All Chapters of THE MARRIAGE GAME: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

I've spent the last two weeks in a whirlwind of confusion and anxiety. Liam's been distant, even more than before. It feels like we're back at square one—him, always away, always busy, always brooding. It's like Tuscany never happened. I thought we'd turned a corner, that there was something real between us, but now I'm not so sure. His eyes don't linger on mine anymore, his touch is cold, and his smiles feel forced as if they're more out of obligation than genuine emotion.Tonight, I've had enough. I can't keep doing this—wondering, waiting, feeling like a fool. I decide to visit him at his office. Maybe if I confront him, I can get some answers, or at least figure out what's going on in that complicated head of his. If I can just see him, and talk to him, maybe things will start to make sense again. Maybe he's just under pressure, dealing with something he hasn't told me about. But deep down, there's a gnawing doubt, a voice whispering that things have changed between us, and not fo

I've been holed up in my room all day, my mind spinning in circles around the same damn thoughts, the same damn questions. I've cried until my eyes are sore, puffy, and swollen, and I feel like there's nothing left inside me but this aching void. I can still hear Liam's voice in my head, those cruel, dismissive words replaying over and over again, like a broken record I can't turn off."You were right, Mother. I was never meant to be with someone like Emma."I thought I knew him. I thought we had something real, something that could withstand whatever obstacles came our way. But now I see that I was just a fool, blinded by hope, by some stupid, naive belief that love could change things. That it could make people better.He played me. I don't know why, and that's what hurts the most. Was any of it real? Did he ever care, or was I just another pawn in whatever game he and his family were playing? I feel so stupid for believing in him, for thinking that we could build something together

When I get home, it's late, and the house is dark and quiet. I drop my keys on the table by the door, my feet aching from a long day. I'm not in the mood for any more surprises, but as I walk into the living room, I see Liam sitting there, almost hidden in the shadows. He's got a glass of whiskey in one hand, his posture slumped, like the weight of the world is pressing down on his shoulders.For a second, I wonder if I should just ignore him and go straight to my room. I'm not sure I have the energy to face him right now, not after everything that's happened. But he notices me standing there and looks up, his eyes filled with something I can't quite read. It's like guilt mixed with exhaustion, but I can't tell what he's feeling guilty about."Emma," he says, his voice heavy and a little slurred from the alcohol. "We need to talk."I roll my eyes. "I'm not in the mood, Liam. I've had a long day, and I just want to sleep. Besides, you don't look like you're in any state to talk about a

The call comes in at 3 a.m. Liam's name flashes across my screen, but it isn't his voice on the other end. It's some guy from a bar, sounding both annoyed and exhausted. "He's drunk off his ass," he says. "Never seen him like this. You need to come get him."I groan, rolling over in bed. Why am I doing this again? Every time I decide to be done with him, he finds a way to pull me back in. Still, something in the guy's voice makes my heart sink. Liam isn't a lightweight. If he's this far gone, something must be wrong.I throw on a hoodie and sneakers, muttering curses under my breath about my "stupid empathetic heart." The streets are eerily quiet at this hour, and I have a good twenty minutes to think about how pissed I am at him. But the second I pull up to the bar, all that irritation melts into concern.The bartender, a guy with a buzz cut and a look of utter exasperation, is half-dragging, half-carrying Liam toward the door. When he sees me, relief washes over his face. "Thank God

Odette's place feels like stepping into a chic Parisian daydream. Soft pastels, delicate lace curtains, and tiny porcelain knick-knacks perfectly arranged on dainty shelves. The walls are a light blush, and there's a faint scent of vanilla—probably from some fancy French diffuser she picked up on one of her trips back home. Everything about Odette is cutesy and delicate, from her taste in decor to her soft, melodic accent. I stand outside her door, my chest tightening with every passing second. I shouldn't even be here. I should be handling this on my own, trying to figure out my next steps. But right now, I just need a friend.I press the doorbell, and it chimes a sweet, lilting tune. Within moments, the door swings open, and there she is, Odette, looking as polished as ever in her neat sweater and pleated skirt. Her face is bright and welcoming, but it immediately shifts to worry when she sees the tears already welling up in my eyes."Emma, mon chéri, what's wrong?" she asks, her vo