Todos los capítulos de The Wife He Loves to Hate: Capítulo 11 - Capítulo 20

I found the box by complete accident. I wasn't looking for a trip down memory lane. In fact, I wasn't looking for anything meaningful at all—I was just on a desperate quest to find a single pair of comfortable shoes in a walk-in closet designed by someone who clearly believed feet were made for torture. I opened a cabinet near the back wall. Nothing. I opened another. More soaring stilettos. I reached into a dark, lower shelf tucked behind a row of winter coats, and my hand brushed against something hard. A small wooden box. I frowned, pulling it into the light. Unlike everything else in this ridiculous mansion, it wasn't sleek, polished, or expensive. It was old. The varnish was peeling at the edges, and the brass latch was slightly rusted. I sat cross-legged on the plush carpet, flipped open the lid, and completely froze. Photographs. Dozens and dozens of them. I picked up the first one. Two kids stood in front of a giant chocolate birthday cake. A little girl with messy hair

Edward called again the next morning. I stared at his name flashing on my phone screen for several agonizing seconds before sliding the bar to answer. "Hello?" "Sweetheart," his smooth voice came through the speaker. I let out a tired sigh, rubbing my forehead. "You really need to stop calling me that, Edward." A soft, amused laugh sounded from his end. "You never used to mind. In fact, you preferred it." I frowned, a cold knot forming in my stomach. "What do you want?" "I want to see you." "Why?" "There are things we need to discuss, Abby." "About Hart Enterprises?" "About us." My chest tightened. "Edward..." "Meet me this afternoon. The usual place." "I don't think that's a good idea." "Then ask your husband," Edward said, his tone dripping with quiet irony. "Ask him what?" "Ask him if he's brave enough to let you hear the truth," Edward replied softly. "He'll tell you not to come." The line went dead. I stared down at the dark screen, my mind spinning. Another c

I came home from my meeting with Edward carrying more questions than answers. That seemed to be becoming a daily habit. I walked upstairs, dropped my purse onto the edge of the bed, and stood in the middle of the master bedroom. Everything around me belonged to a woman I didn't truly recognize. The designer clothes hanging in the walk-in closet, the heavy gold jewelry, the minimalist decor—it felt like stepping into a stranger's shrine. I hated how casually everyone talked about the person I had supposedly become over the last ten years. As if she were a completely different entity. As if I should just automatically know her. Driven by a sudden urge to find something grounded, I opened the nightstand drawers, rummaging through old journals and forgotten papers. Near the bottom of the last drawer, my fingers brushed against something stiff. I pulled it out—and my breath hitched in my throat. It was an old photograph. A wedding photograph. There I was, wearing a breathtak

"I’m just telling you what she said, Abby," Liam replied, his tone unnervingly calm, though his eyes stayed locked on mine. "Vienna said your extreme emotional volatility over the past few years—the sudden, reckless impulses followed by deep withdrawal—aligns almost perfectly with a severe manic-depressive cycle." My mind went into absolute overdrive. Volatile? Reckless? I knew who I was. I knew the girl trapped inside this thirty-year-old body. I hadn't magically developed a psychiatric illness—I was a twenty-year-old soul dumped into a future I didn't understand, surrounded by people keeping secrets! "Lee, that’s insane!" I insisted, my hands trembling as panic flared in my chest. "I know my own mind! I don't have some psychiatric disorder!" "You know your mind from ten years ago, Abby," Liam countered softly, the words landing like lead weight on my chest. "You don't know what happened to your brain during the years you can't remember." The words paralyzed me. I stood frozen o

The silence hanging in the spacious drawing room felt suffocating. Edward stood near the foyer, looking as composed as a man visiting his own private gallery. His posture radiated effortless confidence, while Liam remained fixed between us—a wall of tense muscle and lethal stillness. I, on the other hand, felt completely lost. Again. "Why are you here, Fox?" Liam asked, his voice deceptively low. Edward’s lips curved into a smooth, practiced smile. "I told you, Liam. I came to see Abigail." "She didn't invite you." Edward’s eyes glided over to me, bright with amused interest. "Do I really need an official invitation, Abby?" I frowned, taking a firm step closer to Liam. "Yes. You do." Edward chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You really are fascinatingly different today." Liam’s dark eyes narrowed into slits. "What is that supposed to mean?" Edward completely ignored him. Instead, his gaze locked onto mine, studying me like a puzzle he was determined to solve. "You didn't te