All Chapters of Betrothed To Six Lovers: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

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

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

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

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

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