บททั้งหมดของ The Wife He Loves to Hate: บทที่ 21 - บทที่ 30

I didn’t know why my feet brought me back to my father’s house. Maybe because after the suffocating argument with Liam, I desperately needed a sanctuary that didn’t smell like cedarwood or echo with unsaid accusations. Maybe because I was starved for answers about who I used to be. Or maybe, deep down, I simply wanted to see if there was still one tiny corner in this unfamiliar world that actually belonged to me. Patrick Hart was sitting behind his massive mahogany desk when I walked into his study. The room smelled of old paper, leather, and expensive cigars. He barely glanced up from his documents. "You came." His voice was flat, devoid of any obvious emotion. I paused near the heavy oak door, crossing my arms. "That’s an overwhelmingly warm welcome, Dad." "I didn’t invite you." "Right." I offered a small, awkward smile, stepping further into the room. "Still working hard on your Father-of-the-Year award, I see." His dark eyes lifted to mine. For a split second, I thought

“Apparently, you really don’t remember.” Anna’s words lingered in the quiet entrance of the studio, hanging between us like a mysterious mist. I stared at her, my mind racing through empty corridors, trying frantically to find even the faintest shadow of familiarity in her sharp, elegant face. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And yet, the name—Anna Shelby—struck a resonant chord somewhere deep in my chest. It felt important. Heavy with meaning. "I’m sorry," I said, my voice laced with genuine hesitation. "Should I know you?" Her lips curved into a quiet, graceful smile. "You should." Beside me, Charlotte tugged gently at my coat sleeve, breaking the spell. "Mommy, who is she?" I looked down at Charlotte, then back at Anna. Before I could formulate an answer, Anna crouched down with effortless grace, bringing herself level with Charlotte's eyes. "I'm Anna," she introduced herself softly. Charlotte studied her intently, taking in the woman's sleek dark hair and immaculate posture

London was everything I had hoped for. The air was crisp and smelled of autumn rain, the streets were lined with historic brick architecture, and for two full days, Charlotte and I lived in our own little bubble. We ate oversized scones, rode a double-decker bus, and spent hours walking through Kensington Gardens without a single care in the world. For the first time in forever, I felt... light. On the afternoon, as we were sitting in a cozy tea shop near Covent Garden, Charlotte’s little pink tablet suddenly began to chime loudly. She tapped the screen, her face instantly lighting up like a Christmas tree. "Daddy!" I smiled softly, taking a sip of my Earl Grey. "Tell him we're having tea and we brought him back some biscuits." Charlotte giggled, holding the tablet up to her ear. "Daddy! Are you in Singapore?" She paused, listening. Then her eyes went wide, and a huge, mischievous grin spread across her face. "Really?!" she gasped, bouncing in her seat. "Yay!" "What is it, C

If anyone had told me a month ago that I would be strolling through the autumn-crisp streets of London holding hands with a billionaire husband I had zero memory of marrying, I would have told them they were insane. And yet, here we were. After the late-night confession in our hotel room, the heavy wall of ice between Liam and me didn't just crack—it completely melted. The next morning, Liam officially canceled his remaining meetings in Singapore, handed his phone over to his secretary with strict orders not to disturb him unless the building was burning down, and declared himself our official tour guide. London transformed into our playground. We spent the morning walking through Covent Garden, listening to street musicians while Charlotte happily munched on a giant warm pretzel. Liam walked on the outside of the pavement, his long stride matching mine, his hand instinctively resting at the small of my back every time the sidewalk got crowded. It was a small, effortless

The suite was quiet, bathed in the soft, amber glow of the bedside lamps. Outside the grand floor-to-ceiling windows, the distant lights of London glittered through a faint curtain of midnight mist. Charlotte was fast asleep in the adjoining alcove, completely worn out from the excitement of the opera house. Her tiny chest rose and fell in a rhythmic, peaceful slumber, her small arm wrapped tightly around her stuffed bunny. I stood near the balcony doors, slowly unbuttoning my trench coat and hanging it over the back of an armchair. My mind was still reeling from the confrontation in the backstage corridor—the sheer audacity of Edward, the sharp sting of his words about the blue box, and the terrifying, steadfast protection Liam had wrapped around me. The bathroom door clicked open. A wave of warm, humid steam drifted into the bedroom, bringing with it the crisp, intoxicating scent of cedarwood and sandalwood soap. I turned around—and completely lost my train of thought. Lia