Marrying My Father's Enemy -
Chapter 59: New Perspective
Chapter 59: New Perspective
Chapter 59: A New Perspective
Sana sipped her hot chocolate as she scrolled through Eira’s phone again.
Her dark brown eyes flicked across the photos like she was studying them for a test.
"You know," she started, tilting her head, "for someone supposedly ’having the time of his life,’ your husband looks like a passed-out log in these pictures."
Eira let out a small, bitter laugh, wrapping her hands tightly around her mug. "Yeah, I noticed that too. A little too late, don’t you think?"
Sana grinned, then teased her. "Better late than never. I mean, seriously, Eira, who even sends pictures like this? If they were real, why would you need an unknown number to tell you? That’s the first red flag."
Eira frowned, glancing at the phone again. "I guess I didn’t think about it. I was... too angry. And hurt."
"Understandable," Sana said, placing the phone down on the table with a soft thunk.
"But come on, let’s be real here. If I wanted to convince someone their husband was cheating, I’d at least pick photos where he wasn’t looking like he’d been hit by a tranquiliser dart."
Eira couldn’t help but laugh, a small sound escaped her lips. "You’re ridiculous."
"No, I’m logical," Sana replied, wagging a finger. "Big difference."
She leaned forward. "Admit it, though. You went full soap opera over this, didn’t you?"
Eira opened her mouth to argue but paused, thinking back to her storming out of the apartment, her dramatic breakdown on the street. "Okay, maybe I overreacted a little."
Sana raised an eyebrow. "A little? Eira, you packed your bags, left your home, sat in the snow like the heroine of a tragedy, and basically planned your funeral. I’d say you went all-in."
Eira groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Fine, I was dramatic. Happy now?"
Sana laughed, the sound was bright and infectious. "Extremely. But don’t worry, we all have our moments. At least yours was... memorable."
Eira peeked out from between her fingers, her voice muffled. "You’re not helping."
"I’m helping a lot," Sana replied back, crossing her arms. "I’ve already got you laughing, and now you’re seeing the situation for what it is—an obvious setup. Whoever sent those pictures wanted you to lose your mind, and, well, mission accomplished."
Eira sighed, sitting back against the couch. "Okay, maybe you’re right. But..." Her voice trailed off, and her hands tightened around her mug even more. "I’m still mad. Even if it’s fake, what was he doing there with her? Why was he even in her presence?"
Sana nodded slowly, her tone softened slightly. "Fair question. But you’re gonna have to ask him that, Eira. You won’t get the answers sitting here stewing over it."
Eira hesitated. "What if he doesn’t want to answer? What if..." Her voice faded. "What if he doesn’t care anymore?"
Sana reached out, placing a hand on Eira’s shoulder. "Then you’ll deal with it. But don’t let someone else’s lies ruin everything before you know the truth. You deserve that much, at least."
Eira looked at Sana. "You’re really good at this, you know. Being... wise."
Sana grinned and leaned back. "What can I say? I’m an old soul in a young body. I even have the gift of hot chocolate wisdom."
Eira laughed again. "Thank you, Sana. Really. I don’t think I would’ve thought about any of this without you."
Sana shrugged and smiled. "That’s what friends are for. Now, finish your hot chocolate, because tomorrow, you’ve got some figuring out to do."
Eira sipped her drink, the warmth spreading through her. For the first time in days, she felt like she wasn’t completely alone.
It seemed like she finally made a friend... a kind one...
- ____ -
Callian flexed his hand as he parked the car outside the apartment.
It still hurt from punching.
It was a dull, throbbing ache that matched the pressure in his chest.
He hadn’t stopped thinking about Eira all this time—her pale face at the hospital, the way she looked at him like he was the only one she trusted, and then, the bitterness in her voice when she told him to sit down.
He stepped out of the car, his shoulders tensed as he walked into the building and made his way up the stairs.
He’d planned to explain everything to her, to tell her what happened with Vanesa, but he was too jumbled to rehearse what he’d say.
As he reached the door, his stomach twisted.
"Wha—"
The apartment felt eerily quiet.
Too quiet.
He unlocked the door and stepped inside, glancing around.
Something felt wrong.
The living room was empty, the air heavy with silence.
He noticed small details first—the blanket she usually draped on the couch was gone, her favourite mug missing from the kitchen counter.
A sinking feeling pulled at him as he moved toward their bedroom.
The closet doors were open, half-empty. Her clothes, her shoes, all the little things that filled the space—gone.
His heart pounded in his chest, faster and harder with every step as he scanned the room.
And then, on the dresser, he saw it.
A single envelope with his name written in her familiar handwriting.
He picked it up, his hands trembled slightly.
He tore it open and pulled out the folded piece of paper inside.
His eyes went through the words, each line hit him like a blow.
"I saw the pictures with you and Vanesa. There’s no need for me to stay anymore. You can marry her, or Mita. Suit yourself. I will contact you about the divorce. Our marriage contract ends here."
The paper shook in his hands as he reread it, the words blurred together. "What...?" he whispered.
He crumpled the letter in his fist, his jaw tightened as a surge of emotions rushed through his veins.
"Eira," he muttered, his voice rose as he looked around the room, as if expecting her to suddenly appear. "Eira!"
But there was no answer, just the suffocating silence of the empty apartment.
He threw the crumpled letter onto the bed, his chest heaved as he raced.
"Pictures? What pictures? And Vanesa? How did this happen?"
He ran a hand through his hair, pacing back and forth, the ache in his injured hand was immediately forgotten as fury bubbled to the surface.
"She didn’t even ask me. She didn’t... she just left!" His voice cracked, the realisation of her leaving him pushed him down hard.
His steps faltered, and he sank onto the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. "Why didn’t she talk to me?" he whispered, "Why didn’t she let me explain?"
The anger started to disappear... She was gone.
Really gone. The apartment, their home, felt like a shell without her.
The images went through his mind—her smile when she teased him, the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention, the sound of her laugh.
All of it felt so far away now, like something he could never reach again.
He stood up abruptly, his fists clenched at his sides.
"No," he said. "This isn’t over. I’m not letting it end like this."
But as he looked around the empty room, the reality of her absence hit him again.
His throat tightened, and for the first time in years, he felt something he couldn’t fight against—devastation.
If you find any errors (non-standard content, ads redirect, broken links, etc..), Please let us know so we can fix it as soon as possible.
Report