Semua Bab My Billionaire Ex- Husband’s Nemesis : Bab 151 - Bab 160

ARIA'S POVBy ten o'clock, the last flickering oil lamp under the long porch overhang had been extinguished, leaving the main house bathed in the deep, velvet stillness of the mountain night. The summer sky above the valley floor was a vast, cloudless bowl of dark indigo, studded with millions of sharp, cold stars that seemed to hover just above the granite crags.A gentle, nocturnal draft rolled down from the high northern passes, carrying the crisp scent of subalpine fir, wet river stone, and the cool, sweet dampness of upturned earth from the south field. Up on the high terrace, the heavy wooden shutters of the main hall were pinned wide open, allowing the night breeze to sweep through the quiet rooms, rustling the linen curtains and carrying away the lingering heat of the day's baking.Down in the carpenter’s shop behind the walnut tree, however, a single small lantern hung from an iron hook in an overhead rafter, casting a warm, swaying pool of amber light across the workbench

ARIA'S POVThe morning sun had cleared the high, jagged crags of the eastern ridge completely by seven o'clock, flooding the upper courtyard with a warm, buttery light that quickly dried the heavy night dew from the grey flagstones. The last wisps of valley mist were evaporating off the hazel copse, leaving the air crystalline, clean, and carrying the sharp, sweet scent of warm pine needles and damp earth.Around the long oak table, the fifteen of us sat together under the cool shade of the newly extended porch overhang. The expanded space felt effortless, as if the fifth pine bench Thomas had carved only yesterday had been sitting in that exact spot for a generation.Elizabeth moved along the board with her customary quiet grace, carrying a large clay teapot. She had brewed the wild nettles, sweet pine shoots, and mountain mint we had gathered from the creek bank at dawn into a rich, steaming herbal tea. She set a steaming earthenware mug beside Thomas’s plate, along with a deep

ARIA'S POVBy six o'clock in the evening, the heavy heat of the midsummer afternoon had broken, giving way to a soft, golden dusk that painted the high granite peaks in shades of amber and pale rose. Down by the walnut tree, the sweet, fragrant smoke of burning cherry wood drifted lazily across the upper courtyard, carrying with it the comforting aroma of crusty loaves baking in the outdoor stone oven.The long oak table under the expanded porch overhang was set for fifteen. The fifth pine bench, carved by Thomas and settled so firmly into the flagstones days ago, was now an indispensable part of our nightly routine.Around the board, the conversation hummed with the easy, unhurried rhythm of a household that had worked hard under the summer sun and was now ready to rest. Elizabeth sat at the head, her grey wool shawl draped loosely over her shoulders, passing around a large wooden trencher stacked high with warm, thick slices of freshly baked sourdough bread. Beside her, Maya was

ARIA'S POVThe eastern sky had barely faded from indigo to a soft, pearlescent mauve when Theo, Thomas, and David stepped off the porch and walked down the terrace path toward the lower field. The air was cool, crisp, and thick with the heavy morning dew that clung in glittering beads to every blade of grass along the stone borders.In their hands, they carried the tools of the early harvest. David held the newly forged scythe that Kat and Silas had tempered the day before, its curved steel blade gleaming cleanly in the dim dawn light. Thomas carried two wooden hand rakes and a bundle of dry twine slung over his shoulder, while Theo walked beside them with a broad timber cradle designed to attach to the scythe's wooden shaft and catch the cut stalks in neat, uniform bundles.Behind them, the estate was just beginning to stir. Up at the main house, a thin wisp of pale grey birch smoke was rising steadily into the quiet sky from the kitchen chimney, where Elizabeth and Maya were kindl

ARIA'S POVBy four o'clock in the afternoon, the steady, rhythmic thud-thud-thud-thud of the four flails inside the stone barn had finally fallen silent.Across the high granite flagstones lay a deep, golden carpet of threshed wheat a rich, fragrant tangle of crushed stalks, papery husks, and hundreds of thousands of loose, plump golden kernels. The dark interior of the barn smelled intensely of dry summer straw, crushed grain, and the clean, lingering pine smoke that drifted up from Kat’s forge down by the creek.Thomas, David, Theo, and Silas stood along the edge of the threshing floor, wiping the sweat from their brows with damp linen rags. Their grey canvas trousers and work shirts were dusted with fine golden flour and dry chaff that caught the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the high double doors."That’s three solid bushels from the first four rows alone," Silas reported, using a broad wooden shovel to push the crushed straw into a neat pile against the timber wall.