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2025-06-15 14:22:59
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Affair With My my Ex's Billionaire Father War
Emilie’s POVThe war came like thunder, sudden, loud, and impossible to ignore.Two days after the wedding, one of Milo’s shipping yards in Naples went up in flames. Eight of his men were killed. Another found skinned and hung upside down at the city gates.Zoya’s father wasn’t sending messages anymore.He was sending executions.I didn’t get to say goodbye when they pulled me from the estate.Boris showed up with a black coat, a bag I didn’t pack, and a look that told me not to argue.“Milo said you go underground,” he said. “Now.”The hideout was quiet. Too quiet. A stone house tucked into the side of a forested hill, the windows shuttered, the floors bare.It smelled of cedar and old dust.Boris didn’t speak much the first day. He stood by the door like a soldier, checking the perimeter every few hours, drinking bitter coffee in silence.I spent most of the time wrapped in one of Milo’s old sweaters, curled on the cot by the fireplace, trying not to unravel.But I was alone with m
Affair With My my Ex's Billionaire Father Nothing
Emilie’s POVNo guests.No priest.No vows.Only us.The bedroom glowed gold, lit by dozens of candles scattered across every surface, on the mantle, the window sills, the dresser. Shadows flickered across the ceiling like silent witnesses. I stood barefoot, the thin silk dress slipping from my shoulders and pooling around my ankles. My skin prickled in the warm air, anticipation humming beneath it like a current I couldn’t control.Milo sat across the room in a deep armchair, suit jacket abandoned, sleeves rolled to his elbows, the first two buttons of his shirt undone. He watched me like I was both prayer and punishment. His eyes traveled every inch of me, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing my soul through skin.He rose without a word.His footsteps were quiet against the rug as he approached. In his hands, a thick velvet rope. The same one he’d used the first night I gave him every part of myself. A symbol, not of ownership, but of surrender. Of trust. Of choosing him,
Affair With My my Ex's Billionaire Father Not sleeping
Emilie’s POVI’d barely slept.The box with the necklace sat on my dresser, untouched since I screamed Milo’s name.He hadn’t said anything when I showed him. Not a word. Just took the box in his hands, turned it once, then again. Stared at it as if the velvet itself might spill secrets.He didn’t speak. Didn’t rage. Didn’t pace or curse or shatter the nearest glass.Just silence.Cold. Measured. Bone-deep silence.And that scared me more than any scream ever could.Because I’d seen Milo angry before, furious, blood-slicked, roaring. But this… this stillness? It was lethal. A blade waiting to strike.That night, he didn’t hold me.Didn’t speak as I curled beneath the sheets, the locket box resting between us like a ghost from a past I hadn’t been ready to face.And then this morning, his voice broke the stillness.“Get dressed.”That was all he said.No questions.No answers.Nothing fancy, just black.I’d chosen a long-sleeved top and fitted pants, something easy to move in, not know
Affair With My my Ex's Billionaire Father Not quite
Emilie’s POVThe house was no longer quiet.It throbbed.With tension. With violence. With Milo’s rage barely leashed, humming like electricity in the walls, in the floor, in my bones. Every step echoed too loudly. Every breath felt like it was borrowed time.He hadn’t spoken since the news came in.Just stood there, at the head of the long, oak dining table, hands braced against the wood like it was the only thing anchoring him to the earth. The light above him cast sharp shadows across his face, turning him into something cold. Unforgiving. Not a man, not anymore.A weapon.Boris stood to the side, flipping through the reports with the detached efficiency of someone who’s lived through too many betrayals to be shocked. His lips were pressed into a grim line, the air between them thick with unsaid things.Names.Routes.Safehouses.All burned.“She’s helping him clean the houses,” Boris finally said, voice like gravel. “Zoya’s father is wiping out everyone who’s ever worked with you.
Affair With My my Ex's Billionaire Father The moments
Emilie’s POVI felt it the moment she stepped onto the estate.Something shifted in the air. Heavy. Rotten. Familiar. Pure evil.Like the first breath before a storm, too still, too thick. The kind of quiet that meant something terrible was already here, watching from the dark.I was walking down the hallway when Boris passed me, jaw clenched, steps too fast.“She’s back,” he muttered without looking at me.“Who?” I asked, though I already knew.He didn’t answer.He didn’t have to.Zoya.It was always Zoya.The ghost that refused to stay buried. The wound that wouldn’t scar over. She was a nightmare dressed in silk and blood, and somehow, every time, she returned uglier than before, yet just as seductive.I didn’t follow at first.But I felt the pull. Like gravity. Like gravity didn’t care if it dragged you to your knees.When I reached Milo’s office, I stood in the corner, silent, invisible. Unseen, but never unnoticed.He knew I was there.He just didn’t stop me.She limped in like
Affair With My my Ex's Billionaire Father You're mine
Emilie’s POVThe door thudded shut behind me, startling me so badly I nearly dropped my keys. My pulse kicked up as the echo faded, leaving the room thick with a tension I could practically taste. Milo was already staring at me from across the room - that familiar stormy look in his eyes that always made my stomach do a flip. Before I could speak, his calloused palm was cradling my face, tilting my chin up. He smelled like his leather jacket and that stupidly expensive cologne, the combination weirdly comforting even now. "On the bed," he said, voice of all gravel and command. No "please," never a "please" when he got like this. My knees hit the mattress before I realized I'd moved. The silk nightgown I'd thrown on felt suddenly too thin, too revealing under that laser-focused gaze. The restraints clicked into place faster than I expected, the cool leather a stark contrast to the warmth of his hands as he adjusted them. His thumb brushed the frantic pulse point in my neck. "Quie
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