Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Loveless Contractive Marriage: Kabanata 31 - Kabanata 40

Third Person's POV Grandpa Edward Audrey’s MansionThe vast expanse of Edward Audrey’s mansion seemed even more imposing under the weight of the news.The meeting room, a lavishly decorated space with heavy oak furniture and crystal chandeliers, was filled with the low murmur of voices.Edward Audrey sat at the head of the table, his sharp eyes studying the Russian moguls seated before him. Their suits were tailored perfectly, their faces unreadable, but Edward’s calm authority kept the tension balanced.A man with silver hair and a thick accent leaned forward, breaking the silence. “Mr. Audrey, we need assurance. The shipping lanes must remain secure. Our clients do not tolerate delays.”Edward folded his hands on the polished table. His voice was steady, almost cold. “You have my assurance, Mr. Ivanov. Audrey Co-op has never failed a partner, and I won’t let this project be the first.”A younger Russian at the end of the table frowned. “Your competitors are watching closely. If wo

Third Person’s POVZia sat stiffly in Raymond’s car, the faint hum of the engine doing little to ease her nerves. She was cornered. It wasn’t just about protecting herself anymore; she had to protect her unborn child. Her fingers tightened on her lap, her gaze fixed out the window as they drove in silence. Raymond’s occasional glance toward her made her uneasy, but she knew she couldn’t afford to show it.Arriving at the hospital, Raymond’s demeanor shifted to that of a professional. His charming smile was back, but Zia saw the faint cracks in it—the barely concealed frustration simmering underneath.“Come,” he said with a motion of his hand, leading her into his office. The room smelled sterile, with neatly arranged equipment on a steel tray and papers stacked on the desk.Raymond began the examination with feigned interest, his hands moving with precision as he checked her vitals and monitored the baby. His gaze lingered on the ultrasound screen longer than necessary, his jaw tighte

Third Person's POVFive Years AgoThe streets were a labyrinth of cracked asphalt, broken glass, and desperate souls. Zia sprinted down a narrow alley, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her feet pounding the ground as if her life depended on it—which it did. She clutched a small packet of snuffed narcotics tightly in her hand, its weight burning into her palm like a brand.Behind her, a chorus of angry shouts echoed through the labyrinth. Junkie girls, lean and fierce, barreled after her like a pack of predators. Their leader, a wiry figure with sharp features and a cruel smile, stood at the entrance of the alley, her arms crossed. She didn’t run; she didn’t need to.“Zia!” the leader’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade. “You really think you can outrun me? Not on my streets.”Zia’s legs burned, but she pushed on, refusing to look back. She knew what awaited her if they caught up, but the hope of escape was quickly fading. The narrow path ended in a pile of garbage and rusted

Third person's POVNia and Zia sat inside the dim, grimy room that reeked of stale smoke and spilled liquor. The cracked walls seemed to sweat secrets no one dared speak aloud. Nia flicked open a battered pack of cigarettes and shoved one toward Zia. “Here, take the damn thing,” Nia muttered, already lighting hers. Zia waved it off, her other hand resting protectively on her rounded belly. “Can’t. You know why.” Before Nia could respond, the door creaked open, and a jittery junkie girl stumbled in, her eyes darting like a trapped animal. “Someone’s askin’ for Zia outside,” she rasped, scratching at her arm like she could dig out her demons. Nia was on her feet instantly, snatching her pistol from under the stained couch cushion. She cocked it with a practiced motion, ready for whatever hell might walk through that door. “Wait,” Zia hissed, eyes narrowing. “What’d they call themselves?” The junkie girl blinked, her lips twitching like she was piecing together half-forgotten wor

Third Person’s POVNia’s place was a damn pit—a cramped room with mismatched furniture, ashtrays overflowing with cigarette butts, and the faint stench of spilled booze and stale sweat. The kind of place where the air felt thick with stories no one wanted to tell.Zia sat on a lumpy couch, her knees pulled to her chest, glancing sideways at Nia and Mira. The two hadn’t said much since Mira arrived, their awkward silence heavier than the smoke clouding the room. Mira flipped through an old magazine like it owed her money, while Nia cleaned her nails with the edge of a battered pocketknife, looking bored as hell."You two gonna act like strangers all night?" Zia asked, breaking the quiet.Mira snorted. “Ask your sister. She’s the one with the attitude.”Nia didn’t even look up. “Don’t come in here acting like you know me, princess. This is my space, not your high-rise drama.”“Alright, alright, enough,” Zia said, her voice low but firm. “I didn’t come here to babysit your beef. We’ve