Lahat ng Kabanata ng THE WIFE HE THREW AWAY: My ex-husband's regret : Kabanata 21 - Kabanata 30

LEILAThe click of the deadbolt sliding into place echoed through the quiet of my hotel suite, a sharp mark that ended his presence in my room. I leaned my back against the wood, my hands flat against the paneling as I forced my breathing to slow down. The faint scent of his sandalwood cologne still clung to the fabric of my wool dress, a suffocating reminder of the uninvited entitlement he had carried across my threshold. I didn't waste a single second weeping in his shadow. That woman was dead. Karl thought his data-theft injunction had reduced me to a baseline victim. He believed he could starve me into submission until I crawled back to the penthouse. But that would never happen. The six million was the metric of my labor, and I intended to get it back. ---The next morning, the creative tier of the G3 Group headquarters welcomed me with a calm, disciplined efficiency. The tower was a landscape of matte charcoal slate and structural glass, but the atmosphere inside carried a p

LEILAFor three consecutive days, George’s secretary had relayed an invitation to lunch. And for those three days, I had declined. I didn't want the routine of my contract to bleed into personal dependency, and I didn't want the security detail outside my terminal to look like anything more than a legal guard. I sat behind my ergonomic terminal on the open design floor, my fingers tracking the geometry across the glass workspace. Around me, the low hum of the G3 Group functioned with an unhurried, collective efficiency, the early daylight casting sharp gold reflections across the matte charcoal slate floor and the glass partitions. "You should go, Leila," Doreen murmured, leaning her hip against the cedar acoustic slat separating our tiers. She held a stack of digital reference sheets against her blazer, her sharp grey eyes carrying a genuine, warm smile. "Everyone across this department would spend a year's bonuses to get a single invite to the top tier. Access to George Hawthorn

LEILAI dragged my fingertips across the glowing display of my docking station, sliding the transparent layout films back into their designated leather sleeve. The cool blue luminescence of my terminal was the only sharp thing left in my partitioned workspace. Outside my glass barrier, the afternoon sun had already stood behind the skyscrapers, casting long, dull copper lines across the matte charcoal slate of the open design floor. "Well?" Doreen’s voice rose pitched perfectly beneath the acoustic cedar slats.“Aren't you going to tell me about your lunch?" She leaned her shoulder against the titanium partition frame, her sharp grey eyes carrying an unhurried, knowing smile as she watched me secure my stylus into my portfolio bag. "Nothing much," I said, forcing my tone into a level, casual register as I zipped the leather shut. "We just had.. It was just lunch, Doreen."Doreen didn't accept the deflection. She let

LEILAI stepped onto the white marble floorboards, my hands automatically adjusting the shoulder strap of my portfolio bag as I found an empty seat near the center of the glass-and-steel terminal table. Around me, the senior global directors and G3 Group design assets were already pulling up active data blocks, their attention locked entirely onto the massive projection display at the front center of the room.George sat at the head of the long table, his broad frame completely relaxed beneath his immaculate grey shirt, his sharp features an unreadable slate of stone as he clicked the master interface. "The Western Market Expansion project requires a complete structural override," George announced, his deep baritone carrying an absolute, level authority that cut straight through the quiet hum of the monitors. "We have initiated a counter-proposal that completely targets the Hawthorne Group’s current filings. The corporate registry needs a primar

LEILAA gentle, steady pressure on my right forearm pulled me out of a heavy, blank sleep. "Leila. You're still here?" I forced my eyelids open, a sharp, localized knot of tension locking up the right side of my neck from having fallen asleep entirely upright in my desk chair. My vision blurred for a second before focusing on the broad silhouette standing directly over my terminal, his frame cut sharply against the pale blue luminescence of the monitor screen. The creative tier around us was completely hollow, the long rows of glass workspaces dark and silent beneath the high ceiling."George," I muttered, my voice rough and dry from the air filtration. I sat back, lifting my palms from the cool surface of the desk blotter. I had stayed back after five o'clock to finish the layout revisions on the Western Market Expansion proposal, a deliberate choice following his public announcement on the corporate network.