The Last Housewife นิยาย & เรื่องราว

However, the moment he walked into the empty house, the familiar disappointment settled over him once more. Nothing appeared to be missing, yet with one person gone, the house no longer felt complete. It no longer felt like home. He remembered his college years, when he could only visit me once a month. Back then, a month never seemed that long. Now, it hadn't even been a month, and he already missed me this much. He missed his Cammie. Clinging to that longing, he sat alone in the house for three straight days. Then Damon called again. "Mr. Webster, I'm currently—"

“Why are your hands so cold? Have you been too tired lately? I will reduce the interest on that debt by another two points for you. How does that sound?” My body stiffened before I forced out a polite smile. “Thank you, Mr. Cardea.” Daniel smiled and patted the top of my head. “Good girl. Come home tonight. I want that pot roast you make. Do not keep me waiting.” Home. That villa on the hillside was not home. It was a beautiful place that felt like a prison. I returned to my desk and opened the memo app on my phone. The numbers on the screen represented my mother’s life.

Even though Arnold can't beat me. 'Arnold? So, you—' The woman laughed. The woman's eyes bulged, looking pleased with the change in Raymond's expression. 'Precisely. I killed him. Do you know what his last wish was?' 'I don't want to hear,' Raymond approached the woman, preparing to fire the bullet back at the woman. 'Don't touch Raymond Cooper,' the woman laughed again. 'But you innocently took your own death! I feel sorry for Arnold. His struggle was in vain—'

TWO YEARS TWO MONTHS AGO Rara's eyes widened in wonder as she took in the sights of the extraordinary house. It was no ordinary display of wealth, but an enchanting masterpiece of artistry. The grand floor-to-ceiling windows beckoned her gaze, while the arrangement of cosy couches invited her for relaxation. The room was bathed in a soft glow from the wide ceiling lighting, creating an ambience of both elegance and comfort. The intoxicating scents that filled the air awakened Rara's senses, leading her to believe that Ralph was not as minimalistic as she had initially assumed. He had truly surpassed her expectations.

"You have lovely feet. They just need to remember how to listen." It was a lie she told often. She had become very good at lies. Good enough that sometimes she forgot where the truth ended and the performance began. The truth was that Mrs Adeleke had feet like bricks and the rhythm of a dying metronome. But Zara had learned that wealthy widows did not pay for honesty. They paid for grace. They paid for the illusion that they could still be beautiful, still be desired, still be something other than the grief that clung to them like cheap perfume.

She covered her face and said in a low voice, “I’m sorry. I only knew how precious your love was after I lost you.” I wiped the family portrait on the counter. It was our family portrait, but I had cut Bella out. In the picture, Poppy looked at Bella and me lovingly. I asked, “Do you know what Poppy’s last words were?” She looked up at me and asked in a trembling voice, “What?” “She told me to stop crying. She said that you were in heaven waiting for her, and she wasn’t afraid. “Bella, you know I wish you were actually dead.”

At the best age of my life, they drove me to end it in the most devastating way possible. By the time they left the funeral home, the sky was beginning to lighten. The snow was still falling. It had piled thick on the ground, and every step crunched beneath their feet, a sound that matched the fractured rhythm of their breaking hearts. Back at home, the dinner dishes were still on the table, the food long cold. The holiday gift cards still sat on the coffee table, their bright colors now painful to look at. The home that had once felt warm was nothing but cold and silent now.

He doesn’t even spare me a glance. “Lena is not a slave, and I need her to…” “Go” he cuts me off. “The woman would not be leaving.” “But…” “That’s final. Now leave Maria.” Walter roars with laughter along with the scantily dressed women perched on his laps. “Dear me! I’ve heard about the way you discipline the women in your household, but I didn’t think it extended to even your wife.” Cheeks burning in humiliation, I hurry out of the room with Walter’s maid before Sebastain can say something worse.

Arvid, who was currently serving as executive director, was publicly exposed by his own wife during a charity auction on Christmas night, when she revealed the explicit drawing of him with the housekeeper. “Goodness me, the Hans family heir is so proper in public, but in private, he’s this outrageous? Also, are housekeeper allowances really that high these days?” “Which housekeeper? Was it the one who was just holding the sign for him?” “Her looks aren’t that great. How did the Hans family heir end up with her? Mrs. Hans is clearly prettier.” “That’s not necessarily true. Men always want what they can’t have. No matter how fragrant the flowers at home are, they’re never as tasty as the poo o

I agreed. Yes, he was aware that I was present, and Killian was the one who confronted him and threw blows at him. It was a good thing that Luka was not the type of person to keep grudges against others. And, because Killian didn't have any maids, I was forced to do everything by my lonesome. Sighs. What kind of trouble did you get yourself into, Killian? Apart from soup, I also made cereal for the family. Because I am not an exceptionally skilled cook, this was the safest thing I could come up with. And that's fine with me; I'm not embarrassed.