Sign the Papers Mr. Langford novel Chapter 59

Lawrence's hand still rested on the manila envelope.

He had already pinched the corner of the flap, mere seconds away from ripping it open.

But Willow had chosen that exact moment to appear.

She was dressed in a pale nightgown with a loose cardigan draped over her shoulders, her hair cascading down her neck. The hallway light spilled across her face, making her look incredibly pale and defenseless.

Lawrence glanced at her.

"What's wrong?"

Willow stepped into the room. Her eyes flicked briefly toward the envelope in his hand before she quickly averted her gaze, acting as if she had seen nothing.

"Wren said she'll never forgive me."

Lawrence furrowed his brow.

"That's not true."

"But I know it is. She really hates me." Tears began to slide down Willow's face. "Lawrence, should I even stay? Should I drop the rehab project? If I just stayed far away from you both, maybe Wren wouldn't be in so much pain?"

Every word she spoke sounded like a retreat.

Yet every sentence expertly painted Wren as the irrational, jealous wife who refused to tolerate her innocent sister.

Lawrence tossed the envelope back onto the desk.

"Nobody is asking you to leave."

Willow looked up at him, a fragile glimmer of hope in her eyes.

"But Leo is starting to avoid me too."

She broke down completely, the tears falling faster as if she couldn't hold the weight of it anymore.

"I know I'm not Wren. She is Mrs. Langford. She is Leo's mother. She is the true Whitaker heiress. She's had everything handed to her since she was a little girl."

"I never wanted to steal anything from her."

"I just... I just wanted someone to choose me, just once."

Lawrence stood perfectly still, his expression unreadable.

Wren would never say things like this.

Wren would bury every ounce of her pain and call him Mr. Langford in that cold, detached tone.

She would never cry and ask if he would choose her.

She would never whisper that she was afraid.

Lately, Wren had given him nothing but a suffocating sense of losing control.

But Willow offered him complete and total dominance.

She relied on him.

She looked up to him.

She needed him.

And that intoxicating high finally gave Lawrence's chaotic frustration an outlet.

He stepped forward and wiped the tears from Willow's cheek.

She trembled softly under his touch.

"I..."

She tilted her head ever so slightly, instinctively chasing the warmth of his palm.

Lawrence's hand stalled against her skin.

The study was deathly quiet.

So quiet they could hear the relentless drizzle against the windows and Willow's ragged breathing.

Logic screamed at him to stop.

Wren was still his wife.

His son was asleep upstairs.

And the envelope Wren had sent was still sitting right on his desk.

But a darker, more cynical voice quickly drowned it out.

This kind of thing happened all the time in his circles.

A wife was a wife, and mistresses were mistresses.

As long as he didn't initiate a divorce, as long as Wren remained Mrs. Langford, and as long as Willow stayed obedient and didn't make a scene, everything could be neatly managed.

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