Semua Bab Bound to my Ex husband’s uncle: Bab 61 - Bab 70

The morning light filters through the curtains of my lodge room, soft and pale after the storm’s cleansing rain. I wake slowly, the fjord outside my window calm and glittering under a clearing sky, the mountains standing sharp and majestic against the blue. My body feels rested but my mind is already turning over the events of last night….the raw conversation in the stuck elevator. The weight feels lighter this morning, not gone, but shared. Still, I make a quiet decision as I sit up in bed, the sheets cool against my skin. I am not going to the finalizing and paper signing today. It is not like I am truly needed there anyway. The deal is secured because of the research and presentation I delivered. The business side….Dante’s domain….can handle the formalities without me. Today is for closing this chapter of the trip on my own terms, preparing for the flight home at 1pm. I move through the room with deliberate calm, the wooden floors cool under my bare feet. Packing is methodi

“I didn’t fuck your uncle, Ethan,” I say, my voice steady but edged with the exhaustion and frustration I have carried for months. “Like I said Ethan…..weather yu want to believe me or not, that’s on you. I got drunk celebrating a deal I helped secure with my own research. Dante helped me to the car and to my room because I could barely stand. That’s it. The photos were twisted by people who love a scandal. And even if they weren’t, after everything you’ve done…..bringing Sophia into our bed, parading her pregnant belly in front of your family while they laughed at my inability to conceive, calling me a whore in the car for daring to walk away…..you don’t get to stand here and demand loyalty like I owe you anything. You broke this marriage long before those pictures existed.”He opens his mouth to argue, his face flushed with rage, but I don’t wait. I turn and head up the stairs, my boots soft on the marble steps, the suitcase wheels rumbling behind me as I drag it along. His voice

The words sting, reopening every wound from the party where Sophia mocked my inability to conceive, from the car where Ethan called me a whore, from the separate bedroom I claimed after finding traces of his mistress in our marriage bed. Tears burn at the corners of my eyes, but I blink them back fiercely, stepping forward until we are nearly nose to nose. “Get out of my face, Tiffany. Before I make a formal complaint about workplace harassment. I don’t owe you or anyone else an explanation for my life. I earned my place here. You can choke on your jealousy.” The tension crackles between us, the break room suddenly silent except for the drip of the coffee maker. Tiffany opens her mouth for another retort, but footsteps in the hallway make her straighten, the false smile snapping back into place as she grabs a water bottle and stalks out. I am left standing there, breathing hard, the mug of coffee forgotten on the counter. The drama leaves me shaking, but underneath the hurt

I close the door behind me and lean against it for a moment, the quiet of the room pressing in after the noise of the office. My bag drops to the floor with a soft thud. The teal scarf from Norway is still around my neck; I unwind it slowly and toss it onto the chair. My hands are still a little unsteady. The image of Tiffany’s red cheek, the sharp crack of that slap, the way the entire floor went silent….it keeps replaying. And underneath it, the colder, more unsettling thought: Ethan knew. He walked in at the exact right moment. Someone on that floor is feeding him information. I sit on the edge of the bed and pull out my phone. Claire’s name is the only one I want to see right now. I call her. She answers on the second ring. “Hey. You home? How was the first day back?” I let out a short, tired breath. “Claire… it was a mess.” Her tone shifts immediately. “What happened?” I tell her everything. The celebration for the pitch. Tiffany cornering me in the break room, calling me

I walk out of the house with the front of my blouse still soaking wet, cold water clinging to my skin and dripping in slow rivulets down my chestThe fabric sticks to me in a way that feels exposed, almost indecent, and every step toward the car makes the dampness more obvious. My hands are shaking slightly when I unlock the door and slide into the driver’s seat. I close it harder than necessary, the sound sharp in the quiet morning. For a long moment I just sit there, both hands locked on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead at the driveway without really seeing it.The humiliation sits heavy in my throat. Eleanor’s voice still echoes…whore, disgrace, endure the marriage. The water hitting my face and neck had been so sudden, so deliberate, that the shock of it is still vibrating under my skin. I can feel the cold seeping through the blouse into my bra, the fabric growing heavier by the second. A part of me wants to go back inside, change, wash the humiliation off, but the