Semua Bab Rejected while pregnant - My Ex husband begged too late : Bab 21 - Bab 30

Damian stood in that corridor for exactly 60 seconds.He counted them. It was a habit from his early years as CEO — when a room required composure he didn’t yet feel, he counted sixty seconds and used every one of them to build it. By the time he reached sixty, the face he showed the world was steady enough to use.Tonight it took all sixty.He walked back into the conference room, set Elena’s coffee beside her without interrupting her conversation with Sofia, caught Tomas’s eye across the room, and tilted his head toward the door. Tomas, a twenty-year security professional, understood immediately.They moved to the corridor.“I need you to find out what Marcus Hail delivered to my mother,” Damian said quietly. “And I need it done before morning. Use whoever you need.”Tomas studied him. “Does Ms. Reyes know?”“Not yet.” He held the older man’s gaze. “She’s had enough today. I’m not keeping this from her, I’m managing the sequence. There’s a difference.”Tomas didn’t look entirely co

He didn’t sleep.Not in the car, and not in the spare room of his own penthouse across town where he lay staring at the ceiling while the rain made its case against the glass and his mind refused to let go of a single thought: there was a traitor in his boardroom and he had eight hours to find out who it was before he sat across from all of them on Monday and had to look at a room full of faces without knowing which one had spent years trying to bring him down.At five in the morning, he gave up on sleep and called his chief legal officer.By six, they had a name.Gerald Fitch. Sixty-one years old, twelve years on the Cole Enterprises board, quietly brilliant in the particular way of men who were never quite the most prominent person in a room and used that invisibility like a tool. Gerald Fitch, who had been one of the first people to recommend bringing Vivian Snow on as a consultant three years ago. Gerald Fitch, who had seconded every motion Damian had made in the months leading

Monday arrived with the particular authority of a day loaded in advance.Elena was dressed by seven, standing in front of her bathroom mirror in a charcoal blazer and dark trousers, the suit she’d worn to her first Reyes Holdings board meeting — the one where she’d fired three directors inside forty minutes and walked out to the sound of a room recalibrating entirely.She looked different from that day. Not older, not harder. Something more than either. The pregnancy was visibly present now not dramatically, but undeniably, the kind of change that made people look twice and then look away politely, the way people did when they suspected they were witnessing something that was none of their business.She put her hand against it, a habit now, daily, automatic. Good morning, she thought, in the direction of the two small lives that had been with her through all of it through the boardroom, and the hotel room, and the gala in emerald silk, and seventeen floors of suspended darkness, and

The call lasted two hours.Elena sat cross-legged on her sofa and listened to her mother’s voice fill the apartment —hesitant at first, then steadier, the way rivers run tentative at their source and wider as theygo. Camila Reyes spoke carefully, as a woman who had rehearsed nothing because norehearsal could have prepared her. She said: I watched you from photographs yourgrandfather sent twice a year. I know about the piano you gave up in secondary school.I know you prefer windows to walls. I know you married a man who didn’t understand what hehad.That last one landed quietly, without accusation, which made it land harder.Elena asked the questions she had always carried. Camila answered every one — notperfectly, not without the stumbles of a story that had cost too much, but honestly, whichwas all Elena had ever needed from the people who were supposed to love her.When the call ended, Elena sat in the silence for a long time.Then she changed into something comfortable, m

She didn’t tell him that night.She sat with the court letter at her kitchen table and read it three times, and then she madeherself dinner she barely tasted and had the kind of long, complicated internal conversationThat required no other participant.Still married. The phrase kept arriving in different registers not with the warmth of anending she’d hoped for, not with the sting of a wound reopened, but with the dazed qualityOf information that hadn’t found its shelf yet.She had spent months building the architecture of a woman who didn’t belong to DamianCole. She had built it carefully and with considerable pain and with the grim daily disciplineof someone who understood that loving someone and being good for each other were notalways the same thing.And now a date irregularity on a document witnessed by a man currently in federal custodyhad made all of that architecture technically irrelevant.She almost laughed but Instead, she called Irina.“Still married,” Irina repeat