Todos os capítulos de I Married the Man My Ex Could Never Compete With : Capítulo 11 - Capítulo 20

Lydia POV Living with Adrian Cole feels less like marriage and more like entering a system already in motion. Nothing stops me. It simply adjusts. Three days after the clinic, the penthouse runs with quiet precision. Staff move in controlled patterns. Security rotates without visible signals. Deliveries arrive pre-screened. Even silence feels scheduled. I wake before sunrise and still find evidence that he has already been awake. Coffee prepared. News briefings are arranged beside my seat. My calendar was rewritten without discussion. At first, it unsettles me. Now I’m beginning to understand the rule beneath everything here: Adrian doesn’t react to life. He designs it. I stand in the kitchen barefoot, wrapped in one of his shirts again, watching the city slowly brighten through the glass walls. Morning traffic forms silver lines below. The nausea comes softly today, more warning than attack. I breathe through it. The doctor said it was normal. Early weeks. Hormones ad

Lydia POV The first thing I notice is the smell. Coffee. Strong. Bitter. Impossible to ignore. My stomach turns before I even open my eyes. I sit upright too fast, pressing a hand to my mouth as nausea rolls through me in sharp, sudden waves. The room tilts slightly. Morning light cuts through the curtains, too bright, too warm. I breathe slowly. In. Out. It passes after a minute, leaving behind a faint tremor beneath my ribs. Pregnancy suddenly feels less theoretical. I swing my legs off the bed carefully, moving slower than usual. Every motion feels deliberate now, like my body belongs to a different rhythm I haven’t learned yet. By the time I reach the bathroom, Adrian is already awake. Of course he is. He stands near the kitchen island reviewing something on his tablet, suit immaculate despite the early hour. The television murmurs in the background, financial analysts dissecting Hale Global’s decline like vultures circling something not yet dead. He looks up immedi

Adrian POV The markets open twenty minutes early when panic begins. They never admit that publicly, of course. Algorithms don’t panic. Investors don’t panic. Analysts call it “volatility.” But Adrian has watched enough collapses to recognize fear disguised as mathematics. Three Hale-linked stocks dip simultaneously at 8:42 a.m. Not a crash. A tremor. He stands at the window of his office, coffee untouched beside him, watching numbers scroll across the transparent display projected over the glass. Behind him, executives speak in lowered voices. No one interrupts him. They’ve learned quickly. “Sell pressure originating from private holdings,” Daniel says carefully from across the room. “Someone inside Hale is liquidating minor positions.” Adrian doesn’t turn. “Not someone,” he replies calmly. “Marcus.” Daniel hesitates. “You’re certain?” “Yes.” Because panic always begins quietly. Marcus isn’t attacking yet. He’s testing whether the floor beneath him still exists. Adr

Adrian pov The boardroom smells like anticipation disguised as professionalism. Glass walls. Steel edges. Twenty-three seats around a table designed to remind everyone exactly how small they are compared to the company they serve. Hale Global Headquarters. The battlefield Marcus still believes belongs to him. I arrive ten minutes early. Power never rushes. Executives rise automatically as I enter. Some out of respect. Some out of fear. Mostly because markets have already begun choosing sides for them. Screens along the wall display live financial feeds. Hale stock flickers in restless movement, reacting to rumors no one officially confirms. War rarely announces itself. It leaks. I take my seat without greeting anyone. Across the table sits Marcus Hale. He looks tired. Not physically. Strategically. The kind of exhaustion that comes from realizing events are moving faster than control. His gaze meets mine. Hostile. Searching. “You move quickly,” he says. “I move effi

POV: Adrian The announcement goes live at precisely nine o’clock. Not eight fifty-nine. Not nine-oh-one. Precision matters when reshaping a narrative. I stand at the floor-to-ceiling windows of Cole Tower, watching the city wake beneath a gray morning sky. At the same time, the communications team executes the release across every major financial and media platform simultaneously. Press wires. Investor briefings. Legal disclosures. Social channels. Television exclusives. Control is not about noise. It is about timing. Behind me, screens illuminate one by one. COLE INDUSTRIES CONFIRMS SUCCESSION HEIR. MRS. LYDIA COLE IS EXPECTING. MARKETS RESPOND POSITIVELY TO DYNASTIC STABILITY. Exactly as projected. The market opens three minutes later. Cole's stock rises immediately. Hale continues to fall. I watch the numbers without emotion. Outcomes are confirmations, not surprises. “Global pickup confirmed,” Daniel says from across the room, tablet in hand. “Every major out