The Marriage She Turned into War novel Chapter 102

In this unfamiliar city, we relied on each other for warmth, though the connection felt more like an echo of the past.

My specialty dish was pasta. Even with such simple ingredients, I could make a dish that was full of flavor, color, and aroma. Every time I made it, Abigail would finish her food, completely satisfied.

Pasta seemed to represent the way we used to be—passionate and full of love.

I took a slow breath and looked at Abigail, masking my emotions with a sarcastic tone. "A CEO used to indulging in fancy meals actually wants a bowl of pasta like that?"

I wasn't just talking about the food—I was talking about myself. To her, the fancy meal was Joshua, the guy who had swept her off her feet when she was at her lowest. Compared to him, I was just this plain, forgettable plate of pasta.

But what surprised me was her reaction. She didn't get upset. Instead, she smiled calmly and nodded.

"Of course. Your pasta dish is my favorite. Will you make some for me?" she asked, her voice playful, almost as if we were still in love.

But reality hit me quickly. Abigail had married me out of revenge, not love. Her goal was to make me feel guilty, to pull me back into her web of emotions, only to rip me apart all over again.

When I didn't respond, she suddenly tilted her head and smirked. "How about this? You make me a plate of pasta, and I'll increase the hospital's research funds to 100 thousand dollars. Deal?"

She knew exactly how to corner me. Abigail understood me better than I'd like to admit, and she knew I couldn't turn my back on the kids at the hospital.

Fear crept into my chest. How could someone know me so well, down to my weaknesses?

"Fine," I said quietly, stepping out of the car and heading toward my rented apartment.

If I let myself believe that this was real, I'd be the biggest fool of all.

When the pasta was done, I carried the plate over to her. As she slept, she looked peaceful, and her features softened in a way I hadn't seen in years.

Back when she was buried in work, I used to wish for moments like this—for her to relax and just wait for me while I cooked.

But now, it was all a lie. Her goal was to keep me tethered to her, to ensure I couldn't move on. I'd seen through her games a long time ago.

Taking a deep breath, I reached out and gently shook her shoulder. "The pasta is ready. Eat, and then leave. My place is too small for two people."