Semua Bab Chasing the Wife He couldn't Love: Ex-Husband's Regret: Bab 131 - Bab 140

The Architect stood at the end of the long, gray hallway. He did not look like a monster or a god. He looked like a tired man in a plain suit, holding a silver pen that glowed with a sickening, pale light. Behind him, the walls were covered in thousands of sketches. I saw scenes from my own life on those walls, my childhood, the day I met Bryan, the nights I spent hiding from the Mainframe."You are very persistent, Hazel," the Architect said. His voice was smooth, like oil on water. "Most characters would have given up three versions ago. But here you are, still trying to break the glass.""I am not just a character anymore," I told him, stepping forward. Bryan stayed by my side, his hand tight on his gun. I could feel the golden pen in my pocket. It was still warm, still humming with the energy I had taken from the draft room. "I am the one who finishes the s

The wind tore at my clothes as I dived. The city below was just a blur of neon and concrete, a map of lives I was supposed to have lived but never chose. The girl, my double, was dropping fast, her arms flailing. She looked just like me, but there was no spark in her eyes. She was a hollow shell, a prop the Architect was using to kill me.I reached out, my fingers stretching until they burned. I grabbed her wrist just as we were about to hit the top of a parking garage. The impact knocked the breath out of me, but I didn't let go. I spun her around and slammed us both onto the roof. We slid, scraping against the gravel, until we stopped inches from the edge.She stared at me. She didn't look grateful. She looked annoyed."You ruined the scene," she said. Her voice was flat, like a recorded message. "The script said

I hit the floor hard. My shoulder throbbed, but I forced myself up. Bryan was beside me, his gun already out. This was not the Lagos I knew. The buildings around us were made of flickering glass, and the sky above was a giant screen pulsing with a bright, angry red word: DELETE."What is this place?" Bryan asked. He watched a group of people walking past us. They were moving in a loop, taking three stiff steps, turning left, then three steps back. They were not real people. They were puppets stuck in a broken loop."The recycle bin," I said, my chest tight. "He did not just move us to a new city. He threw us into the trash. This is where he puts characters he is finished with before he wipes them for good."A group of figures in gray suits stepped out from the shadows at the end of the alley. They did not have faces

I stood on the street corner, my hand still gripping the invisible weight of the pen. The air in Lagos felt different now. It was no longer the heavy, fake air of the recycle bin. It was real. I could taste the dust from the road and the sharp scent of exhaust fumes. It was messy, it was loud, and it was perfect.Bryan stood beside me, his eyes wide as he looked around. He touched his face, his arms, then the brick wall of the shop behind us."Is this it?" he asked. "Are we actually here?""We are," I said. My heart felt light, but I kept my guard up. The Architect was not the type to give up. If he wanted to play his game, he would have a plan B.I checked my pocket. The pen was still there. It felt smaller, less like a weapon and more like a tool. But as I pulled it ou

The woman in front of me was a mirror. She wore my clothes, had my hair, and held a pen that looked like it could rewrite the stars. She stood in the middle of the park like she owned the sunlight, the grass, and the very air I was breathing."Who are you?" I asked. My voice felt rough, like I had been silent for years."I am the one who writes the drafts you discard," she said. Her voice was cool, calm, and carried no heat. She did not sound like a villain. She sounded like a colleague. "The Architect was just a project manager. He had no vision. He treated this world like a chore. I, on the other hand, love the mess."I stood up. My knees felt weak, but I didn't let her see me shake. I had already faced the void. I had already watched my world tear apart. What was one more copy of myself?