From Neglected Wife to CEO’s Obsession novel Chapter 77

The bodyguard stood there, stiff as ever, following orders and refusing to budge. I figured it wasn’t worth arguing, so I let it go.

After changing into fresh clothes, I stepped out of the hospital and into a blast of sunlight that made me squint. It felt good, though—a reminder that life kept moving.

I had all the evidence I needed to file for divorce. All that was missing was a lawyer with enough guts to take on Remy. No one in Georgia Bay wanted the trouble, so I’d have to look elsewhere. There had to be someone out there willing to fight for me—this country was too big for there not to be.

The car rolled out of the hospital parking lot and headed for the company. I assumed the “accommodation” the bodyguard mentioned was just a company dorm room or something.

But when I got out, I realized it was actually an apartment.

It wasn’t huge—maybe about 1,500 square feet—but it was perfect in every way. The decorating was spot on, matching exactly what I liked, right down to the color of the curtains. I couldn’t help but smile.

And the best part? The office was only a ten-minute walk away.

At first, I thought I’d just stay here for a few days. With my finances, I could buy my own place or book a luxury hotel suite anytime. But Elliot’s arrangement was honestly perfect for me. There was even a real skylight over the bed, so you could see the stars at night. I totally caved—this place just felt right.

The bed was made with sturdy, old-fashioned linen sheets—cool, crisp, and just textured enough to be comfortable. Mom and I always loved that kind of bedding. It felt like home.

The balcony was turned into a sunroom, filled with sweet-smelling osmanthus, jasmine, gardenia, and orange trees. The scent reminded me so much of the flower room Dad built for Mom at our old place.

Dad loved gardenias, Mom adored osmanthus, and I always picked jasmine.

It was autumn, and the osmanthus trees were in full bloom, their fragrance both light and intense, drifting through the air and filling the whole apartment.

Suddenly, my eyes burned with tears.

Every autumn when the osmanthus bloomed, Mom would make osmanthus jam for me—sweet and fragrant, my favorite thing to spread on a bun. The flowers were blooming again this year, but Mom was gone. I’d never get to taste her jam again.

It always seems to go this way, doesn’t it? You don’t realize how deep your feelings run until someone’s gone, and then you spend the rest of your life missing them.

I missed Dad. I missed Mom. I missed our old house and the warmth that came with it.

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