บททั้งหมดของ The Wife He Chose Too Late: บทที่ 91 - บทที่ 100

Claire's POVI knew something was different the moment I came out of the bedroom and found Damien standing in the living room without his jacket.That alone should not have meant anything. Damien had spent enough years walking around the penthouse in shirtsleeves that I had seen him dressed that way more times than I could count. Except, apparently, some part of me still remembered what his casual clothes meant, because I stopped halfway across the room and looked at him.He was wearing dark trousers and a pale blue shirt with the sleeves folded neatly to his forearms. His hair was slightly messier than usual, as if he had run his fingers through it one too many times. He was holding his watch in one hand, studying the face with an expression of concentration that seemed completely out of proportion to the simple act of putting it on.“You're nervous.”His eyes lifted immediately. “I’m not nervous.”“You've checked the time three times since I walked out.”“I was checking whether you

Claire's POV By the time Olivia arrived at the penthouse, I had already begun to suspect that inviting her for lunch had been a mistake.It wasn't that I didn't want to see her. I did. I had missed having her around in the strange way you miss someone when you know they belong to a part of your life that you cannot fully remember. Olivia had become familiar to me again through small things: the way she walked into a room without knocking, the way she stole food from other people's plates, the way she could tell when I was upset before I had even decided whether I was upset. She made the penthouse feel less like the carefully controlled world Damien and I had created after the accident and more like a place where people actually lived.The problem was that Olivia knew me, or more accurately, she knew the version of me I couldn't remember being, and today she had apparently decided that gave her the right to interrogate me.She walked through the front door carrying a large paper bag i

Damien's POV The police station smelled of old coffee, printer paper, and the faint disinfectant that seemed to cling to every government building I had ever entered. It was nothing like the polished offices of Laurent Group, where everything had been designed to look controlled and expensive. Here, people moved quickly without pretending they weren't tired. Phones rang from behind half-closed doors. Someone laughed in a room farther down the corridor, and another voice immediately told them to keep it down. A printer coughed out several pages and then fell silent.I followed Detective Reynolds through the corridor toward a small conference room, carrying the uneasiness that had settled over me since his call the previous day.He opened the door and gestured for me to enter.There were three folders waiting on the table.I looked at them before sitting.“Those are the victim files?”“Yes.”He closed the door behind him.I took the chair opposite him, but I didn't touch the folders.“

Damien's POV By the following afternoon, Damien had turned one of the smaller conference rooms at Laurent Group into an unofficial investigation room.The blinds were half closed against the afternoon glare, leaving the long table beneath the ceiling lights in a pool of cool white. Files covered almost every available space. Security reports sat beside maintenance records, printed copies of employee access logs were spread across several folders, and the original schedule for the gala had been placed beside a revised version so the investigators could compare every change made in the days leading up to the event.I sat at the head of the table with Detective Reynolds and two members of my security team. I had spent most of the morning going through records myself, but the deeper we went, the clearer it became that this wasn't something I could solve by staring at paperwork until a name suddenly became obvious.Reynolds opened one of the folders and slid it toward me.“This is the acc

Claire's POV The statement was on the dining table when I came downstairs, beside Damien's phone, a cup of coffee that had gone untouched, and three different folders that looked as though they had been arranged and rearranged so many times that even the people who had prepared them had forgotten what they were supposed to accomplish.Olivia was sitting at the table with one ankle resting over her knee, reading through the final page with the concentration of someone preparing to cross-examine a witness.Emma stood near the windows, holding her phone in one hand and watching Damien pace.He had changed into a dark suit even though he wasn't going anywhere. That told me more than the folders did.I stopped halfway across the room. “You're nervous.”Damien looked at me. “I've been called worse things.”“You're avoiding the question.”A small smile touched his mouth, but it disappeared almost immediately. “I don't like this.”Olivia looked up from the statement. “He means he doesn't lik