Semua Bab Divorced At Dawn: The CEO Who Begged Too Late: Bab 1 - Bab 9

The Center of the RoomEveryone was smiling except me.I was the only one who didn’t know my marriage was about to end.Today, Adrian Cole stood at the very peak of a story the country still whispered about in disbelief.At thirty-four, Adrian Cole was the youngest and richest businessman in the nation. A man whose name alone tilted stock markets and silenced boardrooms. A man who rebuilt a collapsing empire in record time, emerging sharper, colder, and more powerful than anyone expected.He was admired. Feared. Mythologized.And tonight, he was celebrated.The Corinthian Grand Hotel glowed like a jewel box split open for public consumption. Crystal chandeliers spilled light across marble floors. Gold-trimmed tables bloomed with white orchids and candles so tall they looked ceremonial. The city’s most powerful figures filled the ballroom board members, investors, media executives, politicians and their wives draped in silk and diamonds. Cameras hovered discreetly along the edges, lens

“Where is it?” Miranda repeated, her voice carrying.The words cut clean through the polite murmur of conversation surrounding Adrian and the investor he was speaking to. Both men turned toward her. The investor’s brows lifted in mild surprise. Adrian’s expression tightened instantly. “What are you doing?” He never believed Miranda would have the courage to ever confront him… in public. “Finishing what you started.” She exclaimed. “Or was humiliating me in front of everyone enough?”The investor cleared his throat, already retreating. “I’ll… give you a moment,” he muttered, stepping away quickly.Adrian didn’t answer her immediately. His eyes swept the space around them, cataloguing the curious glances, the subtle lean-ins, and the cameras hovering just a little too close.Only then did it matter.Without a word, he seized Miranda’s wrist.Not gently.Not violently.With ownership.“Come with me,” he said under his breath.Before she could react, Adrian was already pulling her thro

Adrian Cole did not come home that night.By morning, Miranda Jones understood something worse than abandonment had taken place.He had already moved on.The night dissolved into dawn without him, the hours stretching hollow and impersonal inside the penthouse. The city outside remained awake, restless and indifferent, but Miranda slept. Deeply. Without interruption.It surprised her.Perhaps it was because she had finally laid down the weight she had been carrying alone for three years. The explanations. Patience. The quiet negotiations with a man who treated marriage like a contract with optional clauses.When she woke, there were no tears waiting for her. No panic. No frantic reach for her phone.Only a disciplined calm that felt foreign in her own body.By the time the front door finally opened, the apartment was already awake.Lights glowed softly. Curtains were drawn back just enough to admit the pale grey of early morning. The kitchen carried the faint scent of ginger tea and t

The phone rang just as Miranda settled with her coffee, the sunlight cutting across the living room in sharp, almost cruel lines. She frowned at the display.“Good morning, Mrs. Cole,” said a clipped, overly cheerful voice. “This is Marissa, Adrian’s assistant. I’m calling about this afternoon’s fundraising gala.”Miranda straightened. “What about it?”“Well… Mr. Cole won’t be able to attend. Something urgent has come up. He… he asked that you represent him instead. He insists.”Miranda’s hand tightened around the cup. “He what?”“Attend… on his behalf,” Marissa said nervously. “He didn’t give me the details, only that he expects you there. Dress code, protocol, the works. Everything as if…”“As if I were Adrian Cole’s wife?” Miranda finished, her voice sharp. “Marissa, Adrian would never allow me to go to an event in his stead.”“Well…” Marissa hesitated. “He did say…“I’ll call him myself,” Miranda cut in, her tone final. She ended the call before Marissa could protest and dialed Ad

The moment he confirmed Miranda had left the event venue and had headed home, Adrian drove home like a man possessed.The city blurred past in streaks of red and white as his grip tightened around the steering wheel. He didn’t slow down. He didn’t curse. He didn’t speak.By the time the car slid into the underground parking of the penthouse, whatever fury he carried had hardened into something colder.He entered the apartment without announcing himself.The lights were dim. The faint scent of chamomile hung in the air.Miranda Jones sat curled on the couch, a throw blanket draped around her shoulders. She looked up when she heard his footsteps.“Adrian,” she said quietly.He tossed his jacket aside.“So this is how you do it now?” His voice was sharp. “You go behind my back and involve my family.”Her brows furrowed. “What?”“My father stopped treatment today,” he said flatly. “My mother flew in from Switzerland in a panic. And suddenly, you’re the wounded saint everyone is furious on