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Chapter 107
publish date:
2026-10-23 10:28:34
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BOUND TO THE BILLIONAIRE CAPTAIN Chapter 120
Carter's POV Every year on November twelfth, I buy two coffees: one black, one loaded with cream and sugar until it looks tan and sweet. Every year, I drink the wrong one. I had never brought anyone to my mother's grave before. Not sure why I told Clara about the date—just blurted it out at the library when she asked why I couldn’t meet up on Wednesday. I kept my eyes down, talking like someone weighed down by something heavy—it’s the anniversary, I said. She didn’t reply, just wrote a time on a sticky note and slid it to me. That’s how she ended up clutching both coffees next to me in the car at seven in the morning, even though we can barely stand each other for ten minutes at a time. “I’m holding hers,” Clara said, when I handed over the second cup. “But I’m not supposed to drink it.” “No one drinks it. It’s an offering.” “Pretty terrible offering,” she said. “She’d think it was perfect,” I told her. “She said it was the only civilized way to take coffee.” Greenhill Memoria
BOUND TO THE BILLIONAIRE CAPTAIN Chapter 119
Clara's POV The registration for the Rock Contest closed in three days, and by Sunday afternoon I had written the same four lines eleven times in eleven different ways. The practice room four smelled like old coffee and piano felt and the ghost of a radiator that hadn't worked since 2019, and I had been sitting at the upright since noon with a notebook and a pen and the kind of vague, humming emptiness that comes from having cleaned a closet floor you'd rather not admit to cleaning. I hadn't slept. I hadn't cried, which I was going to grant myself a point for, and I had decided that a woman who could walk out of that room with her mop and her dignity untouched could most certainly walk into this one and write a chorus. The door opened without a knock, and in came Carter with two coffees and a stack of flashcards and a Steri strip curling at the edge of one "Don't," I said, "I haven't said anything" "You're about to be sorry. I don't want it." I took my coffee, because I am
BOUND TO THE BILLIONAIRE CAPTAIN Chapter 118
Dean's POV Jaxson put down his spoon, looked me dead in the eye, and said, "Your car was outside Clara's building at six o'clock Wednesday morning." I was holding a mixing bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios, because the actual bowls were still in the sink, and for a moment I had the clear, cold sensation of watching a very expensive vase tip off a shelf. "Gym," I said. "The gym's on campus." "A different gym." "You hate the gym. You lift in the garage with a bucket of sand." He leaned back on the counter with the blissful calm of a man who has been waiting for his friend to dig a hole and is now only timing how deep. "Try again." "I was dropping off a book. For Clara." "At six in the morning." "She's an early riser." "She works the night shift at the arena, Dean. She goes to bed when the sun comes up." "I was helping her with a lamp." There was a long silence. A chunk of cereal fell off my spoon and plopped into the milk. "A lamp," Jaxson said. "It was a bad lamp." He laughed
BOUND TO THE BILLIONAIRE CAPTAIN Chapter 117
Carter's POV Coach Miller told me I'd played the best forty minutes of my career, and I told him I hadn't noticed, which was true, because I had spent all forty looking at Row 3. We won 3-2, with my goal as the winner, and the cut above my left eyebrow was courtesy of a Redwood State stick in the last four minutes, and the trainer wanted to give me six stitches in the locker room while I told her, twice, that it could wait. Jaxson found me in the corner peeling a spiral of white tape off the knob of my stick, one careful strip at a time, and leaned over my shoulder. "Is that a pen cap?" "No." "It's purple." "It's a coincidence." I closed my fist around it and put it in my pocket. "Don't say anything." "I didn't say a thing." Jaxson grinned in the way he does when he is about to say several things later, to the entire team, in a group chat. I showered in the VIP locker room, in the same stall where my life had gone sideways three months earlier, and kept a towel on the entire
BOUND TO THE BILLIONAIRE CAPTAIN Chapter 116
Clara's POV Delroy hands me the envelope at the guard desk at ten on Thursday night without looking away from his silent Korean drama and says only, "Captain says row three. Says you can say no." Inside is a single ticket, Section 102, Row 3, Seat 1. Stuck to the back of it is a purple sticky note in handwriting I have never seen before, tall and slanted and pressed so hard into the paper that the pen had nearly gone through. Please don't make it weird. Come anyway. I stand in the fluorescent half-dark of the service corridor with a mop bucket at my feet, holding my own sentence in someone else's handwriting and telling myself I'm going because a fake fiancée who never appeared at a game was a fake fiancée with a credibility problem, which was a perfectly professional reason that I repeat all the way home. In three months of working at Briar Arena, I have come to know it the way a plumber knows a house, from underneath. I know which drain in the VIP locker room clogs on Monda
BOUND TO THE BILLIONAIRE CAPTAIN Chapter 115
Carter POV Delroy, who’s been guarding Briar Arena at night for eleven years straight, mostly spends his shifts glued to a cracked tablet—watching Korean dramas, but always with the sound off. When he saw the mop in my hands, he stared at it, then lifted his gaze to my face and shook his head. “Captain, you’re holding that thing like a stick.”“It’s a mop,” I said, trying to adjust my grip.He took a slow sip from his steel thermos, shaped like some kind of rocket ship. “Looks like a hockey stick in your hands. Figure-eight motion, son. You clean the floor—you don’t score goals on it.”It was just after 12:40 AM, two days since the disaster of a dinner at my dad’s mansion. I’d barely slept more than three hours at a time since that night. Every time I shut my eyes, my brain just started counting red lights in the dark. I’d texted Clara at midnight, asking what she was up to, and she shot back in ten seconds: “scrubbing a locker room shower drain, why, are you offering a monetary rewa
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