Todos los capítulos de Married to the Devil: Capítulo 81 - Capítulo 90

Tristan’s POVRichard and Mariana were still around. Since Linda moved in, Patricia didn’t feel the need to constantly hover around Abuela. Although Natasha still wasn’t okay with the idea of a bodyguard. He’d resumed yesterday. I mean not like either of us had a choice since the Carlos situation. With her appointment a little over a week, I needed her to be safe. And Abuela… A long breath left me. Waiting for a client, I stood in the center of a penthouse on Brickell Avenue, overlooking Biscayne Bay. Floor-to-ceiling glass showed the bay stretching out under a harsh afternoon sun. The unit was empty except for staging furniture—white couches, long dining table. The owner of the penthouse wanted it gone. Every other firm he hired couldn’t close the deal. I needed to shut this myself.The elevator dinged, opening directly into the private foyer. I turned toward it. A man in his early fifties appeared with a young woman not older than twenty-eight… whatever. “Mr. Castillo.” He grin

Natasha’s POVThe past few days had been dedicated to the penthouse project. Since the last time Tristan told me about it, I’d been working through the 3D renderings, adjusting furniture placement, materials, lighting. He showed the penthouse to me. I had two concepts planned. Somehow, I added one more. I couldn’t finish it. I’d been stressing over every detail, trying to make it perfect. I’d also told Rani about the project. We spent most of our time talking about it. Occasionally discussing how it’d elevate my portfolio for future clients.It was overwhelming. But I wanted it. Surprisingly, Tristan didn’t hover around like the overly obsessed husband that he was.With my next ultrasound appointment a few days away, I didn’t want the project clashing with it. Also, Patricia dragged me into Tristan’s birthday preparations every now and then. The birthday was barely a week and some days away. Richard’s team had brought in the wine from Santa Barbara. Everything was moving. Today wa

Natasha’s POV. Just as I was getting ready for my appointment, Lena’s response came in. I reached for my phone on the dresser. —Skip Spain. Smith said to go full Italian luxury. I told him to add some extra fees… just in case. —Also, I want to move into the penthouse before the winter holidays. Would that be possible?My mind immediately started racing. Would that be possible?They were adding extra fees. Now there was a deadline. Furniture. Home appliances. Logistics. Employees. —Yes. I’d sent the text before I had time to think about what the fuck I’d just done.Her response came in almost immediately. —Alright. Send over the contract and payment details so we can get started. Hold on a minute… I had an actual client. An actual project. Deadline to meet. Decisions I was responsible for. This was truly happening. Tristan stepped into the closet, drying his hair. “I have a job to deliver, Tristan.” My voice was barely above a whisper. “Lena just approved the budget. She sai

Tristan’s POVTRISTAN!!Patricia’s cracked voice ripped through the house. I was already moving before my eyes fully opened. The mattress shifted as Natasha jolted awake beside me. “What’s wrong, Tristan?” she mumbled. “I don’t know.” I yanked on my sweatpants. “I’m about to find out.”I didn’t wait. Downstairs, Richard and Mariana were already hurrying into Abuela’s room. Staff hovered nearby, whispering.I took the stairs two at a time. With every step, the knot in my chest tightened.“Wake up, Abuela,” Patricia choked out. “Please.”Richard was trying to pull Patricia away, but she refused to let go. She shook Abuela’s shoulders hard.“Wake the fuck up, Adelina!” The words tore out of her throat. “Tristan!”I stepped in. “Patricia.”She turned. Her eyes were red. “Tristan, she’s not waking up. Do something.”There was nothing to do. I wrapped my arms around her from behind and pulled. Her fingers stayed locked around Abuela for another long second before finally releasing. She

Natasha’s POVTristan hadn’t shed a single tear since Adelina died, and I was starting to get worried about him. Or maybe he had. I couldn’t possibly know. He stayed in Adelina’s room for the rest of the day after the burial. Every time I checked, he was either seated on the floor or curled up. Even when I asked him to come to our bedroom, he insisted on staying. I couldn’t push him too far. I also couldn’t help but worry. Patricia hadn’t set foot out of her room either. The whole house was grieving, and I felt bad because somehow, I had a project to complete before the winter holiday. Adelina was dead, but Lena had a penthouse to move into. A sharp breath escaped me. I’d been up checking Italian furniture websites and making enquiries about how long their production took. Their lead time is twelve weeks. I didn’t even have ten. I had until November and early December to finish the project. The only way to bypass the waiting list is to be in Milan showrooms in person. Why