2024-04-10 10:54:08"Mark, we need to talk right now."
Mark Ferro, coming home from work in his janitor uniform, was surprised by his wife Celia's words.
He expected to greet her lovingly and give her a gift. Tomorrow, they would celebrate their first wedding anniversary.
"Yes, Celia. I'm listening," Mark closed the door, approaching her.
Celia's facial expression, however, didn't invite Mark to affection and hugs. She stood with crossed arms, her face indicating anger, a desire to vent.
"Mark, we need to end this deplorable situation in our lives," Celia continued, "You and I work in the lowest positions at the company, we barely have enough to eat, and you can't give me what I need, let alone what I want, for a long time."
Mark swallowed hard, understanding his wife's words. "I know, dear, but—"
"That's why I've already decided. I want a divorce!"
Celia didn't even give Mark a chance to try to argue.
Her words echoed in Mark's mind for a few seconds.
He thought Celia was just going to complain about life. That he was already used to.
He had everything planned. Even if Celia wasn't 100% comfortable, they would celebrate their anniversary.
After the celebration, Mark would talk openly with Celia and reveal something he had hidden from her for a year.
But now, Celia is asking for a divorce!
Confused, Mark shook his head as if he hadn't heard correctly. "Celia... What do you mean?"
"I think you understood me very well," Celia spoke with contempt, "But what can be expected from someone like you? You're incapable of understanding what I say and what I want."
"Celia, did you have a bad day at work? Let's talk..." Mark tried to put his arm around Celia.
But as if Mark's arm were an eel, Celia quickly dodged him, heading to the kitchen.
"Don't touch me! You disgust me!"
Mark didn't give up and followed her.
He knew Celia had every right to complain. The apartment they lived in was small and needed repairs.
The neighborhood was dangerous, and people weren't well-treated even if they didn't engage in bad activities.
In fact, Mark had always suspected that he and Celia only got low-level jobs because of their address.
Mark took a deep breath, "Celia, let's talk calmly. You're making a big mistake."
Celia, who was facing away and leaning on the sink, breathing deeply, turned to him with anger in her eyes.
"The mistake I made was marrying you a year ago!"
"Don't talk like that, Celia!" Mark defended himself, "We loved each other when we got married."
"But just love doesn't fill our bellies or pay the bills!" Celia retorted, "Look around you, Mark! Are you satisfied with everything we've 'achieved' so far?"
"Celia, if you calm down, I can explain better—"
"I'm tired of your excuses. Save your breath!" Celia shouted.
"You're upset, but when you calm down—"
"I won't calm down with you around. You've deeply disappointed me. Yes, we're completing a year of marriage, and that's why I started thinking and looking back on our lives."
Celia spewed these hurtful words at Mark.
"Can't you remember one good thing we've experienced together?" Mark asked with his head down.
Scoffing, Celia replied, "If there was anything, it was buried in the middle of millions of bad moments I've spent with you!
"And you know what's the worst thing? It's that when I met you, you had a different aura... You didn't seem like a loser to me! It's like I fell for a trick and ruined my life with you!" Celia raged furiously.
Mark took a deep breath. Celia wasn't wrong.
When they met, Mark was a different person. But to marry Celia, he had to be the person he is today.
However, all of this would change starting tomorrow, but Celia had decided to ruin everything today.
Celia had a year to ask for a divorce, but she decided to ask for it today! That was too absurd for Mark to accept!
How do I make her wait at least until tomorrow?
Suddenly, Mark remembered the package he brought and was still holding it. He smiled and extended the gift to her.
"What's this thing?" Celia reacted with disgust.
"Your wedding anniversary gift. Open it. You'll change your mind once you understand everything," Mark urged her, approaching slowly.
Celia finally took the package and examined it carefully.
Mark smiled slightly.
An exquisite small box. But the point is what inside.
If Celia opened the package, her decision about the divorce would dissolve.
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Chapter 912
At the Ferro House, the night carried a heavy silence.The faint noise of the alarm system was the only sound as Regis and Everton crossed the front lawn.Everton paused by the garage, his eyes scanning the perimeter with the focus of a soldier on high alert.“Not tonight,” he muttered. “No one’s blowing up Lord or Lady Ferro’s car.”Regis sighed. “For heaven’s sake, Everton. Next time, don’t encourage Vargas to rush home to ‘satisfy’ his wife.”Everton smirked. “Why not? If Vargas doesn’t take care of her, someone else will. We wouldn’t want our friend turning into a cuckold, would we?”Their laughter died at once.A soft rustle — footsteps in the grass.They turned sharply, eyes alert, and Regis’s hand slipped beneath his jacket, fingers brushing the cold steel of his holstered gun...... But it was only Vargas, returning from his home.His face said everything: the smug, drowsy expression of a man who had just been thoroughly conquered by his exuberant wife.Everton grinned wickedl
Chapter 911
They reached the underground parking lot, where the noise resumed: screeching tires, honking horns, engines revving in panic.Cars scraped against pillars as their owners fled in blind terror.No one paid attention to the vehicle half-hidden behind a dumpster, rocking back and forth as if caught in a storm.Through the windshield, a flash of movement revealed one of the company janitors: broad-shouldered, flushed, his shirt halfway unbuttoned, sweat glistening down his chest.He tried to sit up, breath ragged, eyes wide with alarm. But before he could escape, two manicured hands — Celia’s — seized his shoulders and pulled him back down with ravenous determination.The car began to shake harder, its rhythmic sway swallowed by the din of fleeing engines.******The streets of Braspolis were a blur of blue and red lights as the sun sank behind the skyline. The rhythmic whir of the Aurelia Military Police helicopter cut through the evening air, a sound that filled everyone below with a mi
Chapter 910 Chaos in Vasconcelos Company
“Lady Ferro, is everything all right?” Fagundes asked, concern creasing his forehead.Briana’s color drained in an instant. “I can’t believe it... Mark is at Luana and Karl’s building. There’s a bomb in Karl’s car.”“Karl Carvalho, the supervisor of the series that the extremists are trying to cancel?” Julian asked, voice tight.“The same,” Briana whispered. “I have to—”Regis arrived as if summoned by thought, long strides and a face that had shed any trace of amusement.“Lady Ferro,” he said, blunt and commanding. “You’re staying here. Orders from your husband.”Briana pushed another forkful of dessert into her mouth as if to steady herself. “Regis, you need to check on Lord Ferro—”“I’m trying to reach Vargas,” Regis interrupted. “He isn’t answering.”“His son’s room is finished,” Briana managed between sobs. “He needs to see it before—” The rest of the sentence broke into a hand pressed to her forehead, the certainty of dread slicing the air.Fagundes, who had sat close, placed hi
Chapter 909 The Baby’s Nursery Is Ready
Briana and Nadir stood speechless, their eyes wide with wonder as they stepped into the baby’s new room.Before them stretched a space that felt both serene and alive: a soft, pale-sand color washed over the walls, grounding the room in quiet elegance.One wall was paneled in light wood, its grain running in gentle horizontal lines that caught the light.Built into it, a set of asymmetrical niches held carefully chosen pieces, small treasures that spoke of care and balance.The crib, crafted from natural wood, was simple and timeless, as if it had grown from the very heart of the house itself.A plush wool rug, thick and warm beneath their feet, defined the play area, where a few toys made of soft, organic materials rested in perfect harmony.By the window stood a nursing chair with sculpted lines and a raw linen fabric that invited rest.Beside it, a floor lamp cast a diffused glow, ready to illuminate nights that would breathe slowly and tenderly.The linen curtains softened the day
Chapter 908 Karl, the Next Victim?
Mark ended the call and rose from his chair, his face grave. Across from him, Mary Ellen and Luana were pale with alarm, both standing as if the floor had suddenly become unsafe.“What did my fiancé say?” Luana demanded, her voice quivering.Mark’s expression darkened. “Don’t worry, Luana. Karl found a bomb in his car.”Her hands flew to her mouth. “How can you say that and tell me not to worry?”“He’s already called Ribeiro,” Mark replied.“I should go too,” Mary Ellen said, already halfway to the door.“I’m on my way there now,” Mark told her, following close behind.They ran out together, leaving Luana frozen in place. Her pulse thundered in her ears.She stood there trembling, unable to move, as though fear itself had turned her to stone.******Meanwhile, in the parking lot of the Vasconcelos Company, Christopher pulled in and parked his car.He stepped out, locked it, and pocketed the keys, his face as cold and unreadable as marble.A chime sounded; a text notification. Christop
Chapter 907 New Bomb
Karl finished his lunch and wandered into the living room in nothing but quick-dry shorts, the picture of lazy ease on his day off.He grabbed the remote, flicked the television on, and scrolled until a news channel settled into his living room like an unwelcome guest.The anchor, suit pressed and expression trained to bland neutrality, reported in that measured, anxious cadence. “So far, there is no concrete information about who might be behind the attacks in Braspolis,” the man intoned, “The population remains terrified, and many are avoiding going out on the streets by car, congesting public transportation options.”The screen filled with images of a city in panic: buses overflowing at the doors as desperate passengers squeezed in; subway stations a heaving sea of heads; people fighting for taxis with elbows and shoves; rideshare drivers at their wits’ end, exhausted and swamped by demand.Karl watched, his face closing into a shadow of suspicion. The images — sardined commuters,
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