The Paper Wife’s Empire novel Chapter 305

Directly ahead, at the other end of the aisle, stood Ramona beside another man. Her arm was wrapped around his waist, her smile radiant and sweet. The man, tall and poised, stood close, his arm protectively around her, his own gaze full of gentle affection.

They were completely absorbed in each other, their eyes shifting from the gelatin in her hand to one another’s faces. Whatever they were saying made Ramona laugh so hard she couldn’t stop, her cheeks glowing.

For a moment, Jotham wondered if he was hallucinating, if he had mistaken her for someone else. She was even more beautiful than when he’d first met her in college—so radiant she was almost painful to look at.

The man, clearly amused, took the gelatin from her hand and then, with a flourish, swept the entire row of them into their already full shopping cart. Ramona playfully grabbed his hand to stop him, but neither of them could wipe the grins from their faces. The man ruffled her hair and leaned in to brush a kiss against her cheek, and all the while, Ramona looked up at him with stars in her eyes. One doting, the other demure. It was as if no one else in the world existed.

Jotham should have been furious, should have stormed over there. But his limbs felt heavy, paralyzed. He didn't want to admit it, but they looked… perfect together. From their appearances to their auras, they were a flawless match. Even other shoppers paused to cast envious glances their way.

So it was true. The man Ramona had told him about was real. She had truly fallen for someone else.

A sharp pain seized Jotham’s heart. The scene before him felt like waking from a long, terrible dream, each breath a fresh stab of a knife. In the past, he might have felt confident enough to challenge any rival, but now… haggard and disheveled, he couldn’t even bring himself to get a good look at the man by her side.

He had spent the entire day waiting outside her apartment, desperate to see her, to unload the crushing weight of the past few days, to pour out all the words stuck in his throat. Ramona had always been his remedy. Whenever he was upset with Brianna, or frustrated with his family, or defeated in business, just being near Ramona would calm his soul. It was as if she possessed a natural ability to heal him. In her presence, he could focus, he could achieve.

He was only just beginning to understand that now. True love wasn’t about possession or sacrifice; it was about nurturing the other person’s growth, about quiet companionship through the ordinary days. But he had been chasing a fantasy, mistaking explosive passion for love, ignoring what his heart truly craved.

Perhaps he had been drawn to her from the very beginning. It was because she was always there that he had felt free to be so reckless. With Ramona by his side, his life had felt vibrant.

Since she’d left, his soul had withered. And now, even his history with Brianna felt like a cruel cosmic joke.

Why was there no medicine for regret? He had lost the one person he truly wanted, and now his life was nothing but an endless expanse of what-ifs.

Her instinctive desire to flee wasn’t emotional; it was a physical revulsion, a trauma response that brought back a flood of nauseating memories. And the fact that he was still chasing her was deeply humiliating.

But Ethan’s firm grip brought her back to the present, overriding her gut reaction. Jotham was the one who had done wrong; he was the one who should be ashamed. Besides, she couldn’t let Ethan, with his sensitive heart, misunderstand.

“Want to know how to twist the knife?” Ethan whispered, his warm breath ghosting over her ear. He tilted her chin up and pressed his lips to hers.

“Ramona!” Jotham roared, his leaden feet finally moving. He lunged forward, his hand outstretched to grab her arm, desperate to make her look at him again.

But Ethan gave him no chance. With a swift movement, he shoved the shopping cart sideways. The heavy cart slammed into Jotham’s shins, the impact so sharp he buckled over in pain. Gritting his teeth to maintain some semblance of dignity, he choked back a cry, cold sweat beading on his forehead.