Todos los capítulos de I Was Written to Be His Forgotten Wife: Capítulo 21 - Capítulo 30

[Lena's POV — Mancini Mansion — Two Days Later — Lena's Bedroom]After leaving the office and returning to the Mancini mansion, I had done exactly what any reasonable person would do after being falsely accused, humiliated, suspended, and practically thrown out of a company.I isolated myself completely. I barely left my bedroom, the only time I stepped into the hallway was when I needed something, and even then, I made sure the corridors were empty.The moment I heard footsteps, I turned around, the moment I heard voices, I went back inside.Marie brought my meals to my room without asking questions, and honestly, she had become my favorite person in the mansion simply because she delivered food without delivering judgment along with it.Lorenzo stared at me whenever our paths accidentally crossed, some of the maids looked at me with undisguised disgust.Isabella...she mostly looked confused and Clara I had barely caught it, barely.A flicker.Something cold and something almost sati

[Vieri's POV — Bedroom — Present]I could have let that night disappear.I should have.It had been nothing more than a drunken moment—Lena had been intoxicated, her words careless, her actions unguarded. There was no reason for me to remember the warmth of her body beneath my hands, the way her fingers had curled around my collar, or the strange softness in her eyes when she had looked at me.And yet, I couldn't forget and that was what irritated me most.I had spent months telling myself that Lena Carter was someone I needed to keep at a distance. Someone I couldn't trust. Someone whose family had been a threat to mine for years.I should have hated her. I should have treated her like a stranger who happened to carry my surname. Instead, I kept finding reasons to look for her.To notice where she was, to wonder what she was doing and now I couldn't even bring myself to let her stay in a separate room.Why?I closed my eyes for a moment before forcing the answer into my mind.Because

[Salvatore’s POV — Alessandro’s Office]The moment Lorenzo and I stepped into my father's office, I knew something was wrong, not because of the silence.Silence was normal in this house.It was the way my father was sitting behind his desk.Alessandro Mancini never looked unsettled. He could hear that one of his companies had lost millions and still sit there as though he were discussing the weather. He had built the Mancini empire by learning how to remain calm when everyone else was losing their minds.But tonight, there was something different in his expression, his hands were resting on the desk.A file lay open in front of him and beside it sat a laptop. Lorenzo walked in first, his usual amusement already gone. I followed him, closing the door behind us.“What happened?” I asked.Father didn't answer immediately, his eyes moved from Lorenzo to me, then to the file. Finally, he said quietly, “Sit.”I remained standing for a moment, something inside me tightened. I had spent the

[Luceille’s POV — The Night Before the Trial]The room had never felt this large before.I sat at the edge of the bed with my hands folded loosely in my lap, staring at the dress hanging in front of me. Someone had placed it there earlier in the evening, telling me that I would need to wear it tomorrow. It was a simple black dress, modest and severe, the kind of clothing chosen for someone who was expected to stand before a judge and accept the consequences of her actions.Except I hadn't done anything.At least, that was what I kept telling myself.I looked down at my hands and slowly turned them over. They were perfectly clean. No blood. No evidence. Nothing that could explain how a few pieces of paper and a computer had somehow become powerful enough to destroy what remained of my life.Tomorrow, I would stand before them again.I knew how it would go.They would bring out the documents. They would show the records from my laptop. They would explain that my credentials had been use

[Luceille’s POV — The Mancini Mansion]For several minutes, I followed Salvatore through the corridor without saying a word. His hand remained wrapped around mine, warm and firm, and every few steps I found myself glancing down at our joined hands as though I expected them to disappear if I looked away for too long. I couldn't remember the last time someone had held my hand while standing against the people who wanted to hurt me. Perhaps I had never experienced it at all.When we reached the staircase, Salvatore finally stopped and turned toward me. I nearly walked into him, but he caught my other hand before I could stumble. His eyebrows drew together as he looked at my face, and I instinctively lowered my head, hoping he hadn't noticed how close I was to crying.“Are you going to keep looking at the floor?” he asked.I raised my eyes. “I'm looking at your hand.”He glanced down, apparently realizing that he was still holding mine. His fingers loosened, but before he could release me