All Chapters of Máfia's Hated Bride: Chapter 151 - Chapter 160

lNIKOLAI VOLKOVHours later, I left Angeline at her house — her house, no longer ours — exactly as I had promised.She didn't respond when I handed her the divorce papers. She simply took the black folder from the table, stood up from my lap with a sharp movement, and said, in a voice as cold as the ice she had learned to use as armor:— Take me home, Nikolai.And that's what I did. In silence. Without questioning. Without asking to go in. Without kissing my children, who I knew were sleeping in their crib.When I left her at the mansion her father had given her, my mind was racing. But I didn't want to go in. I didn't want to pass that weight — the weight of the divorce, of doubt — on to the children. I would come back another day. Perhaps the day she decided to sign the papers.I turned the car around and went back to the empty apartment in the city center. I didn't want the mansion. I didn't want the echo of Angeline's footsteps in the corridors, her scent on the pillows, the absen

ANGELINE HARRINGTONWhen Nikolai left me at the mansion — I went into the twins' room. The night light cast soft shadows on the cream-colored walls. I approached the crib, kissed each of their foreheads, feeling the sweet, soft scent of their skin.God, how they looked like him. Especially my little Ângelo. The same gray eyes that would inherit the same intensity. The same way of furrowing his brow while sleeping.The black folder was still in my hand.I sat down on my bed, the silence of the night wrapping around me like a shroud. I opened the documents again. I read every word — the cold, bureaucratic terms that would seal our end. Or our beginning. I no longer knew.This was always what I wanted, I thought, as a stubborn tear rolled down my face. In the beginning, when I was forced to marry him, divorce was all I wished for. And after what he did to me, after the photos, the prison, the distrust… I desired it ardently.He lied. He said he couldn't give me the divorce. He said that

ANGELINE HARRINGTONThe phone rang only once before Dimitri answered.— Mrs. Volkov — his deep voice, as always, laden with a loyalty I no longer knew if it was to me or to him.— Dimitri, I need to talk to you — I began, trying to stay calm. — About Nikolai's damn armed men.There was a brief moment of silence on his end.— What men, ma'am?— Don't pretend you don't know. They were discreet before. Now they're everywhere. At the university, at my father's office, even at the entrance of my house. I want to know where they came from.Dimitri hesitated.— Reinforced security measures, ma'am. Mr. Volkov requested…— I knew it! — I cut in, my voice rising a tone. — I knew it was him. Even after everything, even with the divorce papers on my table, he still can't leave me alone.— Ma'am, the Pakhan only wants to protect you. Your project is generating enemies. Many of them. Powerful people who prefer to keep things as they always were. Women silenced, forced marriages, erased lives.— And

ANGELINE HARRINGTONNikolai straightened his shoulders, impatient, and tried to answer:— Angeline, I never…But I didn't let him continue.— You don't need to answer, Nikolai. I have nothing to do with your life anymore, just as you have nothing to do with mine.I looked again in Elizaveta's direction. I swallowed hard, feeling my throat burn and my chest tighten. But I kept my dignity. I raised my eyes to him and spoke:— Congratulations, Nikolai. She's beautiful — the words came out bitter, jealousy corroding me inside. — She draws everyone's eyes. Besides, she seems to be a surprisingly strong woman. She matches you incredibly well. You must enjoy her much more in bed. After all, that was the kind of woman you always wanted.— Angeline, stop…— Now you'll have it. Look, she's drooling over you.He pulled me a little closer, his hand warming my waist.— Why are you here? — he asked, his eyes fixed on mine.— Elizaveta herself invited me — I replied, raising my chin with a superior

NIKOLAI VOLKOV The cold gun against the back of my head was an uncomfortable reminder that I was no longer on the battlefields where I dominated. I was at a party. With my wife — albeit separated — in the background. With an ally who, until seconds ago, I judged trustworthy. — You're dead — my words came out icy, the coldness that had saved me countless times returning to my voice. — Dimitri saw your body. Your head blown open. By Elizaveta's own hands. She was the one who shot. I spoke looking at Dimitri, who was the one who had given me the report of Alexei's death. And he simply nodded, with a convinced look as if to say without words that it was exactly what he saw. — Well, at least that's what we thought. But now I realize I was wrong about my "ally." — What your men saw was the body of someone who looked like me — the man replied, and that was when I noticed: the accent. Strange. Different from expected, different from Alexei's voice. It wasn't Russian. It wasn't from anywh