Semua Bab I Was Hired To Seduce My Boss : Bab 101 - Bab 110

Liam The wooden slats are smooth beneath my fingertips, each one sanded and polished until the grain catches the light like threads of gold. I step back from the crib, wiping a smear of sawdust from my forehead, and I let myself feel the weight of what I have just done. This crib is not just furniture. It is the first piece of a life I am building with my own hands. Zoe is asleep in the other room. I left her an hour ago, her hand resting on the swell of her belly, her breathing slow and steady. She has been exhausted lately, her body working double-time to grow the life inside her. I watch her sometimes when she sleeps, marveling at the quiet strength she carries so effortlessly. She does not know how beautiful she is in those moments, how the sight of her fills me with a fierce, protective love. I move to the window and push it open, letting the cool afternoon air sweep into the room. Outside, the garden is alive with color, the tulips finally in full bloom. Red and gold and purp

LiamThe morning light spills through the kitchen window, casting long golden rectangles across the worn wooden table where Lily sits, her small hands wrapped around a bowl of porridge. She is four now, old enough to hold a spoon without spilling, young enough to still leave a trail of sticky fingerprints on everything she touches. David is beside her, his dark hair a tangled mess, his eyes still heavy with sleep. He is two, and he eats with the focused determination of a child who has not yet learned that food is meant to be savoured, not inhaled.I stand at the stove, stirring a pot of tea, and I watch them. My children. My daughter and my son. The words still feel new, but I still feel like a gift I am not sure I deserve."Papa," Lily says, her voice cutting through the quiet. "Is the baby coming today?"I set down the spoon and crossed it to the table, taking the seat beside her. "Not today, little one. But soon."She frowns, her brow furrowing in a way that reminds me so much of

LiamThe wood of the crib is smooth beneath my palm, each slat sanded and polished until the grain catches the light. I have been standing here for the past ten minutes, not moving, just looking at this cradle I built with my own hands. It is solid. It is steady. It is the first piece of a life I am building with my own hands.Zoe is asleep in the next room, the third child growing inside her, her body weary from the work of creation. I left her an hour ago, her grey eyes soft with exhaustion, her hand still resting on the curve of her belly. She has been dreaming, I think. Her lips have been moving, forming words I can not hear.I turn from the crib and walk to the window. Outside, the garden is a riot of colour, the tulips finally in bloom. Red and gold and purple, they sway in the breeze, their petals open to the sun. I think about the bulbs we planted together, the ones buried in the dark soil, waiting for this moment.I think about my father. About the man I never truly knew. Abo

LiamThe gravel crunches beneath the tires as I guide the car to a stop, the headlights cutting through the darkness to illuminate a weathered porch and a door that has seen better decades. The house is small, tucked away at the end of a winding gravel driveway, its windows dark except for a single light burning in the front room. Beside me, Zoe sits rigid, her hands clasped in her lap, her grey eyes fixed on the house as if she expects it to vanish if she blinks."You are gripping the door handle like you are about to jump out," I say.She looks down at her hand and slowly uncurls her fingers. "Sorry.""Do not apologize." I turn off the engine, and the silence rushes in, thick and immediate. The only sound is the faint hum of the cooling engine and the distant chirp of crickets hidden in the tall grass. "We can sit here as long as you need."She shakes her head. "If I sit here any longer, I will talk myself out of it."I reach over and take her hand, my fingers warm against hers. "Th

LiamThe back door slams shut behind me, rattling the frame in its casing. I cross the yard in four long strides, my boots sinking into the damp grass, and I find David crouched beside the vegetable patch, his small hands buried in the soil. He looks up when my shadow falls across him, his face smeared with dirt, his eyes wide with the kind of guilt that only a three-year-old can wear."Papa," he says, his voice a whisper."David.""I was helping."I crouch beside him, brushing a clump of dirt from his cheek. "Helping with what?"He points at the row of carrots I planted last week. "I wanted to see if they were growing."I look at the row of carrots. Five of them are now uprooted, their orange tips poking out of the soil like tiny, defeated noses."David," I say again, and this time I cannot keep the amusement out of my voice. "Those are not ready yet."He frowns, his brow furrowing in a way that reminds me so much of Zoe. "But I was patient.""Patience means waiting. Not digging."He