Todos os capítulos de Mummy, Please Marry Uncle Biker Daddy: Capítulo 131 - Capítulo 140

~ Cole ~ The office doesn’t smell like anything. No oil. No smoke. No sweat. Just cold air from the AC and polished wood that reflects too much light. I don’t like it. That’s how I know I need it. The guy across from me keeps adjusting his tie like it’s choking him. He’s been talking for the last five minutes—numbers, returns, risk. I stopped listening halfway through. Not because it doesn’t matter, but because it does. Too much. “You’re quiet,” he says, his pen tapping nervously against a leather-bound folder. “I’m thinking,” I tell him, my eyes fixed on the contract between us. He nods like that means something to him, but it doesn’t. My eyes drop to the papers. Clean. Organized. Legal. No back doors, no shortcuts. Just signatures and consequences. It’s funny; I’ve signed things before. Deals that meant blood. Deals that ended with someone on the ground. But This? This feels different. “Mr Ryder, if you have concerns—” he starts, leaning forward with a forced, profes

~ Cole ~ The gate opens before I even stop the bike. Like it already decided I belong here. I don’t. Not yet. I cut the engine and sit there for a second, looking at the house through the bars as they slide open fully. Big clean, no noise from the street, no people watching, no one knowing who’s coming in or out. It feels wrong and right at the same time. “You coming in or just judging it from out there?” the agent calls, standing by the front steps with a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. I step off the bike slowly, my boots crunching on the gravel. “Just making sure it’s real,” I answer, pulling off my gloves and tucking them into my belt. He laughs lightly, like I made a joke. I didn’t. “It’s very real,” he says, gesturing toward the grand entryway of the house. “Four bedrooms. Private security system. Gated access. No shared walls. Very… exclusive.” Exclusive. That’s one word for it. Isolated is another. I walk past him without saying anything, my boots hitti

~ Cole ~ I hear their car before I see it. Gravel crunches outside. Mara told me they are the kind of people who pull up like they belong anywhere. I stand by the window with my arms folded, watching through the slit in the curtain. “Are you going to stare them into submission,” Mara asks quietly from behind me, “or actually open the door?” I glance back at her. She’s pretending to be calm, but she’s not. Her hands are clasped too tightly. “I’m waiting,” I tell her, my voice steady. “For what?” she asks, frowning slightly. “For them to decide how they’re walking in.” She exhales softly, shaking her head. “That’s not how normal people think, Cole.” “Yeah,” I mutter, turning back to the window. “I’ve been told.” The car door opens, then another. I watch closely. Her father steps out first with straight posture and controlled movements. He looks like the kind of man who believes control equals respect. Her mother follows. She looks softer, but her eyes are already scann

~ Mara ~ By the time Dinner is served, it feels too small for everything sitting at the table. The plates are full. But no one is eating. My mother keeps adjusting her fork like it’s slightly out of place. My father hasn’t touched his food at all. He’s watching Cole without pretending not to. Cole sits across from them, relaxed in a way that isn’t actually relaxed. Lily swings her legs under the chair beside me, humming softly, completely unaware she’s the only one breathing normally in this room. I clear my throat. “I wanted to tell you something,” I say, my voice steady even though my chest feels tight. My mother looks at me first. “What is it?” I glance down at my hands for a second. Then I say it. “I’m pregnant.” Silence. My mother blinks once. My father leans back slowly in his chair. Lily stops humming. “You’re what?” my mother asks, her voice quieter now. “Pregnant,” I repeat, lifting my head. Her eyes move quickly to my stomach. Then

~ Mara ~ I knew it was coming. Not during dinner. Not in front of everyone. But eventually. There’s a certain look my parents have when they’re holding something in. My mother had it the entire night—a tight smile, watching everything, waiting. So when she walks up to me from the guest room and says, “Mara, can we talk?” I don’t pretend to be surprised. “Yeah,” I reply quietly, setting my phone down. My father’s already inside, standing near the window with his hands clasped behind his back. It's the same posture he used when I was a teenager and in trouble. That almost makes me laugh, almost. I step inside and close the door behind me. The room feels smaller than it should. Or maybe it’s just the way they’re both looking at me, like this isn’t just a conversation. It’s an intervention. My mother sits on the edge of the bed and pats the space beside her. “Come here,” she says gently. I don’t move closer. I stay right where I am by the door. “I’m okay here,” I tell her.