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Lahat ng Kabanata ng Betrothed To Six Lovers: Kabanata 101 - Kabanata 110

200 Kabanata

The New Hot Guy

Lila’s P.O.VThe notification came while I was folding laundry on the living-room floor—Shayla’s purple unicorn hoodie, Lucas’s soccer jersey with grass stains that would never come out, Aiden’s tiny dinosaur-print onesie that still smelled faintly of baby shampoo. My phone buzzed once, then kept buzzing, a string of alerts that made me pause mid-fold.I reached for it without thinking.The first headline was from a music blog I’d never heard of: *Lucian Reyes Drops Surprise Acoustic EP – Fans Are Losing It Over “Homecoming” Track*The second was from a bigger outlet: *Lucian Reyes Returns: Six-Week Tour Wraps with Sold-Out Finale, New Music Teases “Personal Renaissance”*The third was a gossip site, because of course it was: *From Heartbreak to Hotness: Lucian Reyes Is Music’s New It Guy – And Yes, He Looks Better Than Ever*I clicked the last one before I could stop myself.There he was.Lucian on stage somewhere in Seattle, mid-set, black T-shirt clinging from sweat, hair longer th

Homecoming That Never Lands

Lila's P.O.VThe first missed call came at 3:12 a.m. on April 7—three days after Lucian’s EP dropped, nine days before the trust deadline, and exactly one week since he’d last promised “soon.”I woke to the phone vibrating itself off the nightstand. The screen glowed in the dark: *Lucian*. I fumbled for it, heart already racing, but the call had gone to voicemail. I sat up, sheets pooling around my waist, listening to the silence of the apartment. Aiden’s soft breathing from the crib. The distant hum of the fridge. No other sound.I played the message.His voice was low, rough from the show he’d just finished.“Lila. It’s me. Just got off stage in Austin. Crowd was… insane. They sang ‘Homecoming’ back to me word for word. I kept looking for you in the front row even though I knew you weren’t there.”A pause. A long one.“I know I said I’d call earlier. Rehearsal ran long, then press, then… I don’t know. I’m sorry. I miss you. I miss the kids. Tell Shayla I’ll bring her that drumstick

Headlines That Bleed Into Home

Lila’s P.O.VThe first headline landed like a stone through a window I’d only just stopped hearing shatter.It was April 19, three days after the trust deadline passed without Ma Felicia’s expected final blow. The council had gone quiet—too quiet—and I’d let myself breathe for approximately forty-eight hours, thinking maybe the storm had blown over. Then my phone started vibrating on the kitchen counter while I was cutting apples for the kids’ lunchboxes.I glanced at the screen.*Breaking: Ethan Whitaker’s Downward Spiral – Ex-Wife Lila Voss at Center of New Rumors*I froze, knife mid-slice.The article was from a mid-tier sports-gossip hybrid site that usually stuck to injury updates and contract drama. Today it had teeth.*Sources close to the former NFL star say Whitaker’s recent stint in rehab was triggered in part by lingering guilt over his failed marriage to Lila Voss, the reclusive heiress who walked away from the Blackwood estate fortune years ago. Insiders claim Whitaker ha

Ethan At The Door

Lila's P.O.VThe knock came at 7:14 p.m. on April 22, two days after Lucian landed and one day before the guardianship hearing.I was in the kitchen rinsing sippy cups when it happened—three soft, deliberate raps. Not the impatient thud of a delivery guy. Not the quick double-tap Mrs. Alvarez used when she brought cookies. This was slower. Hesitant. Familiar in a way that made my stomach drop before my brain caught up.Lucian was in the living room with the kids. Shayla perched on his lap, showing him her latest dragon drawing; Lucas sat cross-legged on the floor demonstrating his new soccer kick (using a rolled-up sock); Aiden was asleep against Lucian’s shoulder. The apartment smelled like mac and cheese and the lavender candle Diane had brought over yesterday to “calm the vibes.”I dried my hands on a dish towel. Walked to the door. Looked through the peephole.Ethan.He stood in the hallway light—gray hoodie, jeans, baseball cap pulled low. No suit. No entourage. No camera-ready s

Three Hours With The Man Who Left

Lila's P.O.VI didn’t sleep.Not really.After Ethan walked away from the door last night, after the kids went back to coloring and pretending the world hadn’t tilted, after Lucian kissed my forehead and said “We’ve got tomorrow” like it was a promise he could keep, I lay in the dark beside Aiden’s crib and stared at the ceiling cracks until they blurred.Every time I closed my eyes I saw Ethan’s face in the hallway light—hollowed out, eyes wet, shoulders hunched like the man who used to fill stadiums had finally learned what it felt like to be small. I hated that I still recognized him. Hated that some stupid, stubborn part of me still remembered the way he used to laugh when Shayla smeared yogurt on his nose, the way he’d carry Lucas around on his shoulders like the kid weighed nothing, the way he’d press his lips to my temple at 2 a.m. when Aiden wouldn’t settle and whisper, “We’re doing this, you and me.”I also remembered the nights he didn’t come home.The mornings he left befor

Ma Felicia’s Silence Breaks

Lila’s P.O.VThe silence lasted exactly nine days after the guardianship hearing.Nine days of nothing.No letters slipped under the door.No couriers in gray jackets.No late-night breathing voicemails.No black town cars idling across the street.No Clara in pearls standing outside the preschool gate with that polite, poisonous smile.Just quiet.The kind of quiet that makes every floorboard creak feel like a warning.Lucian stayed.He canceled the remaining press junkets, told the label he was taking “personal time,” ignored the emails piling up in his inbox. He slept on the pull-out every night, woke up before the kids to make coffee, learned how to braid Shayla’s hair (badly, but she giggled every time), taught Lucas three new chords on an old acoustic he’d brought from storage, held Aiden through two asthma episodes without flinching.He was here.Solid.Warm.Real.And still I woke up every morning waiting for the other shoe.Because Ma Felicia didn’t do quiet unless she was lo

I Rejected Him

Lila's P.O.VThe hearing room still smelled like old varnish and nervous sweat when I walked out of it at 11:47 a.m. on April 23. The judge’s gavel had barely stopped echoing before Ms. Rivera turned to me in the hallway, voice low and urgent.“We won the emergency motion,” she said. “No removal. No temporary guardianship. Felicia’s petition is denied without prejudice—they can refile in sixty days if they think they’ve got new grounds, but right now the kids stay with you.”I nodded once. My throat was too tight for words.Lucian stood beside me, Aiden asleep against his shoulder, Shayla clutching my hand so hard her knuckles were white, Lucas kicking at the scuffed tile like he could kick the whole morning away. We walked out of the courthouse into weak April sunlight that felt like it belonged to someone else’s life.Back home, I locked the door. Chain. Deadbolt. Window latches. Then I sat on the living-room floor with the kids while Lucian made grilled cheese in the kitchen. Shayl

Guilty

Lila's P.O.VEthan didn’t move right away after I said the words.He stood in the hallway outside my door like someone had nailed his shoes to the floor. The bouquet of ranunculus hung limp in his hand, petals already drooping from the heat of his palm. His eyes—those same hazel eyes Shayla had inherited—were glassy, red-rimmed, and fixed on me like I was the last thing tethering him to the earth.I could see it all.The guilt was there, yes—deep, raw, eating him from the inside out. It scorched across his face in the way his mouth trembled, the way his jaw worked like he was chewing on broken glass. Regret carved lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there three years ago. Torture lived in the way he kept swallowing, like every breath hurt. He looked like a man who’d finally woken up inside the wreckage he’d made and realized there was no clean way out.And still I felt nothing clean in return.Not pity. Not relief. Just… recognition.This was what I’d wanted once—to see him feel th

Double Grace

Lila’s P.O.VThe alert came at 7:03 a.m. on April 13—three days before the Blackwood deadline.I was standing at the kitchen counter in socks and Lucian’s old tour hoodie, stirring instant coffee that smelled faintly of burnt rubber, when my phone lit up with the bank notification. I almost ignored it. Deposits had become routine since Damien started paying again: $1,700 on the first, like clockwork. Enough to breathe. Enough to stop checking the balance before every grocery run.This one was different.$3,400.Double.No memo line. No note. Just the numbers staring back at me like they knew something I didn’t.I set the spoon down. Opened the app. Refreshed twice. The amount didn’t change.My first thought was error.My second was trap.I texted Ms. Rivera before the coffee finished brewing.*Damien sent double child support this morning. $3,400 instead of $1,700. No explanation. Should I be worried?*Her reply came in under two minutes.*Not automatically. Double payments aren’t unh

The Day I Went Back To My Heritage

Lila’s P.O.VThree days.Seventy-two hours.They slipped through my fingers like water I couldn’t hold.I woke on the morning of April 16 with the same tightness in my chest I’d carried since the council’s final summons arrived. The apartment still smelled faintly of Lucian’s coffee and the kids’ strawberry shampoo. Shayla was already up, sitting cross-legged on the rug in her pajamas, coloring a dragon with wings that looked suspiciously like guitar strings. Lucas was building a tower out of blocks, muttering about “defending the castle.” Aiden slept on, thumb in mouth, blanket kicked to the foot of the crib.Lucian was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, making pancakes. He’d been up since six, moving quietly so he wouldn’t wake anyone. When he saw me standing in the doorway he set the spatula down and crossed the small space between us.“You okay?” he asked, voice low.“No,” I said. “But I’m ready.”He cupped my face with both hands—warm, steady, calloused from strings and steering

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