Todos os capítulos de The Rejected Wife's Secret Empire: Capítulo 21 - Capítulo 30

Three hours. That is exactly how long Aryan sat on the grease-stained concrete of the underground garage.The freezing temperature had entirely seeped into his bones, making his teeth chatter in a violent, uncontrollable rhythm. The cheap paper towels wrapped around his palms had dried into stiff, dark red casts. The throbbing pain in his hands was a constant, blinding pulse, but it was nothing compared to the gnawing, hollow ache in his empty stomach.He had dozed off for a few minutes, his head resting against the cold pillar, dreaming of a warm bed and his mother’s voice. But the sharp, rhythmic clicking of high heels abruptly dragged him back to his nightmare.Aryan snapped his eyes open.Kiara walked out of the VIP elevator. She looked exactly as she had three hours ago—flawless, radiant, and completely untouched by the brutal reality of the night. A few hotel staff members trailed behind her at a respectful distance, ensuring her path was clear.Aryan desperately pushed himself

The rusted ironing board in the laundry annex wobbled dangerously under the weight of Aryan’s pressing hands.Steam hissed violently from the heavy iron, hitting his face, but he didn't blink. He was too focused on not ruining his only uniform. Every time he gripped the plastic handle, the fresh scabs on his palms stretched and screamed in protest. He had no breakfast. His stomach was a hollow, echoing cavern, making him feel lightheaded and dizzy.He put the stiff, slightly damp jacket back on. It felt like a straightjacket.By 6:45 AM, he was standing by the Bentley. The morning air was freezing, but he stood completely rigid, staring straight ahead.Kiara emerged from the front doors, walking past him without a single glance. Aryan opened the rear door, closed it behind her, and got into the driver's seat. He pressed the ignition."Nexa Corporation headquarters," she commanded from the back.Aryan gripped the steering wheel. Nexa. The company Rajeev and Kiara were discussing yester

The heavy fire door slammed shut, cutting off the quiet luxury of Vikram’s boardroom. The freight stairwell was a raw, unpainted concrete tube meant only for maintenance crews. It smelled heavily of stale dust and complete neglect. The only light came from flickering, cheap fluorescent tubes bolted to the ceiling.Aryan stood frozen on the fiftieth-floor landing. In his arms, he held the first of four archive boxes. It was punishingly heavy, packed to the brim with dense legal ledgers and corporate history. The stiff cardboard edge pressed brutally against his chest.But the real agony was in his hands.The fresh scabs from last night's shattered champagne glasses ripped open the moment he lifted the box. The cheap paper towels he had hastily wrapped around his palms were already soaked. He could physically feel the slick slide of his own blood pooling inside the bandages, seeping into the brown cardboard. Every microscopic movement sent a blinding shock of pain straight up his forear

Aryan stared at the scattered duck confit on the wet asphalt. His stomach gave a violent, painful lurch. For one horrifying, pathetic second, the primal urge to drop to his knees and scrape the ruined food into his mouth overpowered every rational thought in his brain. He was a starving animal, and the rich smell of the truffle sauce and roasted potatoes was intoxicating.But then he saw the toe of Kiara’s designer heel tapping impatiently against the concrete just a few feet away. She was waiting for him to break. She wanted to see him abandon the last microscopic shred of his human dignity and eat from the gutter.He squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing the thick, humiliating bile in his dry throat. He dropped to his knees, but not to eat. With his ruined, trembling hands, he scooped up the cold meat, the gravel, and the dirty puddle water. He threw the wet mess into the rotting industrial dumpster. He wiped his hands on his already ruined trousers, pushing himself up slowly."The car

The heavy silence of the kitchen pressed down on Aryan like a physical weight. The soft hum of the stainless-steel refrigerator was the only sound, a stark contrast to his frantic heartbeat. He stared at the trash can where the stale piece of bread lay amidst discarded vegetable peels. His stomach cramped so aggressively he had to grip the cold granite counter just to stay upright.If you are hungry, you ask for permission. And my answer is no.Kiara’s words echoed relentlessly, each syllable a razor blade slicing through whatever was left of his pride. He forced his eyes away from the trash. He couldn't break down now. The microwave clock glared: 5:45 AM. He had exactly fifteen minutes to brew her perfect cup of espresso.Aryan moved toward the machine. His hands, wrapped tightly in makeshift, bleach-stained rags, trembled violently as he reached for the grinder. The coarse rags rubbed painfully against the clotted lacerations on his palms. He hissed sharply, biting down on his lower