Divorce Failed My Wife's Secret Identities Shock the World novel Chapter 78

In the near future, she might very well be Mrs. White.

How was she supposed to swallow this—Murray making life difficult for the future lady of the house?

"Murray," Anya said, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes, "you should learn to be flexible. People who are too rigid end up offending others without even realizing it."

Hans arrived at the commotion wearing a polished, professional smile. "Since Mr. Andres set the rule, Miss Morales, please follow it."

"Mr. Andres has a sensitive profile. Whenever he travels, his whereabouts can't be leaked."

"And since you're top-tier with tech, you should understand this: even an innocent post can expose his location."

"If nothing happens, fine. If something does… none of us can afford the consequences."

Hans was smiling, but every word landed like a reprimand.

Murray scolding her was one thing.

Hans joining in made Anya bristle.

"As Mr. Andres's closest aide," she said pointedly, "do you even know why your boss brought me as his companion?"

Hans's smile didn't change. "Why you're here is between you and Mr. Andres. What rules you follow while you're here is my responsibility—and Murray's."

Anya hadn't expected him to shut her down so cleanly. The resentment in her chest thickened.

Not far away, Andres glanced over.

That look held no warmth—only irritation, and a warning.

Anya's skin went cold. Only then did she realize she'd overstepped.

Anya froze, stunned. She didn't want to admit it, but the most dazzling woman on the deck was the very Maeve she'd always looked down on.

Everywhere Maeve passed, eyes followed—admiration, hunger, envy.

Andres wasn't immune.

No one knew that when he saw Maeve—glamorous, dangerous, and impossibly poised—walking toward him with her hand looped through Declan's arm, something in him went cold and still.

In Andres's mind, Maeve never cared about clothes. T-shirts, button-downs, hoodies—that was her entire wardrobe.

And the man at her side was Declan.

Everyone in their circle knew it: Andres and Declan weren't rivals. They were enemies. The kind who would never sit at the same table, much less become friends.

Yet here was Andres's wife, arm-in-arm with his enemy, smiling like she belonged there.