CHAPTER 151

ANABEL’S POV The black dress was the only one I owned that didn’t look like it belonged to a secretary or a waitress. I stood in front of Chloe’s bedroom mirror, smoothing the fabric over my hips for the fifth time, trying to convince myself I looked like someone who belonged at a funeral for one of the most powerful men in the country. My hair was pinned back, my makeup was light, and my eyes still looked hollow no matter how much concealer I used. “You look perfect,” Chloe said from the doorway, holding out a small black clutch. “Sad and elegant. Very widow-chic.” “I’m not a widow.” “Legally, you’re a something.” She squeezed my shoulder. “Text me the second you’re out. I mean it.” My phone buzzed before I could answer. I’m outside. I took a breath, grabbed the clutch, and went downstairs. I expected the black car, the driver in the front seat, the usual procession that followed Dmitri everywhere. Instead, a sedan sat at the curb, and Dmitri himself stood beside the open pas

CHAPTER 152

ANABEL’S POV “He won’t be a problem. Trust me, I’m here.” Dmitri's voice was low and steady, and it was only then that I realized how long I had been staring at the front steps where Miles had disappeared. My fingers were clenched so tightly around my clutch that my knuckles had gone pale. Dmitri reached over and gently took my hand, then gave me a small, reassuring nod. It was such a simple thing, but something in my chest loosened, like a knot being quietly undone. I drew in a long breath. “Okay.” “Okay,” he echoed. He came around to open my door, and together we walked up the same steps Miles had climbed a minute earlier. The black ribbons on the pillars stirred in the damp wind. I had walked through this entrance more times than I could count, first as a nervous new wife, then as a woman who had learned to keep her head down. Today, it felt like stepping into a house I’d never seen. The place was full. People in black filled the grand foyer and spilled into the hallways, s

CHAPTER 153

ANABEL’S POV “What is she doing here?” Miles’s voice cracked across the room like a dropped plate. He didn’t lower it, didn’t seem to care that this was a memorial, that the air was meant to be quiet and soft and full of candle smoke. Every head in the drawing room snapped toward him. I shifted in my seat, my stomach turning over, because I had known this might happen the second he saw me. “Calm down, Miles,” Mr. Harrington said from the front. “There is no need to raise your voice.” “There’s every need!” Miles stood, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Why is she here? I didn’t invite her. So why did she come?” “I invited her,” the lawyer said evenly. “She deserves to be here.” “Who told you she deserves to be here?” Cierra rose beside him, one hand pressed to her stomach, her veil trembling. Her voice was soft and wounded, a performance of pain so smooth that anyone who didn’t know her would have believed it. “Do you even know what she did? You open your mouth

CHAPTER 154

ANABEL’S POVMr. Harrington cleared his throat and lowered his eyes to the first page.“I, Arthur James Wilson, being of sound mind and body, declare this to be my last will and testament,” he read. His voice was steady, but the paper trembled slightly in his hands. “I begin with the smaller matters, so that no one may say I forgot them.”The room was so quiet I could hear the candles hissing.“To my grandson, Miles Wilson, I leave my gold wristwatch, the one I wore every day for forty years. May it remind him that time is the only thing a man cannot buy back.”Miles shifted in his seat. A small frown crossed his face, but he nodded once, stiffly, as if to say it was a fair start.“I leave him my collection of leather-bound books from the study and the old writing desk that belonged to my father.”His frown deepened.“I leave him the vintage car in the east garage and the three apartment units located on Marlowe Street, to be used or sold as he sees fit.”I watched Miles’s face from a

CHAPTER 155

ANABEL’S POV“…I leave to Anabel Wilson.”I heard the words, but they didn’t reach me. They hung somewhere in the air above my head, like a sentence in a language I almost understood.“I’m sorry,” Mr. Harrington read on, his voice never wavering. “To Miss Anabel, formerly of the Wilson household, I leave the Wilson Group’s main estate and its surrounding grounds, fifty-one percent of the controlling shares of the Wilson Group, the holdings in the northern and eastern districts, the remaining real estate portfolio, and the full balance of my personal accounts. Together, these constitute eighty-five percent of my estate.”Nobody breathed. I stared at the lawyer. My lips had parted, but no sound came out. My hands, which had been clenched in my lap, slowly went slack.Me.My name. In Arthur’s will. Not tucked into some small footnote or a kind little line about a keepsake, but written out in full, at the very center of the page, attached to more than I could count.That couldn’t be right

All Chapters of My Husband Brought His Mistress Home: Chapter 151 - Chapter 155

CHAPTER 151

CHAPTER 152

CHAPTER 153

CHAPTER 154

CHAPTER 155