บททั้งหมดของ Married to My Enemy's Son: บทที่ 1 - บทที่ 10

Morning.Nadia Verne's eyes fluttered open, and her first sensation was a wave of soreness throughout her body. Instinctively, she looked down and realized she was completely bare, with even her underwear missing. She glanced around the room. She seemed to be the only one there. The bright red stains on the sheets and the scattered clothes of both a man and a woman on the floor told her everything she needed to know about the night before.What on earth had happened?She had only been a bridesmaid. How did it end up like this?Her breath quickened as she shot up from the bed, cold sweat breaking out on her back. She grabbed her phone from the nightstand and called her best friend, Sienna."You were so drunk last night you could not tell up from down, so I had no choice but to bring you to the suite the bride had prepared—room 2208. What's up?""Is there anyone else in the room besides me?""Who else could there be? It's just you. I have things to take care of right now. I'll call you

Nadia was up at six.Outside, it was still pitch black—the kind of freezing winter morning where just stepping out from under the duvet felt like a punishment. She stood by the window, wrapping both hands around a mug of warm water, watching the bare tree branches whip around in the wind. Christmas was only two days away, but there wasn't a single flake of snow. The sky was just a heavy, indifferent sheet of gray.The sound of heavy, stumbling footsteps down the hall cut through the quiet.Amara appeared in the doorway, looking an absolute wreck. Her makeup was smeared, she was swaying on her feet, and the sharp, sour stench of stale alcohol rolled off her in waves. She leaned heavily against the doorframe, her chin tilted up with a defensive, irritated look that practically dared Nadia to say something."Amara," Nadia said, keeping her voice low to avoid an early morning shouting match. "Did you go gambling again?"Amara’s chin went higher. "Who says I lost? Nobody can prove I lost a

Caiden looked at her with the same cool patience he probably applied to difficult board meetings. "So," he murmured, his eyes locking onto hers. "What is your final answer, Miss Verne?""Still no," she said, making sure every word landed.He studied her for a long, quiet moment. There was no flash of frustration in his features, no hint of irritation. It was that same unreadable look, like he was weighing her answer and deciding what to do with it.Then, his voice dropped a fraction. "Your refusal... it has something to do with that night, doesn't it?"The blood drained from Nadia's face so fast she felt a sudden wave of dizziness. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she had known it would surface eventually. But knowing it was coming didn't make it any easier to sit across from him while he brought it out into the open.She didn't try to deny it. Instead, she gave a single, tight nod."I want to clear something up about that night," Caiden continued, his gaze remaining fixed on her fa

Nadia walked out of Caiden Wolfe's apartment with a single thought looping through her head.*Pay attention to your brother.*She had delivered the line with as much composure as she could manage and then shut the door behind her a little harder than necessary. The sound echoed down the corridor. Nadia winced and kept walking, refusing to look back.When she arrived home later that afternoon, she found Amara exactly where she always was: sprawled across the sofa in her pajamas, surrounded by snack wrappers and staring at the television with complete concentration.To Nadia's surprise, the financial news channel was on.She set her keys down."Since when do you care about global markets?""I don't," Amara replied without looking away from the screen. "I'm watching him."She pointed a half-eaten chip toward the television.Nadia followed her gaze and immediately recognized the photograph displayed behind the anchor.Caiden Wolfe.He wore a dark overcoat and the same cool, distant expres

The number Amara sent on a Thursday morning was not a number Nadia had been prepared for. She read the message twice. Then she set her phone face down on the staffroom table and sat very still for a moment, looking at the wall. The debt had been creeping up for months—she knew that. She had been cutting back, sending what she could spare, and draining her account while convincing herself that Amara would finally see reason. She had managed to pretend the situation would stabilize on its own. It had not. The debt had finally stopped pretending it could wait. She picked up her phone and called Amara. Three rings. Voicemail. She tried again. Voicemail. She put the phone in her pocket and went to teach her first class of the day with the focused composure of a woman who had learned a long time ago that you did not bring your personal disasters into a classroom. After school she sat at her desk and did the calculation she had been avoiding. Her savings. Her monthly salary. The apartmen