Mr Melendez Your Wife Wants Divorce Long Ago novel Chapter 275

**TITLE: Her Silence Was Louder Than My Regrets**

**Chapter 275**

“Alright,” he breathed, his voice scarcely a whisper, like a secret meant only for me. “Yeah. That’s the plan.”

“For now,” I echoed, the unspoken words hovering between us, fragile yet palpable, like the tension before a storm.

A gentle silence enveloped us, not oppressive but rather a soft cocoon, as if time itself had paused to grant us a moment to breathe in each other’s presence.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, his tone softer than a lullaby. “At practice.”

A warmth blossomed in my chest, tightening in a way that felt exhilarating, a mix of anticipation and yearning. “Yeah. Tomorrow,” I replied, my heart racing like a wild stallion.

“And after practice…” His voice took on a teasing lilt, a promise wrapped in a suggestion that sent a thrill through me.

My grip on the phone tightened, as if I were trying to clutch the moment itself. “After practice,” I repeated, letting the words linger in the air like a shared secret, one that only we understood.

There was no need for further explanation; we both knew what awaited us.

The days that followed settled into a rhythm that felt both strange and familiar, like an old song playing on repeat, its melody just out of reach.

The championship buzz still lingered on campus, a shimmering aura that clung to everyone like a second skin. Reporters swarmed, cameras flashed, and news clips aired, each segment more sensational than the last. Noah’s name had become a headline, a beacon of excitement and hope.

Yet, amid the celebrations, the season wasn’t truly over.

Not for us.

We had earned something even greater—the Bowl bid.

The one held in California, a coveted prize that every college program dreamed of, a ticket to prestige, sponsors, and the kind of attention that made hearts race… and scouts take notice.

Though it was still a month away, the intensity of training ramped up. If anything, the pressure doubled, a weight pressing down on us as we prepared for the challenge ahead.

Every reporter expected Noah to recreate the impossible, to pull off miracles not once, but twice.

I understood the toll this took on a player’s mind, the relentless pressure that could either forge a champion or shatter their spirit.

So, practices shifted; contact became lighter, but discipline tightened like a noose. I walked the field, correcting techniques with a keen eye, shouting plays with fervor, reviewing formations with relentless focus. I did my job, always pushing for Noah’s best interest, knowing how much was at stake.

One afternoon, the phone rang, and on the other end were two influential scouts—powerful figures willing to negotiate with Noah directly, bypassing William entirely. My heart raced with excitement as I called Noah into my office, eager to share the fantastic news. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing us in a bubble of possibility.

He leaned against the door, arms crossed, a knowing smile dancing on his lips. “Like in the old days,” he murmured, nostalgia lacing his words.

For a fleeting moment, the weight of the news slipped from my mind. I crossed the room in three quick strides, my hands instinctively moving to cup his jaw, drawing him in for a kiss that was fierce enough to leave a mark. His back hit the wall with a soft thud, and his fingers curled into my shirt, pulling me closer, as if he needed me to fill the empty spaces in his lungs.

If he wanted to sit in my car in silence, just to share the same air, I’d do it, relishing the intimacy of the moment.

If he showed up at my house in the middle of the night, I would wrap him in my arms every single time.

He was worth the caution. Worth the danger. Worth every moment of waiting.

“I hate leaving in the middle of the night… I feel like a cheap whore,” he pouted one night, a playful frown on his lips.

“Babe, it’s the expensive ones you can’t keep for the night,” I teased, unable to resist the urge to laugh.

I kissed him, the sound of our laughter mingling in the air. “I hate it too, but it won’t be forever… Besides, I have a surprise.”

His eyes lit up, and he threw his arms around my neck, kissing me with the enthusiasm of a child on Christmas morning. “Really? Tell me!”

“I rented us a place for the Bowl weekend. Far enough from the team’s accommodations. Just you and me. All night.”

It wasn’t much, and it was risky as hell—but those stolen moments were what kept us both alive, the thrill of the unknown fueling our desire.

In the whirlwind of stolen moments and whispered promises, a fragile yet unshakeable bond blossomed between us, defying the weight of the world outside. Each encounter, charged with a mix of urgency and tenderness, painted a vivid tapestry of our longing, reminding us that love could flourish even in the shadows. The thrill of our secret kept us alive, each kiss and shared laughter a testament to our resilience against the pressures that sought to pull us apart. As the championship drew closer, the stakes intensified, but so did our connection, a beautiful paradox that thrived on the very danger that surrounded us.

With the Bowl weekend on the horizon, the anticipation grew not just for the game, but for the promise of uninterrupted time together. I had crafted a sanctuary for us, a temporary escape where we could shed the weight of expectations and simply be. In those stolen hours, we would embrace the fullness of our emotions, allowing ourselves to dream beyond the confines of the field and the scrutiny of the world. As I lay awake at night, the thought of him beside me fueled my resolve; our love was worth every risk, every secret rendezvous. In the silence that enveloped us, I knew that our hearts had found a rhythm, one that echoed louder than any regret, and together, we would face whatever came next.