Todos los capítulos de The Plus-Sized Bride No One Wanted: Too Fat to Love : Capítulo 101 - Capítulo 110

~ Ethan Knight ~ The noise from the Grand Ballroom pressed hard against the thick glass doors. Inside, hundreds of people in glittering clothes laughed, clicked champagne flutes, and clapped. They crowded around Ivy, eager to shake her hand, eager to say they knew the famous artist I.M. Gray. I watched her face tighten beneath her polite smile. I caught her hazel eyes darting toward the heavy curtains, searching for an exit. I reached out and touched her elbow. "Come with me," I whispered. Ivy turned her head quickly. "Where are we going?" "Away from the noise," I said. I pulled open the tall French doors and guided her out onto the north terrace. The cool midnight air hit us instantly, carrying the clean, sharp scent of the river below. The heavy doors clicked shut behind us, cutting the roar of the party down to a dull rumble. Ivy let out a long, ragged breath. Her shoulders, held high and rigid under her sapphire gown, finally dropped an inch. She walked to the carved stone b

~ Ethan Knight ~The heavy fire door swung shut with a sharp metallic clack that echoed through the basement levels. The air down here smelled of cold motor oil, damp cement, and exhaust. Yellow safety lights hummed above the lanes, casting long, dark shadows across the concrete.I checked my watch. The hands pointed to eleven o'clock.My shift had ended with two emergency consults in trauma, and my shoulder muscles pulled tight under my dark wool coat. I carried my leather medical bag in my right hand, my shoes clicking firmly against the painted floor.I clicked the key fob in my pocket. Fifty feet ahead, the headlights of my SUV flashed twice, cutting bright beams into the dim corners. A shape moved.Behind a thick square pillar near my driver's door, a tall figure stumbled forward. The man stepped directly into the beam of the headlights. I stopped four paces away. My hand tightened on the handle of my bag."Julian," I said.Julian Vance stood between me and my car door. His appea

~ Ethan ~ Marcus slammed a thick red binder onto the steel desk, sending a cloud of paper dust into the air. "Look at this mess, Ethan," Marcus said, tapping his ink pen against the top page. "The grand jury signed off on every single count this morning. Aggravated assault causing termination of pregnancy, reckless endangerment, obstruction. We have the gala video, the emergency call logs, and Grace’s signed statement. We hold every winning card in our hands." I leaned forward in the wooden chair, keeping my eyes fixed on the bold black letters typed across the indictment. My chest felt heavy, like a lead weight rested behind my ribs. "Then why do you look worried, Marcus?" I asked. Marcus leaned back, his chair letting out a long, metallic screech. He pulled his glasses off his nose and rubbed the red marks near his eyes. "Thomas Bennett fired Chloe’s entire legal defense team at eight o'clock yesterday evening," Marcus said, pointing his pen toward a fresh white memo. I stoo

~ Ivy Monroe ~The heavy steel bin lid crashed shut, sending a sharp echo down the narrow alleyway behind my studio. A man stood three feet from my elbow.He wore a dark blue mechanic jumpsuit with an embroidered city utility logo across the chest. His sleeves were rolled to the forearms, revealing thick wrists and a faded anchor tattoo. He held no wrench. He carried no clipboard or toolbox. His boots were planted shoulder-width apart on the damp cobblestones, his shoulders squared directly toward my studio’s reinforced metal exit.His eyes were flat and gray like wet river slate. They did not blink as they mapped my frame, tracking the line of my shoulders, the width of my hips, and the distance between my heels and the heavy iron door handle behind my back.My breath caught in the center of my throat. My fingers closed around the cold brass cylinder of my studio key, digging the ridged teeth straight into the meat of my palm."Can I help you with something?" I asked. The man did not

~ Ivy ~"Look at this canvas, Maya," I said, holding up the wooden frame. "The varnish dried clear. The blue tones look bright now."Maya set down her packing tape and stepped closer. She tilted her head, tapping her chin with a marker. "It looks clean, Ivy. The light hits the water just right. People at the New York gallery will love this one.""I hope so," I replied. "I wanted the colors to show hope. For a long time, everything I made looked dark and stormy.""Well, you are through the storm," Maya said, handing me a square of brown paper. "Julian is hiding in some private clinic. Your parents stopped calling after the bankruptcy court took the estate. You have your own loft upstairs, your own business, and an empty calendar.""It feels strange," I murmured, wrapping the brown paper around the canvas edges. "For twenty-eight years, I spent every morning bracing for someone to yell at me. Now, the mornings are quiet.""Quiet is good," Maya said, pressing a sticker onto a completed b