Lahat ng Kabanata ng No Longer His Convenient Wife: Kabanata 1 - Kabanata 10

Her smile froze. “Wait, what? How did you—” At that moment my empty stomach twisted violently. Nausea surged without warning. I bent forward, covering my mouth, retching dryly as tears pricked my eyes. Arabella stiffened, her anger giving way to uncertainty. Her gaze flicked to my abdomen. “You… what is that?” I swallow hard, forcing the nausea down. “I’m fine,” I manage. “I just get nauseous around things that are particularly fake.” Her face goes red. “You bitch—” "I'm not finished." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "Miss Montclair. Whatever your theories about my relationship with the CEO, they're not your business, and they're not relevant to your work. I don't know what gives you the confidence and what you're hoping to reclaim, but if Mrs. Hawthorne ever learned you were sending suggestive photos to her husband's work email, I think that conversation would go very badly for you. Please be professional and have some self-respect." I picked up my bag. "Also, you sh

Not across from her. Not a respectful distance at the other end of the table. Right beside her, close enough that their shoulders almost touch. Sebastian’s hand presses harder into my lower back, forcing me forward when all I want to do is turn around and walk back out. Arabella looks up and her face lights up with a smile. “Sebastian! We were just talking about you.” Marisol rises from her seat gracefully, kisses Sebastian on both cheeks and then turns to me. “Dahlia. You’re here.” Not hello. Not how are you. “Mother.” I manage. “Marisol, please. We’ve been over this.” She’s already turning back to Arabella. “Bella was just telling me about her time in London. You should hear about the charity gala she organized last spring—it raised over two million pounds in a single night, can you imagine?” Bella. Bella. I stare at Arabella—at Bella—and something clicks into place. Sebastian mentioned Bella once. Maybe twice. His childhood friend. The one who lef

Dahlia I wake up to white ceiling tiles and the smell of antiseptic. My head feels like someone took a hammer to it. When I try to move, sharp pain shoots through my ribs and shoulder and I have to bite back a groan. “Easy there.” A nurse appears beside the bed. “You’re awake. That’s good. Ho

“Let go of me, Sebastian.” Something in her tone makes him release her immediately. She walks past him and closes the door. Behind her she hears him punch the wall—a dull thud followed by a muttered curse. Then the sound of the front door slamming. She slides down to the floor with her back against the door. *** By the time the sun comes up she’s packed everything that’s actually hers into one suitcase. She doesn’t have much here—most of her belongings are things Sebastian bought. The clothes in the closet, the shoes, the jewelry. All of it chosen by stylists and personal shoppers to make her look like she belongs in his world. It takes less than an hour to pack three years of her life into one bag. *** Sebastian returns to the apartment the next morning. He spent the night at the office. Or tried to. Mostly he paced the break room and replayed the fight in his head until his temples throbbed. I want a divorce. Four words and his perfectly controlled life had

Instead she just takes a sip of her tea and says, “I see.” That’s it. Just “I see.” My father reaches over and squeezes my hand. “We’re glad you’re home, sweetheart. Whatever you need, we’re here.” “What are your plans?” my mother asks. “I don’t know yet. I resigned from my position at the company. There wasn’t really a point in staying.” I set my cup down. “I thought maybe I could stay here for a bit. Figure things out.” My mother’s eyes narrow. “Stay here and do what? Hide?” “Mom—“ “I’m asking a genuine question, Dahlia. A divorce is difficult, yes. But is it really enough to make you give up and retreat home with your tail between your legs?” “Anne,” my father warns quietly. “That’s enough. She doesn’t need a lecture right now.” Then she sighs. “Do you remember the summers here?” The subject change throws me. “Of course.” “You loved the vineyard. Used to follow Roberto around asking him a hundred questions.” A small smile touches her lips. “Your father couldn’t k