Semua Bab The abandoned wife and her secret son: Bab 31 - Bab 40

Aria’s POV“Why are you stressing my wife?” Julian’s voice cut through the tension like a blade—low, controlled, but carrying an unmistakable edge of warning.“Your wife?” Johnson asked, disbelief dripping from every syllable. His eyebrows shot up, and he leaned back in his chair as if physically recoiling from the claim.“You heard me right. She’s my woman.” Julian’s voice remained eerily calm, but I could hear the steel beneath it—a quiet control that made the air feel heavier, more dangerous.My fingers twisted in my lap beneath the table, nails digging into my palms. My heart hammered against my ribs. I wanted to disappear, to sink through the floor and escape this suffocating moment. The restaurant suddenly felt too bright, too exposed.Johnson fixed his gaze on me, and I felt pinned beneath it—his eyes filled with genuine concern. “Young lady, if you are experiencing any life threat or danger, please let me know.” He leaned forward, his hands moving closer to mine across the whi

Aria POVThe ray of sunlight from the bedroom window pierced through my eyelids. I groaned, squeezing them shut tighter before finally giving in. My hand fumbled across the small table beside the bed, searching for my phone. When I finally grabbed it and saw the time, my heart sank. 8:30 AM.Damn it.I was supposed to take my medication at 8:00. Thirty minutes late. I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to will away the dull ache already forming behind them.Slowly, I pushed myself up to sit, my body protesting every movement. My gaze landed on the bottles across the room—three of them, lined up like soldiers on the dresser. Just looking at them made my stomach turn.A soft knock interrupted my thoughts.“Come in,” I said, my voice still rough with sleep.“Good morning, dear,” she said, her voice warm and honeyed, like she was trying to wrap me in comfort with just her tone. “I brought you breakfast.” She set the tray down on the table near the window, arranging everything just s

Aria POVThe knock at my door was soft, but I still flinched at it.“Aria, you called me to come over.”Vanessa stepped inside, her presence filling the room like a breath of warm air. She was dressed in a caramel-coloured wrap dress that hugged her frame, her curls pinned half-up with a few loose coils framing her face. A gold chain caught the light at her throat. She looked effortlessly put-together — everything I was not right now.Her eyes swept over me, quick and sharp, taking in the dim living room, the curtains still drawn at noon, the untouched glass of water on the coffee table.“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice careful, gentle.I was sitting curled into the corner of the couch, knees pulled to my chest, arms wrapped around myself like I was trying to hold my own ribcage together.“I’m fine,” I said.My voice came out low and hollow, barely carrying across the room.Vanessa’s brow lifted. She sat down beside me, close enough that I could smell her perfume — something warm

Aria POV“Mr. Cross,” Margaret called softly from behind me. “Did you enjoy yourself last night?”I blinked, pulling my thoughts from wherever they’d drifted. “Of course. Yes.”“That’s good.” She clasped her hands together, a small satisfied look crossing her face. “And I also noticed you ate a little from the breakfast I served you. Not much, but at least it’s better than the past few days when you didn’t touch it at all.”I gave her a small smile. It was the kind that didn’t quite reach my eyes but felt like the least I could offer. “Thank you, Margaret.”My phone buzzed against the table.A text from the doctor. I stared at the screen for a second before reading it — one of my mother’s surgeries had been scheduled. Three days from now.My chest tightened. It was a strange feeling, the kind that couldn’t decide what it wanted to be. Fear wrapped itself around hope, and hope kept trying to breathe through it. The surgery. The one that could possibly wake my mother from the coma she h

Julian POVThe evening light inside Selene’s apartment was soft and amber — warm in a way that felt rehearsed, like a stage set. Candles on the windowsill. A throw blanket folded perfectly on the armrest. She had called me over, said she needed to tell me something important. So I came.She sat across from me on the couch, her hands folded in her lap, eyes downcast. The room smelled faintly of lavender and something older underneath — stale air that no amount of candles could fix.“I just don’t want to bother you with it,” Selene said softly. Her voice was barely a breath, almost a whisper, like she was testing the weight of each word before releasing it. “I feel like I should carry my burden myself.”I held the medical report in my hands. Three pages. I had read every line twice. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, compounded by Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy — a condition the doctor had labeled Secondary CTE-Adjacent Syndrome, traced back to repeated psychological trauma from a violen