as he drummed his fingers against the armrest. The lines around his mouth had deepened—not from smiling, but from years of scowling and barking orders.The living room had transformed completely since I’d last been here. Gone were the warm cream walls and family photos my mother had carefully arranged. Now everything screamed Selene’s mother’s taste—all white marble, gold accents, and crystal chandeliers that looked more like weapons than light fixtures. Abstract art that probably cost more than a car hung on walls painted in cold gray. The space was designed to impress, not to comfort. Every surface gleamed with a sterile perfection that made my skin crawl.I heard the click of heels on the staircase before I

Aria’s POVI was drifting through a peaceful afternoon sleep when a noise shattered the quiet outside the compound. Eleanor’s voice cut through the air—sharp, furious, unmistakable.“Margaret! Where is my son?”The command echoed into my bedroom, jolting me fully awake.I heard Margaret’s hurried footsteps descending the stairs, each one quick and anxious. “Mrs. Cross,” she began, choosing her words with the caution of someone navigating a minefield, “Mr. Cross is at the office. He’s not—”“I don’t care where he is.” Eleanor’s voice carried an urgency that made my chest tighten. “Call him. I need him home immediately. He needs to drop whatever he’s doing and get here now.”I pushed myself up from the bed and shuffled into the bathroom. My eyes felt gritty and swollen, evidence of too many restless nights. I splashed cold water on my face, rubbed away the remnants of sleep, then studied my reflection for a moment—tired, thinner, hollow. I adjusted the simple cotton nightgown I’d been w

Aria POVThe kiss ignited like a wildfire.Julian’s mouth crushed against mine with desperate hunger, his lips searing hot and demanding. The torch he’d been carrying—the one that had guided us through the darkened hallway—clattered forgotten to the floor. His hands framed my face, thumbs tracing my jawline as he deepened the kiss, tasting me like I was oxygen and he’d been drowning. Heat exploded through my veins, pooling low in my belly. Every nerve ending sparked to life.Oh my God, Aria. Chase him out. Tell him to leave. Do it now.The voice in my head screamed warnings, but my body betrayed every rational thought. Words died in my throat, unspoken. Instead, my hands locked around his back, fingers digging into the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt. I surrendered completely, melting into him, giving myself over to this reckless need. I needed him—God, I needed him so badly it physically hurt.The kissing grew deeper, more urgent. Julian’s hands slid down my sides as he guide

Julian’s POVThe hospital’s sterile smell filled my nostrils as I watched Aria shift uncomfortably in the small chair. A nurse knelt beside her, tying a tourniquet around her thin arm to draw blood for testing.“Mr. Cross,” the doctor’s voice pulled my attention away from Aria. “Let’s discuss this in my office.”I followed him down the corridor to his office.Once inside, he settled behind his desk and studied the test results. “Your wife is not doing well at all.” He tapped the papers with his pen. “Her blood pressure is elevated, and if this continues, it could lead to hypertension.”I leaned forward. “How is that possible?”He removed his glasses and met my eyes. “Her psychological state is poor. The symptoms are obvious.”“What symptoms?”“Anxiety, lack of proper sleep, depression, and no appetite.”“My chef mentioned she barely eats.”“It’s not just about eating, Julian.” He leaned forward, his expression serious. “Let me be sincere with you. She’s battling PTSD, likely stemming