Todos os capítulos de A Second Chance with My Husband in the Past: Capítulo 141 - Capítulo 150

Howard walked toward her, his footsteps soft on the kitchen tile."I... I was just... trying to find ingredients," she stammered, her cheeks flushing pink.He smiled, arching a brow. "Ingredients... for what?"​She took a breath, finally spilling it. "I'm hungry. I didn't want to disturb anyone, so I thought I'd cook something for myself."Howard stopped right in front of her, his eyes locking onto hers with that steady gaze that always made her heart skip. "What do you want to cook?""Cheese pasta, I think," she said, shrugging like it was no big deal, though her stomach growled loud enough to back her up.He nodded. "Let me call Maria."He turned to go, but she reached out quick, her hand landing flat on his back. He froze."Don't," she said firmly. "They work all day. Maids are human too. Let's not disturb them."Howard turned back, his expression a mix of amusement and something warmer, deeper. "So what will you do?"She grinned, the tension breaking like a bubble. "Let's find it

"Where are we going, Howard?" Charlotte asked. They were both in the car, and he was driving with a secretive smile tugging at his lips."You'll know soon," he replied, his voice low and teasing.Charlotte sat quietly, her fingers drumming lightly on the armrest. She'd taken the day off from the hospital just for this.The car rolled to a smooth halt in front of the sprawling mansion, its grand facade glowing under the late afternoon sun like a page ripped from a Southern gothic tale. Towering columns flanked the entrance, ivy clinging to the stone walls as if whispering secrets of old money and hidden deals. Charlotte's heart skipped as she peered through the windshield, the engine's hum fading into silence."Whose mansion is this?" she asked, her voice laced with equal parts curiosity and unease.Howard cut the ignition, his eyes gleaming with that familiar spark of mischief. "Luciano and Natalie Morris."Charlotte turned to him, brows furrowing. "Why are we here?""Natalie is the o

The gallery thrummed with anticipation, a converted warehouse reborn as a temple of creativity. White walls soared, spotlit canvases pulsed with color—bold graffiti evolutions in electric blues and fiery reds, abstract forms twisting like captured dreams. Guests in chic attire mingled, champagne flutes clinking amid murmurs of awe.Charlotte and Natalie had transformed en route, slipping into their bounty: Natalie in emerald silk that hugged her curves like a lover's whisper, diamonds at her throat; Charlotte radiant in a sapphire sheath, gold cuffs gleaming, heels lending her stride a confident sway. Heads turned as they entered, the air scented with fresh paint and possibility."Isn't it magic?" Natalie breathed, guiding Charlotte through the crowd. "Every piece tells a story."Charlotte's breath caught before a massive mural, strokes raw and revolutionary. "It's alive—like the city's heartbeat on canvas."Natalie beamed, waving over a lean man in tailored black, tattoos peeking fro

The hospital ward hummed with beeps and whispers, but in Max's room, storm clouds gathered. The nine-year-old sat rigid in his bed, arms crossed defiantly, pills scattered like fallen soldiers on his tray. "No medicine!" he shouted at the nurse, eyes blazing with a nine-year-old's fierce conviction. "Call Daisy! Only Daisy!"The nurse sighed, knocking softly on Charlotte's office door down the hall. Though not pediatric cardiology, Charlotte was Max's anchor—the one voice that pierced his walls. She rose without hesitation, scrubs crisp, stethoscope swinging like a lifeline.Inside the room, Max spotted her and scowled deeper, cheeks streaked from tears, his lanky frame tense under the thin blanket. "You lied again! Every time I ask for Daisy, you say, 'Soon!' I don't trust you anymore. I don't want to see you—go away!"Charlotte's heart twisted—she couldn't shatter him with the truth: Daisy lay comatose. She met his glare with steady calm. "Max, honey, I'm so sorry it hurts. I hate s

Jeremy slunk into the dimly lit back booth of a nondescript diner on the city's edge, the kind of place where fluorescent lights buzzed like trapped flies and the air hung heavy with grease and forgotten dreams. He'd texted Anastasia the moment he slipped away from the hospital shadows, his knuckles still raw from clenching in fury. She arrived minutes later, her designer coat draped over one arm, blonde waves pulled into a severe ponytail that sharpened her already lethal features. Her eyes scanned the room like a predator's before locking on him, and she slid into the booth opposite, nails drumming an impatient rhythm on the scarred Formica table."Talk," she hissed, her voice low and edged with ice, leaning forward so close he could smell her expensive perfume—jasmine laced with venom. "You said it was urgent. What the hell happened after the truck missed? Don't waste my time, Jeremy."He leaned in too, elbows planted, his rumpled jacket straining at the seams. A smirk tugged at hi