All Chapters of No Longer His Convenient Wife: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

I shoved my way out of the hall, got in my truck, and drove straight to Sienna’s. She lived in a small apartment above a bakery on Main Street just her and that massive orange tabby she’d rescued from the shelter and named Dump Truck because he knocked over everything he touched. Sienna had moved into this apartment right after dental school. Her parents—both doctors who’d wanted her to go into medicine like them and her father had been less than thrilled when she’d chosen dentistry instead. They lived about 30 minutes away though, in a house twice the size of this entire building, and visited maybe once a year if Sienna was lucky. She didn’t talk about them much. I’d known her long enough to read between the lines. The whole place smelled like bread and sugar and her landlord was constantly giving her free pastries because Sienna had fixed her grandson’s cavity for free last year. I knocked. The door swung open, and Dump Truck launched itself at my legs purring loudl

You build a life where no one has that kind of access, and you don’t have to deal with the aftermath when they walk away. Because the second the scales tipped, they left. Everyone left eventually. The difference was I hated the loss of control that came with it. Mornings are the only part of the day that don’t feel completely out of control. They’re quiet, no people and no external interruptions. Just me and a set of things that go exactly how they’re supposed to. I wake up before my alarm most days. Not rested—just… done trying to sleep. The sheets are always smooth with no creases or weight on the other side of the bed. I don’t look there anymore. I get up, head straight to the bathroom, and turn the shower on hotter than necessary. When I step out, I used the towel once then drop it in the hamper to be sent to laundry. My clothes were separated into categories: Not by color or brand but by where it’s been. Clothes that haven’t left the house. Clothes for the o

“They’re heirloom varieties.” “The exhibition won’t care.” My hands curled into fists. “They’re high quality produce.” “Quality isn’t the same as competitive.” He straightened, brushing invisible dirt from his sleeve. “The exhibition judges volume, variety, presentation, and consistency. You’re l

Dahlia River became my lookout. Not in an obvious way—he was too smart for that. But he was always right where I am. Close enough to notice if something went wrong. The morning after the porch conversation, he showed up like it was just another day, dropped a cardboard box into my hands, and s

Sebastian I don’t lose guard like that. Not in boardrooms, not during negotiations and definitely not because of a damn bird. And yet— I was staring at the tiny red mark on my hand where that demon bird had attacked me, and tried to remember the last time I’d been pecked by livestock. Never.