Semua Bab The Billionaire's Forgotten Ex-wife : Bab 61 - Bab 70

[Lincoln]My eyes peel open to the soft sunlight filtering through the curtains, casting a golden glow across the room. It feels warm and peaceful, the kind of morning that tempts you to stay in bed forever. I feel groggy, my limbs heavy, but there’s a comforting weight pressed against me on my right side.I glance down and find the source—a smile spreads across my face like the sun hitting the horizon. Arella, curled up against me, her head resting on my chest, her soft breaths tickling my skin. She’s completely wrapped in my embrace, her wild dark hair fanned across the pillow, and honestly, I can’t think of a better sight to wake up to.With a sense of possessiveness I can’t quite shake, I tighten my arms around her waist. She stirs, her body shifting slightly, and the way her lips brush against my jaw sends a ripple of warmth coursing through me. Her eyes flutter open, hazy and drowsy, and damn, I’ll never get tired of looking into those stormy blue orbs.“What a way to wake up

[Arella]*Good luck at the meeting.*Lincoln’s text reads, and I smile. A warmth spreads through me as the corners of my lips lift into a subconscious smile. He always knows how to make me feel supported, even with the smallest gestures.I step into the small but intricately designed establishment, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafting in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of polished wood. The receptionist at the desk, dressed in a sharp navy-blue uniform, offers me a polite smile.“Good morning,” she says, guiding me to the elevator with a slight tilt of her head.The silver elevator doors gleam under the soft overhead lighting. They open with a quiet ding, and I step inside, pulling out my phone. My manicured fingers quickly type a response to Lincoln’s text.*Thank youu*Then, with a rush of impulsiveness, I add: *hubby.*The moment the word leaves my fingertips, I close the text bubbles quickly, feeling my face heat up like I’ve just stepped into a sauna.Really, Arella?

[Arella]"Is anything the matter, Mr. Smith?" I ask, a small tilt to my lips, my expression still neutral. The faint hum of the AC fills the room, cooling the air but not the tension rising between us."Yes—I mean, no," he stutters, his face flushing crimson as the words stumble out of his mouth.How come I never noticed how much of a buffoon he was? Beneath all that false bravado he seems to carry around, he’s a mess. It’s almost impressive, really—how he can embody both overconfidence and incompetence so seamlessly."What I mean is that you should focus on your own presentation. Ours is already finished, there's no need for your input."His tone holds a feeble attempt at authority, but it barely masks his nervous energy."Mr. Smith," the strict, petite correspondent clips, her sharp voice slicing through the awkward silence like a knife. She adjusts her glasses and fixes him with a pointed stare. "Please refrain from interrupting again. The board has already given her permission."H

[Arella]The first thing I notice immediately when we step in is the fragrance—the smell of something I hadn’t eaten since my mum passed away. It’s warm, comforting, and familiar, like a hug for my senses. “Is that what I think it is?”I ask, bewildered, my eyes widening in shock. Ava steps out of the kitchen, an apron tied around her waist, her hair a little disheveled but still glowing with that teenager radiance. Her features look tired but happy, full of light, the kind of glow that always seems to follow her ever since we brought her back from the hospital."Ella," she says slowly, her voice soft yet full of warmth. "Welcome home.""Thank you," I say, my voice catching in my throat. I don’t even realize when tears start to fall. My heart is suddenly a lump in my throat, and I hold out my arms, embracing her with the kind of desperation I haven’t felt in years. "Thank you, thank you so much."I pull away, wiping my tears, blinking rapidly to stop the flood. I turn to Lincoln, w

[Deric] I hated Chinese restaurants. It has never really been a "Deric Smith" thing. I just find them—no matter how fancy they are—not sophisticated enough for me. The dim lighting and faint aroma of soy sauce and ginger always seem to mix into one overwhelming, almost suffocating scent that sticks to everything. "You're welcome, Mr. Smith," a man said, his Asian accent slipping slightly. "Mr. Thompson is already waiting for you. I'll guide you." My heart thudded in my chest again, the sound echoing in my ears. Mr. Clement Thompson had sounded aggravatingly angry over the phone, demanding my presence at once. Vivian had come before me, something about trying to soothe the man. I don’t even know what that means. But whatever it is, it clearly hasn't worked. I shake it off, taking a small flight of stairs to an open area. The space is stark and overly minimalist, a few scattered chairs at the far end with barely any privacy between the tables. The overhead lights flicker slightly, ca