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publish date:
2026-05-23 02:17:56
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70 Days With The Wrong Billionaire I HOPE YOU HAVE FINALLY FOUND HAPPINESS, MOM
ARIA'S POVNaomi turns in front of the mirror, examining the blouse I paired with a skirt. She tilts her head, then smiles.“You’re dangerous,” she finally says. “I came here for a simple afternoon and you’re rebuilding my wardrobe.”I adjust the collar slightly. “The proportions are better this way. You have the posture for clean lines. Most people waste it on things that are too busy.”She laughs lightly as she examines her nails in the reflection. “Then we’re doing matching colours. I’m thinking a deep rosewood. Something chic. It will look good on us, especially you.” She winks at me at her last word.We end up side by side at the manicure station, the soft whir of the dryers filling the comfortable silence between us. Naomi’s phone buzzes for the third time. She glances at the screen and her expression softens.“My husband again,” she says, not sounding the least bit annoyed. “He’s decided I’ve been away long enough. Keeps a
70 Days With The Wrong Billionaire LESS THAN A WEEK LEFT
ARIA'S POV “Just a reminder, the appointment with Mr. Junior is still locked for next Thursday at eleven. He’s refused every alternative I’ve offered.” Sandra’s voice comes through the speaker. He said he will only deal with the owner of Aureline. No second designer, no senior associate. Only you.”I pinch the bridge of my nose, sketchbook still open on my lap. “Did he give any reason?”“Only that the pieces are for a private collection and he trusts your eye. He’s already transferred the holding deposit. I can try to push it another week if you need more time in New York.”“No. Keep it. I’ll be back in Paris by then.”"Perfect. I will lock it in immediately," Sandra sighed with immense relief. "We are all eagerly awaiting your return, boss. Safe travels."We go over a few more details—fabric arrivals, the junior team’s progress on the spring samples—before I end the call. Less than a week left. Noah and I still haven’t spoken. The fight— can it even be called that—has stretched l
70 Days With The Wrong Billionaire LIFE HAS A WICKED SENSE OF HUMOUR
STEPHANIE'S POVThe last takes wraps under the bright studio lights. Crew members begin resetting equipment while the director calls for a short break. I hand my prop weapon to an assistant and smooth the front of my costume, already calculating the rest of the afternoon.Coltrane Cruz stands a few metres away, accepting a bottle of water from his PA and shrugging into his coat. I cross the distance with an easy smile.“Coltrane. What do you say about running through a quick table read or some private run-through of the balcony scene before the main shooting. The choreography still feels a little loose on my side.”He glances over, polite but already half-turned toward the exit. “Yeah, sure. Just not today. I’m stacked.”“Oh, of course.” My smile doesn’t slip. “My driver is stuck in midtown traffic—can I hitch a—”Before the request can fully leave my lips, Coltrane offers a distracted wave over his shoulder and stride
70 Days With The Wrong Billionaire NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT, MY ASS
The scent of cedarwood, leather, and steam starch clings to my clothes as I slip into the back seat of the car. I miss doing this. I miss the scratch of charcoal, the debate over grain lines, the chaos of creation. But more than that, I miss my son more than I expected. Daisy would lose her mind over the encounter with Stephanie. Realising how long it’s been since we properly talked makes me pull out my phone and type a quick reminder to myself. ***** I slide off my heels, reaching for a pair of soft indoor slippers, when my fingers freeze. There are two unfamiliar pairs of shoes resting on the display shelf. Someone is definitely inside the house. Not just one person. An unexplainable tension knots in the small of my back. Without even realizing it, my steps slow down naturally. In the salon two women sit close together on the large sofa. Naomi King and Stephanie Langford. Both turn when I appear. Their expressions still hold the remnants of whatever they were laughi
70 Days With The Wrong Billionaire HER FANGS ARE STARTING TO SHOW
ARIA'S POV I step inside carrying my portfolio and the notes Elsie sent over last night. A few heads turn. I offer a polite smile and a quiet greeting. Most return it with nods. One woman—tall, sharp-featured, copper dyed hair lets her gaze travel over me slowly before looking away without a word. The temperature around her feels a few degrees colder than the rest of the room. Elsie appears almost immediately, tablet in hand, expression bright. “Aria, perfect timing. Some of the principal cast are coming in for fittings later today. Come, I’ll walk you through the boards.” She leads me toward a long table covered in sketches and fabric swatches. The main characters’ looks are arranged in sequences. Elsie talks quickly, pointing out seam placements, hidden stretch panels, and the way some pieces need to move from ballroom to battlefield without a full change. I can feel her watching my face as she shows me the lead female’s primary coat—heavy embroidery on the outside
70 Days With The Wrong Billionaire AS IF YOU'LL EVER LET HER LEAVE
TWENTY HOURS EARLIER NOAH'S POV “Any new update on Aria’s case from four years ago?” I ask without looking up from the screen. Falcon says, standing in front of my desk, tablet in hand. “KC said he’s compiling everything. He’ll send the full file by tonight at the latest.” I stop scrolling. The words she said in the cinema room are still sitting under my skin like glass. I asked for it. How many motherfuckers has she looked at with those wide, dark brown eyes and asked for touch? Am I supposed to feel some sort of pathetic gratitude or luck because I was the first man to have her? “Tell him to hold off.” Falcon pauses. “Sir?” “Tell him to scrap it. I don’t want to see it.” He stares at me for a second too long, clearly thrown. I’ve been pushing for these answers for weeks. Now that they’re close, I’m shutting the door. I needed to feel... relieved back then. Her words play in my head again. I will only get more fucking pissed. Might even end his motherfuck
70 Days With The Wrong Billionaire LITTLE PRINCESS THAT GOT AWAY
NOAH'S POV My phone buzzed at noon. I was in the middle of a call with the Milan team when Matteo set a note face-down on my desk. That only ever meant one thing: it was very urgent, and very important. I wrapped up the call in under two minutes and flipped the paper over.Subject: Sighting co
70 Days With The Wrong Billionaire I'M HERE FOR MY SON
ARIA'S POV I stare up at the towering glass skyscraper of King Atelier. The building is breathtaking—a sleek masterpiece of white marble, brushed steel, and massive glass windows catching the bright sunlight. My dream building. Very soon, my business would surpass this heights. The revolving do
70 Days With The Wrong Billionaire FEELING LOST
JAMIE'S POV A blinding rage consumed me. I lunged forward, ready to throw my entire weight against Noah's door and break it wide open, but two heavy hands violently held me back. “Sir, step away. You can’t go in there.” My eyes flared with dangerous rage as I glared at the suit. “Get the hell out
70 Days With The Wrong Billionaire THE CHOICE
JAMIE'S POV From the center of the stage, even with the flashing cameras going off like gunfire, I still found her. Aria. And damn, she looked unreal. Aria had always been beautiful. Not just pretty but dangerously beautiful. People stare too long when they see her, I have to glare at them to sh
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