Todos os capítulos de No Longer His Convenient Wife: Capítulo 41 - Capítulo 50

Until the night Marisol laughed lightly over dessert and said: “Well, at least Dahlia’s upbringing makes her naturally low-maintenance. That must be refreshing after Sebastian’s usual social circles.” I’d frozen. Sebastian hadn’t looked up from his wine. But Alastair had. “Marisol,” he’d said q

“No?” I turned toward him fully now. “Then why did he?” Sebastian held my gaze for a long second before answering. “Because he likes you.” The bluntness of it startled me. I looked away first. “He barely even likes you,” I muttered quietly before I could stop myself. A short breath left him. No

“For the acquisition to succeed, the Hawthorne and Montclair families must appear publicly aligned.” My fingers curled around my napkin. “Which is why Sebastian and Arabella have been seen together recently.” There it was. Alastair met my eyes. “This arrangement will last until the acquisiti

I stand there. The driver opens her door. She gets in. She doesn’t look back — not once, not even a glance in the window. The car pulls away and the gate closes behind it and I’m standing on my father’s front steps in the dark still holding her divorce papers like an idiot. Then I walk to my car, get in and drive. The papers went on the passenger seat. I didn’t look at them. I turned the radio off after thirty seconds because I couldn’t stand the noise and drove the rest of the way in silence and told myself I wasn’t in a mood. I just needed to get back and work. The hotel suite is exactly as I left it. Of course it is. I pay enough for it to be. I hang the jacket. Parallel on the hanger, not thrown over the chair the way Dahlia used to leave hers. I set my shoes at the closet. I wash my hands at the bathroom sink — once, then again, because the evening involved too many people. I hadn’t gone back to the house. I’d told myself it was practical — the hotel was closer to the

I should not have worn these shoes. That’s the thought running on repeat while I’m standing in what can only be described as a biological crime scene. I am acutely, physically aware of every millimeter of the dirt under my feet but I am not going to look down because looking down is losing and I have already lost enough ground today, literally. The farm looks different in person than it did on my phone screen at one in the morning. A not so bad kind of different. Clayton is still at the safe edge of the mud line. Smart man. Smarter than me, apparently. Her hand is still raised slightly from where I caught her wrist. “Why are you actually here, Sebastian.” Not a question. She never makes it a question. That’s the part that gets under my skin — the way she asks things like she already knows and is giving me a chance to say it myself before she does. “I—We need to talk.” “This is your talking face?” she says. I grit my teeth. “I’m serious.” She tilts her head,