The Paper Wife’s Empire novel Chapter 139

The soft candlelight cast gentle shadows over the man’s sharply sculpted features, and for a moment, Ramona couldn’t tear her eyes away.

It wasn’t until the flame flickered out that she snapped back to herself, quickly handing out plates and forks to Florence and Phineas and fetching the cake.

Everyone knew Ethan wasn’t fond of sweets, so no one offered him any cake.

But the cake was homemade by Ramona. After dividing slices for everyone else, Ethan helped himself to a generous piece. He finished every last bite, and even turned to Ramona with an unexpected compliment, “This is delicious.”

It was just a simple cake, but to Ramona, it tasted better than anything a master pastry chef could have made.

Florence and Phineas were positively delighted, giggling and eating like overgrown children.

After cake, Shelby called in via video chat. They all chatted for a while, and then Shelby looped in Ethan’s father, Zadkiel Jordon.

Zadkiel bore an uncanny resemblance to Ethan—same bone structure, same height—but his features didn’t have Ethan’s sharp, cutting edge. There was a softness to his expression that softened his presence.

Maybe it was the video feed, but the intimidating aura Ramona had always imagined was nowhere to be found. Zadkiel’s hair was streaked with gray, and a pair of square glasses sat on his nose. He wasn’t much for smiling, but his tone was gentle and polite as he spoke with Ramona. He didn’t say much, though, and kept a certain distance.

Ethan, for his part, didn’t seem eager for them to talk either. He soon took over the call.

With Ethan, Zadkiel’s demeanor changed instantly. He went straight to business, his attitude turning brisk and businesslike. After exchanging a quick glance with Ramona, Ethan excused himself and headed upstairs to the study with his phone.

“Don’t take it to heart,” Florence sighed. “Those two have never been close. Every conversation is about work, nothing else.”

Father and son had always had a strained relationship. Florence had hoped things would improve after Ethan got married, but he remained formal and distant with his family.

Zadkiel, on the other hand, reserved his strictest standards for Ethan alone. No matter how minor the issue, Zadkiel would speak to Ethan in a cold, sometimes harsh tone—occasionally even crossing the line into outright rudeness.

Ethan had stepped away to take the call so Ramona wouldn't have to see how his father treated him.

“It’s alright. Work comes first,” Ramona murmured, though her gaze lingered on the staircase, worry flickering in her eyes.

She and Florence chatted on the couch for a while longer, until Florence led her to the master suite set aside for her and Ethan.

Ethan’s estate was sprawling; the main house alone boasted six master bedrooms. To give the newlyweds some privacy, Florence had picked a quiet, south-facing room for them, complete with a private staircase leading to the foyer and a cozy breakfast nook downstairs.

The bedroom was warm and inviting, decorated with champagne-colored silk sheets, a plush new sheepskin rug, and a pair of soft yellow crystal lamps by the bedside.

Florence personally gave Ramona a tour of the walk-in closet, which was fully stocked with designer clothes, pajamas, and lingerie—all tailored to her measurements.

“Grandma, that’s not—”Ramona was mortified, tugging gently at Florence’s arm in mock protest.

“Alright, alright, you two work things out however you want. All that matters is that my granddaughter-in-law feels at home here,” Florence said, patting Ramona’s hand. “Ethan treasures you, you know. Don’t worry, he’ll take his time getting to know you.”

With that, Florence left Ramona to settle in for the night, still smiling.

Once Florence was gone, Ramona drifted back to the bed. She ran her fingers over the silky sheets, her mind swirling with images of Ethan from the past few days, her heart growing warmer with every memory.

By the time Ethan returned from his call with his father, nearly two hours had passed. The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of two bedside lamps.

“Ramona?” Ethan called quietly, thinking she might have fallen asleep.

“I’m here,” came her reply, but it didn’t come from the bed. Instead, it sounded from behind him.

He turned to find her curled up on the wide sofa, phone in hand, absorbed in a game.

She sat up, the blanket sliding off her shoulders.

She’d already showered; her long hair fell, half-dry, over her chest, and the loose white lace nightgown she wore draped delicately over her slender frame, making her look like a porcelain doll come to life.