All Chapters of Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Viola McCoy"A car that just delivered them," the guard says, nodding toward the flowers. "Are they from your husband?" I smile. "Yes." The guard grins. "You’re really lucky." I nod, still smiling as he helps me place the flowers in my car. Before I leave, I take a picture with them because this is what happy wives do, right? They take pictures of the sweet gestures their husbands make, post them, cherish them. I head back inside, and the moment I step into the office, my colleagues erupt into cheers. “You’re so lucky, Viola!” someone calls. "Julian is such a dream," another voice chimes in. I laugh lightly, tucking my hair behind my ear, letting their excitement take over me, even if a small voice in my head whispers that something doesn’t feel quite right. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see Logan walk past. He doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t acknowledge me. Fine.I won’t let him bother me. I settle into my seat just as Linda appears, tapping my desk. “Your

Viola McCoy I can’t sleep. My eyes refuse to shut as I continue to stare at the ceiling in my bedroom. I blink over and over, hoping each time that maybe—just maybe—the weight in my chest will lessen. Julian is still passed out on the couch downstairs. I haven’t moved since I came up, hours ago, and he hasn’t moved since he came in, reeking of alcohol.He forgot our anniversary. No matter how I try to spin it, soften it, excuse it, it doesn’t change the fact that he forgot. I feel it. Deep in my chest, a dull ache. Like something’s caved in where warmth used to live. Like I’d been standing in a room I thought had furniture, only to fall flat when I tried to sit. I keep thinking about Romeo112 too. The flowers. That note. The timing. I’ve been so sure it was Julian. Wanted to be sure. Who are you, Romeo112? Why do your words feel more like love than anything my husband has said to me in months?I sigh, curling into myself. I’m too tired to cry now. Maybe it’s maturity

Logan Reynolds She walks away, and I let her.I stand there like some kind of statue, cemented to the spot. I didn’t expect her to smile. I didn’t expect her to fall into my arms or whisper thank you in that low voice that’s haunted me every night since Paris.But I didn’t expect this... finality either.That look in her eyes, it gutted me. Disappointment and betrayal wrapped in that sharp, beautiful sadness only Viola McCoy knows how to wear so gracefully.God, I’m such a fool.I shove my hands in my pockets and start walking, not even sure where I’m headed. Just need to move. Everything she said is playing in my head on a loop.“I made room for you in places I didn’t know were empty.”And I filled them with lies. Cowardice dressed up as kindness. I thought I was helping. That’s the part that really kills me. I told myself I was doing a good thing. I watched her quietly spiral in that marriage, watched her hide behind polite smiles. And I thought, what if I gave her something goo

Logan Reynolds She drove off the second she saw me. Didn’t even hesitate. Just got in her car and peeled out like I was something she needed to escape from.It’s been like that for days now. Viola's been avoiding me so hard, I’m starting to hate myself for even trying. No eye contact. No small talk. And the thing that stings the most? I deserve it. I held my tongue. I played it safe when I should’ve been honest. I watched her unravel and didn’t step in. I just let it happen.I've been pouring everything into work, burying myself in reports, calls, late nights at the office like productivity can drown out the ache. It doesn’t help. None of it does.She’s in my head. All the time. And when she’s not, the silence she leaves behind is louder than any noise.I pull into my driveway, grab my coat off the passenger seat and slam the door shut. The porch light’s off. Huh. That’s odd. Bonnie’s usually here, raiding my fridge and yelling at me about my lack of social life.I punch

Logan Reynolds I almost laugh at the absurdity of it. “No, silly,” I say. “You.”She looks at me. “Oh wow. The great Logan Reynolds is in love with me.”She says it like it’s a joke. Like the idea of me loving her is some hilarious concept. And I can only smile, not because it’s funny—but because she wouldn’t believe me sober. She walks back to the seat, humming some random tune, with her steps light and a little wobbly. I follow her, taking a seat beside her again. “No, for real,” I say quietly. “I love you.”“Yes, yes,” she replies with a flutter of her hand like she’s swatting away my confession. I smile again, but it’s a sad one. Because I know she wouldn’t remember. Or worse, she’d remember and convince herself she misheard. That I didn’t mean it.The wind picks up, carrying the smell of rain. It might rain tonight because it’s starting to get chilly. I shrug off my coat and drape it around her shoulders.“I’m fine,” she says, pulling it tighter anyway.“It’s chilly,” I