All Chapters of FOUR YEARS RAISING MY INFERTILE HUSBAND'S SECRET FAMILY : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Amelia’s POV (Third Person) The ride back from Elmwood Street was wrapped in the kind of quiet that usually belongs to Sunday mornings. Zane had fallen asleep five minutes after they left the cul-de-sac, his cardboard volcano roll slipping from his fingers to rest on the seat beside him. In the front, the heater blew a soft, steady hum against their damp shoes, misting the edges of the side windows. "She seemed nice," Amelia said, keeping her voice low so as not to wake Zane. Nathan glanced away from the highway, his expression warm. "Rachel? Yeah, she’s sharp. Works hard." "It must be tough," Amelia said, turning to look out at the grey, rain-slicked trees passing by. "Managing all those contract filings with a sick toddler at home. Does she have help?" "Her mother comes by during the week, I think," Nathan said smoothly, his thumb tapping a gentle rhythm on the leather wheel. "We try to give her flexibility. Good administrators are hard to come by up north." "It's good of yo

Amelia’s POV (Third Person) The kitchen table was buried under a colorful mosaic of trail maps, handwritten checklists, and thick wool sweater swatches. Outside, a brisk Monday morning breeze rattled the windowpanes, but inside, the room smelled of freshly brewed hazelnut coffee and warm cinnamon toast. Amelia sat cross-legged on one of the wooden chairs, a red pen balanced between her knuckles as she hummed a soft, melodic tune. Nathan walked in, buttoning the cuffs of his crisp white dress shirt. He looked polished, handsome, and entirely recovered from the rainy drive two days prior. Seeing her surrounded by bright travel brochures, he let out a low, amused laugh. "Ames, we’re going away for a long weekend, not moving to the Yukon," he said, leaning down to press a warm kiss against the crown of her head. Amelia looked up, her face glowing with genuine excitement. "I know, I know. But Zane has been talking about making s'mores over a real campfire for six months. I want e

Amelia’s POV (Third Person) The cabin looked like a postcard nestled into the dark, towering pines of Pine Ridge. Thick wooden beams, a vast stone chimney, and warm yellow light spilling from floor-to-ceiling windows welcomed them as Nathan killed the SUV's engine. The air hit Amelia’s lungs like ice water—crisp, clean, and carrying the faint scent of pine needles and woodsmoke. "It’s breathtaking," Amelia whispered, leaning against Nathan’s shoulder as he opened her car door. "Told you," Nathan said with a soft grin. He reached into the backseat, carefully unbuckling a soundly sleeping Zane and scooping him into his arms. "Let's get the little guy into bed first. The fire's already set." Inside, the cabin was pure rustic luxury. Polished oak floors reflected the low glow of the hearth, and plush leather couches surrounded a massive stone fireplace. Amelia unpacked their overnight bags in the master bedroom while Nathan tucked Zane into the adjoining room, placing Steve the

Amelia’s POV (Third Person) While the mountain air at Pine Ridge remained clear and still, the atmosphere inside the downtown headquarters of Cole Development felt suffocating. Marcus stood in the center of Nathan’s sprawling corner office, the morning light streaming through floor-to-ceiling glass windows and illuminating tiny specks of dust suspended in the quiet room. Outside, the city’s financial district hummed with early Friday activity, but inside, the only sound was the rhythmic, nervous tap of Marcus’s leather shoe against the dark hardwood floor. He held a lukewarm mug of black coffee in his left hand. His right hand rested on the brass handle of Nathan’s private mahogany filing cabinet. "He said top drawer," Marcus muttered under his breath, his brow furrowing as he pulled the heavy drawer open. The file folders inside were lined up with obsessive precision. Nathan was meticulous about his physical workspace—every tab was typed, color-coded, and arranged chronologic

Amelia’s POV (Third Person) The dining room at the Cole family estate was dominated by a chandelier of heavy cut crystal that cast sharp, prismatic glints across the polished mahogany table. Grace Cole sat at the head of the table, wrapped in a ivory silk blouse, her posture immaculate as she passed a silver tray of roasted vegetables. Sunday family dinners at the estate were non-negotiable—a tradition Grace had enforced since her husband’s passing, serving as the weekly anchor for both the family and the public image of Cole Development. "Nathan," Grace said, her refined voice cutting smoothly over the low background music. "The senior directors mentioned you finalized the northern municipal zoning framework on Friday. That's a significant milestone for the fourth quarter." Nathan set his wine glass down with a clean, delicate clink. He looked effortless, his linen dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, a picture of calm executive authority. "The local council was cooperative, M