Semua Bab Nothing But Pretend: Bab 11 - Bab 20

The next morning.Claire finishes her makeup carefully, unhurried, as if today is no different from any other important occasion. She chooses her clothes with intention—nothing loud, nothing careless. When she opens the door and steps into the hallway, the door across from hers opens at the same time.Ethan stands there in a tailored suit.He looks sharp. Controlled. Immaculate, the way he always does.And yet—up close, the details give him away.Bloodshot eyes. Faint dark circles beneath them. A pallor that no amount of grooming can hide. He looks like someone who didn't sleep. Or someone who tried and failed.Claire, on the other hand, looks radiant.Her skin glows. Her posture is relaxed. She looks alive, like a flower in full bloom, unapologetic in her color and presence.Ethan freezes for half a second.Has she always been this beautiful?The thought catches him off guard. It's absurd. He's seen her every day for three years. And yet, standing here now, something feels unfamiliar

The Lowe estate is unusually busy.Tonight's banquet is not a celebration, but everyone knows it marks the end of something long and brutal.And the beginning of something new.When Madam Lowe sees the man standing in the living room, she collapses.Moments later, in the upstairs bedroom, she wakes with a sharp gasp, fingers clutching the bedsheets—until they close around a familiar hand.Her eldest son."Julian..." Her voice breaks instantly. Tears spill without restraint. "My son. My precious son. Do you know how much I cried for you? Do you know how much my heart hurt?"She reaches up, trembling, touching his face again and again as if afraid he might vanish. "You've lost so much weight. You must have suffered. But you're home now. You're home. Mommy will take care of you again."Julian watches her quietly.There is pain in his eyes, but also restraint. He squeezes her hand gently. "Mom. Please don't cry. Everything's over now."Julian exhales slowly and pats her back.But her tear

The car is quiet.Claire and Ethan sit side by side in the back seat, neither of them speaking.The driver grips the steering wheel, pretending very hard to focus on the road.Behind them, another car pulls out at speed, taking a different road. The man gripping that steering wheel is Julian.For the first time the night, he feels like he can breathe. He has finally shaken off his mother. His sister. The endless questions. The watchful eyes.Even though he saw Irene just yesterday, the hours apart feel unbearable. The longing claws at him, restless and relentless.Some lovers reunite.But some barely survive sharing the same space.---Ever since that night—since Ethan said he would "try"—he actually starts trying.He asks Margaret about Claire. What she likes. What she eats.Margaret answers eagerly, eyes shining, wiping tears with the corner of her apron, "you have finally figured it out," she says, emotional."Madam likes freshly baked bread—soft ones, all flavors. She likes cilant

Lucas ultimately doesn't take Claire home with him. Not because he changes his mind, but because reality interrupts before the argument can reach its end.The call comes suddenly. Ethan's grandfather collapses and is rushed to the hospital.In that instant, everything else becomes irrelevant.The tension from breakfast. The unspoken divorce. The unresolved resentment between husband and wife. None of it matters anymore. Claire and Ethan leave together without discussion, their earlier confrontation suspended by something heavier, something neither of them dares to ignore.Seventy-eight years old.An age meant for slow mornings and quiet routines, not fluorescent hospital lights and emergency monitors. Yet the old man has carried the family for far too long—corporate battles, family conflicts, grandchildren who refuse to behave.Just as Ethan said.He wasn't strong anymore. He was forcing himself to endure. Any negligence could cost him his life.The entire Lowe family gathers in the w

Ethan catches a cold the next day.It's mild, barely worth mentioning, but it irritates him anyway. He has always taken pride in his body. Discipline, routine, control. He eats on schedule, trains regularly, has a nutritionist monitoring everything. He doesn't get sick. At least, he isn't supposed to.At breakfast, the table is set with the usual carefully planned dishes prepared by the nutritionist. But there's something new among them—one plate that doesn't quite fit the pattern. Ethan made it himself early that morning, following a recipe he'd memorized the night before.He doesn't say anything about it.He sits across from Claire, posture composed, expression neutral. When she reaches for the dish with her chopsticks, tastes it, and gives a small nod—as if genuinely approving—something in Ethan's chest loosens without warning.The sensation is subtle but unmistakable. His mood lifts, just a fraction.Claire notices him coughing a few times and frowns slightly. "You don't sound gre