Todos os capítulos de Accidentally Slept with My Ex-Boyfriend's Father: Capítulo 41 - Capítulo 50

Emily's POV"I won't let my child go through what I went through," I whispered to the cold bathroom walls. My voice was just a breath, muffled by the constant noise of water hitting the floor. "They will have all the love in the world, even if it means accepting certain conditions. Even if I have to face hell."I got out of the shower and the silence in the apartment was so heavy it seemed to press against my ears. Nathalie was in the kitchen, her back to me. She was stirring a cup of coffee with a metal spoon. The sound was annoying. A sharp, repetitive, rhythmic clink. Clink. Clink. Clink. It sounded like a timer marking our remaining time."I'm going to work," I said, breaking the trance. I grabbed my bag and the camera strap, feeling the weight of the equipment on my shoulder. "Sebastian is waiting for me at the studio.""Emily…" She turned slowly. The cup was still in her hand, but she wasn't drinking. "You're not in any condition to walk around alone. Look at your hands, they

Emily's POV "Chloe…""I know. It's crazy. But my parents don't accept that I'm happy alone." She clasped her hands on the table. "They think a woman is only complete when she has a husband. Or at least a girlfriend. Someone who validates her.""Why me?""Because you – Emily, sorry – were the only person in this studio who defended me. Who didn't let me fall." Her voice broke. "And because you seem as lost as I am. Maybe that way we can find ourselves."I looked at her. At her tired face, at her teary eyes, at her trembling hands."I don't know…""You don't have to do anything more. Just smile. Eat. Pretend you like me." She paused. "Please. I don't want to go through this alone."The grey car came back. The woman with sunglasses. The scarf on her head. My life was falling apart. Arthur had left. Marcus could come back. Nathalie smelled like a man. And I was there, in a studio cafeteria, looking at a beautiful model who was asking me to pretend we were girlfriends."Okay.""Okay?""I

Emily's POVI couldn't move. My legs were frozen. My mouth was dry. The floor seemed to disappear beneath my feet, like the ground had turned to sand and I was sinking slowly, helplessly, into the darkness."Your husband…" I began, but she cut me off."My husband?" She laughed again. The sound was metallic, cold, echoing off the bare walls of my tiny apartment. "This is not about Arthur."The world stopped.I looked at her. At her cold eyes, at her rigid posture, at the cruel smile playing on her lips. She was beautiful in the way a razor blade is beautiful, sharp, dangerous, capable of cutting deep without you even noticing."Then what is it about?"She didn't answer. She just looked at me. The silence between us was absolute, heavy, suffocating. I could hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears, could feel the sweat forming on the palms of my hands.She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out her phone. Her movements were slow, deliberate, like a cat playing with a mouse befor

Arthur's POV I walked for two blocks before the rage caught up with me. Not the cold, controlled anger I was used to. This was different. Hot. Blind. Primitive. It clawed at my chest, crawled up my throat, burned behind my eyes. I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. People swerved around me, cursing under their breaths. I didn't hear them. All I could see was Peterson's hand on Nathalie's chin. His lips on hers. The way she looked at him like he was her whole world. She was supposed to be Emily's friend. Emily's only friend. The one person who had stood by her when everyone else had abandoned her. And she was sleeping with him. I turned around and walked back. The café door slammed against the wall when I pushed it open. Heads turned. Conversations stopped. Waiters froze mid-step. I didn't care. My eyes found Peterson immediately. He was standing by the table, his jacket already back on, his phone in his hand. He looked up. His face went pale. "Arthur…" I walked to

Emily's POV The sound of the smartphone shattering against the Persian rug was the most deafening noise I have ever heard in my entire life.It wasn't just the dry crash of glass splintering, plastic tearing, metal bending. It was the sound of an entire reality being broken into pieces too small to ever be glued back together.Chloe's father, Mr. Miller, didn't move. He remained seated in the burgundy leather armchair, his body leaning forward, his eyes fixed on the exact spot where the phone had landed.His fingers still held the pincer position, frozen in the air, as if the shock had paralyzed his nerves before the information could even reach his brain.His jaw was so tense that the tendons in his neck bulged like steel cables under his tanned skin. His eyes, brown and hard as river stones, didn't blink a single time.Her mother, on the other hand, seemed to have forgotten how to breathe. The porcelain teacup trembled in her hand, the amber liquid of the tea overflowing in small,