Todos los capítulos de Discarded wife, Triplet Billionaire Heir.: Capítulo 1 - Capítulo 7

His phone went straight to voicemail again."You have reached Damien Sinclair. Leave a message."I hung up before the beep. I had already left four.Nine fifteen. Our fifth anniversary, and the chair across from mine was still empty."Marta." I pressed my fingers to my temple. "Please put the steak back in the pan. One minute on each side. I want it fresh when he walks in.""Ma'am, that is the third time." She said it softly, like I might shatter. "It will dry out.""Then I will cut it for him myself." I laughed, and it sounded thin. "He likes it medium rare. Do not let it turn gray."Marta looked at me a second too long. Then she took the plate and left without a word.The sizzle drifted in from the kitchen. I breathed it in like it could fix something.Ten minutes later I called him again. Voicemail. My thumb hovered over a text. Where are you? Delete. I miss you. Delete. Please come home. I deleted that one fastest.I sat. Stood. Straightened a candle that was already straight. The

I stared at him. At the man I had married, at the face I had kissed goodbye that very morning. This could not be real. Any second, he would laugh. Any second, he would say it was a test, a cruel joke, a terrible mistake. He did not laugh. "Thirty minutes," Damien said. "Pack what belongs to you." "Thirty minutes?" My voice came out thin, scraped raw. The first tear slipped free before I could stop it, hot against my cold cheek. "I have lived here for five years." "Then you should know where your things are." I pressed my fingers under my eyes, but more came. They fell faster than I could wipe them. He watched me cry the way a man watches rain against a window. He turned away. Vanessa lifted Lucas into her arms, and the boy tucked his face into her neck, and not one person in that room looked at me again. "Ma'am." One of the security men stepped forward, the one from the front door. His eyes stayed fixed on the wall behind my head. "I have been instructed to go up with you."

I did not sleep.I lay on that thin mattress with the card hidden in my mother's scarf, staring at the water stain on the ceiling, hearing his handwriting in my head. He had written those words the very week I came home empty.Our family will come when the time is right.Liar. I whispered it into the dark. Liar, liar, liar, until my throat ached.Morning came with a wave of heat.I bolted upright, and the room tilted hard. My stomach rolled. I barely made it to the bathroom before I was on my knees, gripping the cold rim of the toilet, retching up nothing but bile.When it finally stopped, I sat back on the tile, shaking, my forehead slick with sweat."Okay," I said to the cracked mirror. My voice came out hoarse. "Okay. You did not eat last night. You barely slept. You watched your husband throw you out."My reflection did not look convinced.I splashed water on my face. Held the sink. The dizziness hovered at the edges of my vision like a bad memory.Stress. That was all. Stress, an

I skipped breakfast to save four dollars.That was the math I did at seven a.m., standing in room twelve with my navy blazer buttoned over a body that no longer felt like mine. A banana, one fifty. A coffee, three. Nausea made the decision for me anyway.I swallowed half a vitamin dry, checked my résumé for the fifth time, and tucked the phone into my purse. Sophia's text still glowed on the screen. I will be fine, I had written back.Fine. I locked the door and rattled the knob twice, because the lock never trusted me.The bus took forty minutes. I stood the whole way, one hand on the pole, the other pressed against my side, praying no one would notice me swaying.Hartwell Partners sat on the fourteenth floor of a glass tower, all marble and silence. I walked through the lobby with my spine stiff, my heels too loud.The elevator mirror showed a pale woman with a smile that looked borrowed."Do not touch your stomach," I whispered. "Do not touch your stomach."My hand was already ther