Todos los capítulos de married for show : Capítulo 91 - Capítulo 100

​The heavy oak door of the executive office clicked shut, and the sound of the deadbolt sliding home felt like the final execution of my self-control. ​The firm was mostly empty, the rest of the staff long since dispersed into the rainy Seattle evening. But inside Julian’s office, the air was thick, heavy, and practically vibrating with unspent electricity. We had spent the entire day playing our assigned roles—distant, professional, coldly detached across a vast expanse of polished mahogany. But the memory of that board meeting, of the way he had dismantled Arthur to protect me and the secret smile we had shared, was a live wire running straight under my skin. ​I turned around, clutching a stack of final audit reports to my chest like a shield. Julian was standing by the floor-to-ceiling glass wall, backlit by the sprawling, rain-smeared lights of the city skyline. He had already discarded his suit jacket, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his sleeves rolled up to reveal t

​Sunlight streamed through the living room windows, casting a warm, golden glow across the hardwood floor. It was a lazy Saturday afternoon, the kind of day that should have been peaceful. Instead, my chest felt like it was trapped in a hydraulic press.​Leo was in the kitchen humming softly to himself, wearing a fitted dark t-shirt and grey sweatpants, preparing a marinade for afternoon lunch. Since he had gotten back from Chicago, he had been extra attentive, trying to bridge the emotional distance that had inexplicably crept between us. Every time he smiled at me, every time he casually reached out to brush a stray lock of hair behind my ear, a toxic cocktail of guilt and panic threatened to swallow me whole.​I was sitting on the edge of the sofa, staring blankly at my phone, when a sharp, authoritative rap echoed from the front door.​My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I thought it would bruise my sternum. I didn't even need to check the peephole. There was only one man in

Elena's POV ​The glass of Pinot Noir in my hand felt suddenly heavy. ​I sat in the formal sitting room of my penthouse, watching the rain streak down the massive floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the Seattle skyline. My divorce from Julian had been finalized years ago, but in my mind, a Thorne never truly relinquishes what belongs to them. Julian was mine. Even wrapped in his perpetual shroud of cold, brooding isolation, he was an empire I had helped build, and I refused to let some nameless, faceless nobody reap the rewards of my labor. ​For the past week, I had felt the subtle, tectonic shifts in his demeanour. He was less frantic, less violently explosive, and—worst of all—he had been carrying an infuriating, quiet confidence that made my skin crawl. ​Then, the front intercom chimed. ​My housekeeper answered, and a moment later, hurried footsteps clicked across the marble foyer. Jenni appeared in the doorway. ​Jenni, the junior copywriter from marketing who had spent t

​The taxi ride to the Grand Vista felt like a descent into another dimension. Outside the tinted windows, the neon pulse of Seattle blurred into streaks of rain-smeared crimson and gold. Inside the cab, my hands were clamped so tightly around the straps of my overnight bag that my knuckles had turned chalk-white.​The confrontation with Leo had acted like an anesthetic, numbing the shock of his betrayal under a white-hot layer of adrenaline. But now, as the car glided up to the gleaming glass-and-steel monolith of the downtown hotel, the adrenaline began to curdle into something hollow and aching.​I had walked away. I had burned the bridge, cut the cord, and left the wreckage of lies behind me in that hallway. For the first time, I wasn't hiding. I was stepping out into the open, carrying my bag and my beating heart straight to the man who had consumed every waking thought I had.​The hotel concierge, recognizing the encrypted VIP access code Julian had provided, escorted me up to th

​The leather seat of my town car felt like an interrogation chair.​Outside, the gray Seattle drizzle washed over the windshield in blurred, melancholy streaks, matching the cold, hollow fury churning inside my chest. It had been fourteen hours since Chloe had fled the Grand Vista penthouse. Fourteen hours of radio silence, locked phones, and a suffocating, blinding rage directed entirely at myself.​I sat in the dark interior of the car, staring at my reflection in the glass, and loathed every single thing looking back at me.​Weak.​That’s what I was. For all my corporate ruthlessness, for all the boardrooms I had conquered and empires I had engineered, I was still fundamentally chained to a ghost. Elena. My first love. The girl who had held my hand when I was just an ambitious architect with a blueprint and a dream, long before the money, the power, and the cynicism hardened my edges. Even after our divorce—even after I watched her turn into a venomous, calculating stranger who vie