All Chapters of The Day I Stopped Loving Him: Chapter 151 - Chapter 160

Maya's POVThe morning arrived cold and clear. The kind of April light that left no room for shadow.The loft had been cleaned. The broken vase swept away. The knife bagged for evidence. The space restored to its purpose. Twelve pieces stood on their forms, waiting.Elena arrived at ten. Léo was with her, a bandage on his forehead, his movements careful but steady. They walked in together, and the loft felt complete in a way it had not felt before. All of us in the same room. The full structure bearing weight."The authorities have the Bauer documents," Elena said. "Marcus handed them over at eight. The prosecutor opened an investigation into Margaux Delisle thirty minutes ago.""Financial crimes are slow," Léo said. "Criminal negligence causing death is not. She is being pressured from two sides.""The stockist who cancelled the order called back this morning," Sarah said over the speakerphone from Brussels. "They reinstated. They saw the news about the investigation and they want to

Daniel's POVThe hospital waiting room smelled of antiseptic and stale coffee. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a sickly green pallor on the faces of the other families waiting for news. Some sat in silent prayer. Others paced the linoleum floor, their footsteps wearing a path in the wax. Daniel did neither. He stood at the window, looking out at the parking lot, watching the ambulances come and go, their lights flashing red and blue against the grey evening.The phone call had come forty minutes ago. Marcus. His voice flat and controlled, delivering the information with the precision of a man accustomed to bad news. Maya had been attacked in the parking garage. She had hit her head. She was unconscious. Léo was with her.The drive to the hospital was a blur. Daniel did not remember the traffic or the rain or the red lights he ran. He remembered the grip of his hands on the steering wheel, the white knuckles, the desperate, terrifying recognition that the woman he loved

Elena's POVThe VOSS brand was frozen. Maya was in a hospital bed. Daniel was circling the perimeter, looking for a way back in.Elena stood in the loft. The forms with the Worn collection were draped in white, a silent army waiting for a war that had been postponed. The space felt empty without the sound of the shears, without Maya's presence at the cutting table, without the energy of creation that usually filled the room.The silence was oppressive. The loft, usually a hive of industry and purpose, had become a warehouse of anxieties. The fabric waited. The forms stood. The armor was ready, but the warrior was down.Marcus called with an update. The injunction was solid on paper. The IP clause was the problem. The Renaud estate claimed ownership of any design produced using mill resources."They are claiming the first collection was made on a mill machine," Marcus said."It was a secondhand Singer in a coastal cottage," Elena replied. The anger was a cold, hard thing in her chest.

Maya's POVI signed the discharge papers with a trembling hand. The nurse stood at the door, arms crossed, mouth a flat line of disapproval."You are leaving against medical advice. You have a grade two concussion. You need observation for at least forty-eight hours.""I have people who will observe me.""That is not the same thing.""I know." I pulled on my jacket. Pain spiked through my skull and the room tilted. I gripped the edge of the bed until it settled. "It will have to be enough."The nurse handed me a sheet of instructions. I folded it without reading. I knew what it said: rest, no screens, no stress. I was about to break every rule.The drive home demanded concentration. Streetlights blurred at the edges of my vision. I gripped the wheel tightly. The scar on my abdomen reminded me I had pushed through worse.I pulled into the garage beneath the building. It was empty except for Léo’s car. The surveillance vehicle was gone—Marcus had repositioned it.The elevator rose slowl

Daniel's POV The lawyer's office was on the top floor of a building in the eighth arrondissement. Glass tables and leather chairs and a bookshelf of legal volumes that had never been opened. A single orchid on the credenza white and artificial and perfectly symmetrical. Daniel sat across from Henri Marchand. Sixty-three. Silver hair cropped close. Wire-rimmed glasses he removed and cleaned when he was thinking. Marchand had a reputation in family court that made opposing counsel tighten when he walked in. He did not lose cases. He repositioned. The papers were stacked between them. Emergency custody modification. Primary residence change. Supervised visitation for Maya. Clinical language that turned a child into a jurisdictional question. "The environmental risk argument is strong," Marchand said. He was cleaning his glasses with a monogrammed cloth. "The mother was the victim of a violent assault linked to her business. The child is in the crossfire." "Good," Daniel said. "I want