جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 50

*Alex's POV*I sat at the edge of the sleek, polished conference table, the hum of fluorescent lights above making the silence feel louder than it should.Files were stacked neatly in front of me—projects, contracts, architectural plans—but my fingers drummed against the wood like restless thoughts.My suit was immaculate, cufflinks catching the sterile light, but inside, I felt frayed, unraveling.Evelyn hadn’t come home in days. She didn’t send a text, not even a call. The apartment—our apartment—was quiet, like a coffin without even the memory of laughter to soften it.And somehow, the absence wasn’t just the empty space in the bedroom; it was everywhere, lingering in the scent of her perfume that still clung faintly to the pillow, in the untouched wine glass sitting by the counter.I rubbed my temple and exhaled slowly. I needed to work. Anything to drown the ache of knowing that while I poured myself into plans for towers, complexes, property developments… she was out there, brea

*Alex's POV*My shoes clicked against the marble floor of the penthouse hallway, each step echoing a heartbeat I couldn’t quiet. I stopped outside the study door, hands gripping the frame, knuckles white.The apartment was still, the kind of quiet that smelled like secrets and old perfumes.I could hear her before I even opened the door. Her laughter, soft, casual, a sound that should have been comforting once, but now twisted like a knife in my chest.I wanted to scream. To demand answers. To make her care, even if just a little.I pushed the door open.She was there, lounging against the corner of the desk, legs crossed, coffee in hand, hair falling in careless waves over one shoulder. She looked impossibly serene and unbothered.“Alex,” she said lightly, not even glancing up. “You look tense.”I didn’t respond immediately. My eyes roamed over her, taking in the curve of her neck, the slight tilt of her chin, the way she always carried herself as if the world revolved around her. An

*Bella's POV* The morning sun spilled lazily through the thin curtains, painting gold on the edges of my small living room. The place smelled faintly of baby lotion, warm milk, and something sweet Clara had burned on the stove earlier, pancakes, probably. I sat cross-legged on the couch, my hair pulled up into a messy bun that kept slipping loose. My phone rested in my hand, thumb hovering over a name I hadn’t pressed in weeks. Maybe months. My little sister had called a few times and texted. Then stopped when I never responded. Now, even seeing her name made my stomach tighten. “You’re thinking about calling her, aren’t you?” Clara asked from the floor, where she was surrounded by tiny chaos—blocks, stuffed bears, and four toddlers crawling in every direction. I didn’t answer. I just smiled faintly and reached to fix one of Evie’s tiny bows. “She’ll probably scold me for disappearing again.” “Good,” Clara said. “You deserve it. You ghost people too much.” “I don’t ghos

*Bella's POV* A few years later..... The hall shimmered with noise—cheers, laughter, the shuffle of feet against the polished floor. It smelled faintly of flowers and paper programs, of too many perfumes and the nervous electricity of endings that also felt like beginnings. I adjusted my cap for what felt like the hundredth time. It still leaned crooked, no matter how many times I fixed it. “Hold still, or I’ll glue it to your head,” Clara said, snickering as she straightened the tassel. “You wouldn’t dare.” “Oh, I would. You’re lucky the kids are watching.” I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling. I hadn’t realized until that moment how long it had been since I’d felt something light—something easy. Down the aisle, the children waved wildly when they saw me. Four pairs of tiny hands, all waving like flags in the wind. Clara sat between them, her hair gleaming under the lights, laughing at something Daniel had said. He was there too. Of course he was. He stood out, s

*Bella's POV* The living room smelled faintly of vanilla and the soft spice of Daniel’s cologne. I sat perched on the edge of the sofa with a notebook spread across my knees, tapping my pen against the page as though the right name might appear if I waited long enough. Every few seconds, I wrote something down, stared at it, then crossed it out. Upstairs, the children were finally asleep. The apartment had settled into that rare kind of quiet that only arrives after bedtime, when the last toy has been picked up, the last glass of water requested, and the last sleepy protest whispered from beneath the blankets. Their breathing drifted faintly through the hallway. For once, nobody needed anything from me. Clara lounged on the carpet with a glass of wine balanced loosely in her hand. The floor lamp cast a warm glow over her face, illuminating the familiar mischief in her eyes. Across from me, Daniel sat with his elbows resting on his knees watching me. “So,” Clara said, tipping