Все главы The Wrong Wife for Mr Whitmore: Pregnant, Divorced, Reclaime: Глава 71 - Глава 80

FELIX’S POINT OF VIEW.“Unfortunately, Julian...” The words died on my tongue because if I finished that sentence, my mother would cry again. And I hated that. I hated seeing tears in her eyes almost as much as I hated seeing that man standing beside her.Julian’s jaw tightened, and for a second, I thought he would abandon her side to hit me again. Instead, he straightened the sleeves of his suit and smiled. His lips actually pulled into a fucking smile.The bastard “Go to your room, Felix….lock yourself in that dark coven like you always do.” I didn’t know when a laugh escaped me. The sound came out like that of a rickety engine that puffed out black smoke. He wasn’t funny; he certainly wasn’tNothing about this family could make me laugh like that. I had to laugh, because if I didn’t, I would storm back there and I wouldn’t stop. I turned away before my hands would itch to cause more carnage to his face, and aimed for my room instead.The one place the chaos from the famous Whitmor

FELIX’S POINT OF VIEW.The problem with anticipation was that nobody ever talked about how annoying it was, or how it robbed the most sane human beings of sleep. I stared at the ceiling of my art studio, one arm tucked underneath my head while the other rested over my stomach. The giant portrait stood against the opposite wall, illuminated by the soft glow of a lamp. Hazel eyes stared back at me, both from the painting and the color on my mind. My phone rested on my chest; I told myself I wasn’t waiting for another message, that I just lay here, eyes wide open, after four hours.Waiting in the dead of night, while it was exactly four in the morning, like a night owl, like a nocturnal creature, but it was a lie. A terrible, foolish oneAnd the worst part was that I knew it.My gaze flickered to the clock on my bedside table. It was now 4:13 AM. A groan escaped me as I grabbed my phone and turned it on. The what remained exactly as I’d left it; the last message stared back at me.‘Kil

FELIX’S POINT OF VIEW. I knew beautiful women; I knew how to react around them, too. My mother, Estella, was the perfect picture of beauty to me, as was my sister and my grandmother before she died. But the thing with beautiful women was that nobody warns you so that you know they could destroy your ability to function. They didn’t need weapons to do it, nor did their words matter. Just by sitting beside me, Genevieve Carlyle had rendered my tongue and the entire right side of my body useless. For exactly three minutes and twenty-seven seconds, she’d been seated next to me, and I couldn’t focus. I wasn’t counting or anything … I absolutely wasn’t.It’s just that the usually too vast classroom fit to occupy at least a hundred people, but focused only on the top twelve richest students and a single scholarship girl, quickly felt too small. Nobody besides the professor spoke, but everything felt too loud. The scent of books with a soft vanilla essence and fresh paper drifted from

GENEVIEVE’S POINT OF VIEW.My squeak echoed through the vast art room as I spun around, the white cloth I’d been holding slipped from my fingers and fluttered back over the painting slowly. Felix Whitmore stood in the direst, his gaze entirely on me. For a terrifying second, neither of us moved. The afternoon sunlight streamed through the large windows behind him, casting long shadows across the marble floor. His dark uniform jacket hung open, his sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, revealing the veins that lined them.I could see a stream of red paint that coated the fingers of his right hand as he remained at the door.Like his feet were firmly planted thereSilvery grey eyes fixed on mine with patience, causing my heartbeat to forget how to function instantly.“I…” I winced at the crack in my voice. Perhaps it was his presence, and the way it seemed to soak the entire dark art space, or the way his silvery grey eyes trained on me without glancing at another place, but my voice

FELIX’S POINT OF VIEW.It should have scared me; the way my eyes stayed hooked to her, but I didn’t dare look away. I couldn’t help but notice that she talked with her hands, and that time seemed to stop existing around her. One moment, we were standing awkwardly inside this abandoned art room, surrounded and filled with paintings that no one cared about besides me, and the next, I could see that the sun had shifted across the windows.It was quickly turning darker, but somehow, we were still talking.“And that’s how I got banned from our local library.” She finished, her cheeks flushed from how intensely she told the story. Her black, perfectly trimmed brows furrowed, her hazel eyes shining with what looked like wonder but still with irritation, probably from the story, her arms folded as she sulked.I couldn’t help but blink. “What?” She stared at me for a moment, then burst into short bursts of laughter; my deep-throated ones followed. The sound echoed around the room and into my