บททั้งหมดของ The Affair Revenge My Bestfriend's Husband Offered Me: บทที่ 61 - บทที่ 70

She looked at him. For a moment, he wasn't the CEO. He was just a man. Sitting at his desk. Asking."It's your place," she said. "You don't need permission."He nodded. Once.She walked out.The rest of the day passed in meetings, emails, the normal hum of work. She saw him across the floor, in conference rooms, at his desk. His mask was back. Completely. The same controlled expression. The same professional distance.She wondered if she'd imagined the crack.Later on that night. The city glowed through the windows.Nerissa sat on the couch in the living room. She'd changed into comfortable clothes—soft pants, a loose sweater. Her hair was down. She'd been sitting here for an hour, not reading, not working, just... sitting.The orchid was on her windowsill, catching the faint light from the city. She'd watered it earlier. It was still alive. She still didn't know how.The elevator chimed.She heard it from the living room. The soft hum of machinery. The doors opening.Footsteps. Then s

He opened the cabinet. First aid kit. Bandages. Tape. Antiseptic wipes.He cleaned it roughly. Too roughly. The pain was sharp, but he didn't slow down. Pressed a thick pad against it. Wrapped tape around his shoulder to hold it in place. Tight. Too tight.Then he opened the closet. Spare suits. Spare shirts. He'd learned long ago to keep extras. Meetings ran late. Coffee spilled. Emergencies happened.He chose a dark suit. Darker than the one he'd worn. Good for hiding things.Fresh shirt. Fresh jacket. He dressed carefully, moving his left arm as little as possible.The old clothes went into a bag. Tied shut. Hidden in the back of the closet.He checked his reflection. Pale. But not noticeably. His face was calm. Controlled.He walked out.The conference room on 42 was all glass and light.The city stretched beyond the windows, a sprawling grid of steel and glass and distant hills. Alistair Harrington stood at the window for a long moment before taking his seat at the head of the tab

There, on the collar—just below where the line of his jaw would be—was a smudge. Faint now, faded with time, but unmistakable.Lipstick. Vintage Crimson.The shade she'd worn that night in the elevator. Months ago.He'd kept it.He'd kept the shirt. With her mark on it. Hidden in his drawer. In his private space.The collar—the place where her lips had touched him—preserved all this time.She stared at it. At the proof that he'd held onto this. That he hadn't washed it away. That he'd kept her—a piece of her—close to him."Mm."His voice. Pain. From the bed.She folded the shirt quickly. Put it back. Closed the drawer.Turned.He was shifting on the bed, his face tight with pain. The movement had pulled at his shoulder.She walked back to him. Clean shirt in her hands."You need to change," she said. Her voice was steady. She didn't know how.He looked at her. Too weak to argue.She helped him sit up. Pulled the ruined shirt off carefully. His skin was hot to the touch. Fever still high.She

Hello readers... Thank you a lot for following this story until this chapter. After some consideration, I decide to split the previous chapters to make the word count more ideal and the reader can read each chapter with cheaper cost. If you already read the story until CHAPTER 66, Please Kindly note that the Original CHAPTER 67 will be updated as CHAPTER 129. Just go straight to chapter 129 so you don't need to double pay chapters with the same section. Regarding the previous uploaded chapter, it might still the same as the original version before the splitting until my editor review this book. Thank you for your attention.Updated at : 03/05/2026

Neither spoke.The city glowed through the window. The room was quiet except for their breathing. His hand was still wrapped around her wrist—not gripping, just holding. Like he'd forgotten to let go. Or didn't want to.Minutes passed. She wasn't counting.Then, slowly, she moved. Just a fraction. Her wrist slid from his grasp. His fingers didn't tighten. Didn't try to stop her.Her hand came to rest on the bed beside his. Close. Not touching. Their fingers lay parallel, inches apart, on the dark sheets.Neither moved.She stared at their hands. His, pale against the fabric. Hers, still carrying the ghost of his warmth. They could have been two strangers on a train, hands resting on separate armrests. But they weren't.She felt the weight of the silence. Not heavy anymore. Different. Like something waiting.His hand didn't reach for hers. She didn't reach for his.They just sit there. Side by side. Hands inches apart. Breathing.– The Penthouse –Across the city, Jovi sat alone in the