Semua Bab The Wife Who Returned: Bab 1 - Bab 10

The documents felt heavier than they should have.My hands trembled as I signed my name across the final page, each stroke of the pen a surrender. Seraphine Arkwright Vale. Even my signature looked weaker than it used to, the letters slanting and uneven. Two years of chemotherapy, radiation, and false hope had reduced me to this,a hollow-eyed ghost in a hospital gown, signing away the only thing I had left."Are you certain about this, Mrs. Vale?" Lawyer Whitmore's voice was gentle, but I heard the concern beneath it. The old man had known me since I was ten years old, had watched me grow up after my parents died. Now he was watching me die."I'm certain." The lie tasted bitter, but what choice did I have? Adrian was my husband. For better or worse. In sickness and in health. Till death do us part.Death was coming for me soon enough. One month, Dr. Chen had said. Maybe less.I pushed the papers across the hospital table, each one a piece of my grandfather's legacy now transferred to

I woke to warmth.Not the consuming, ancient warmth of death's embrace. This was human warmth. Body heat. The heat of another person pressed against my back, an arm draped over my waist, breath tickling the nape of my neck.My eyes snapped open.Sunlight. Actual sunlight streaming through curtains I didn't recognize. A bedroom that wasn't the estate. Wasn't in the hospital. The walls were cream-colored, not white. The bedding was soft cotton, not sterile hospital sheets.And there was someone in bed with me.The arm around my waist tightened, pulling me closer. A sleepy, contented sigh against my hair.I looked down.A man's arm. Tan. Strong. A watch on the wrist that I knew—that I remembered—that I'd bought three years ago for our anniversary.No.No, no, no, no, no—I exploded out of the bed like I'd been electrocuted, my body moving before my mind could catch up. The sheets tangled around my legs and I hit the floor hard, my hip slamming into the nightstand. A lamp crashed down bes

Adrian wasn't home when I finally dragged myself off the couch.Thank God.I'd spent the rest of the day after Maribel left sitting in silence, cataloging every memory, every moment, every detail of the life I'd lived or would live or had dreamed? The semantics didn't matter. What mattered was that I now knew the truth, and I had to act on it.But every time I thought about confronting Adrian, my hands would curl into fists and I'd imagine them wrapped around his throat. Or reaching for that razor in the bathroom. Or pushing him down a staircase and watching him break the way I had broken.I couldn't kill him. Not yet. Not without proof. Not without a plan.So I needed distance. Control. A mask to hide behind while I figured out what to do next.First thing: money. I needed to stop hemorrhaging money into Adrian's bottomless pit of debt. The inheritance was three years away, but before it came, there would be legal battles. My uncles, those vultures who'd cast me out after my grandfat

The knock came at exactly eight-thirty in the morning.I knew it would. I'd been sitting on the couch for the past twenty minutes, coffee growing cold in my hands, waiting for it. Because this was how it had gone the first time. Adrian storming out after our fight, me spending the night alone, and then Maribel showing up the next morning with coffee and concern and poison disguised as friendship.Right on schedule."Sera? It's me!" Her voice sang through the door, bright and cheerful. "I brought breakfast!"I closed my eyes, took a breath, and reminded myself: I couldn't kill her. Not yet. Not without a plan. Not without making sure she suffered the way she'd made me suffer.I opened the door.Maribel stood there looking flawless, as always. Her blonde hair fell in perfect waves over a cream-colored cashmere sweater that probably cost more than my monthly rent. Designer jeans that hugged her curves. That signature red lipstick painted on with precision. In her hands, she carried a tra

The call came two days after Maribel's visit.I was making coffee, actually making it this time, not throwing expensive lattes in the trash when my phone rang. Unknown number. I almost didn't answer, but something made me pick up."Miss Arkwright?" The voice was warm, familiar, like coming home after a long journey. "It's Whitmore. Whitmore Blackmoor."My chest tightened. I gripped the counter to steady myself."Mr. Whitmore," I managed, my voice catching. In my first life, I'd taken him for granted. This kind old man who'd taken me in when my family threw me away, who'd fed me and clothed me and loved me like a daughter. I'd been so busy chasing Adrian's approval that I'd never properly thanked him. Never told him what he meant to me.And by the time I'd realized, he'd been dying. I'd sat by his hospital bed in my second year of cancer treatment, both of us wasting away, and I'd finally told him I loved him. He'd smiled and said he always knew."I hope I'm not calling too early," he