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Chapter 108
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2025-12-13 20:35:37
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Billionaire’s Pretend Wife To Be Chapter 158
The sun was sinking, casting long shadows across the travertine floor of the custom-built home Alessandro and I had designed years ago—a structure built on clean lines, open light, and zero pretenses. We were far from the suffocating marble of the old Conti palazzo. This house felt like us: sturdy, full of quiet light, and deeply rooted in the truth.I sat on the low, comfortable sofa, a worn copy of a book resting on my lap. Alessandro was beside me, his hand resting lightly on my knee. He was grayer now, the lines around his eyes deeper, but his gaze was softer, often holding a look of quiet wonder that he had survived his own history and earned this peace.“Amelia’s call ended ten minutes ago,” Alessandro murmured, his voice rumbling slightly with age. “The Foundation’s new sustainable housing project in South America secured the final approval. He credits Isabelle’s structural solution, naturally. He says the key was using locally sourced volcanic rock aggregate. He still talks li
Billionaire’s Pretend Wife To Be Chapter 157
The garden of the old Vetrina house was exactly as it should be: imperfect. The cobblestones were uneven, slightly overgrown with tenacious moss, and the simple string lights we had hung between the ancient, gnarled olive trees seemed to defy any standard safety code. It was intimate, quiet, and carried the profound, comforting weight of history. This was the place where Alessandro and I had learned how to speak to one another again, stripped of pretense.The fifty chairs were filled with the people who mattered. Clara stood near the back, her camera held loosely in her hands, no longer focused on external observation but simply present, a fully engaged participant in the family’s joy. She wore a simple, elegant dress, and her composure was the greatest gift of the day—proof that she had found her own structural integrity.I stood beside Alessandro, beneath the shade of the largest olive tree. He wore a traditional, flawlessly tailored suit, yet he looked utterly at ease, his shoulder
Billionaire’s Pretend Wife To Be Chapter 156
The gallery was narrow, high-ceilinged, and utterly chaotic. It wasn't one of the grand, hushed museums that typically courted the Conti name; it was a rough, vibrant space in a revitalized urban district. The air was thick with the scent of cheap wine, printer ink, and the electric energy of real artistic success. There was no velvet rope, no designated VIP section. There was only humanity, packed shoulder-to-shoulder, drawn in by the unflinching honesty of Clara’s work.I stood near the entrance, holding a glass of sparkling water, observing the scene like an anthropologist studying a rare, beautiful phenomenon. Alessandro and Amelia were nearby, both surprisingly relaxed. Amelia, the new CEO, was talking quietly with Isabelle, his hand resting on her shoulder, completely unconcerned that he was standing next to a discarded palette of paint. The corporate armor had fallen away from them both.But my eyes were fixed on Clara. She was in the center of the room, talking to a collector,
Billionaire’s Pretend Wife To Be Chapter 155
My desk at the Conti headquarters remained pristine—minimalist, organized, a place where risk was quantified and decisions were final. But I spent most of my time now in Isabelle’s world: the sprawling, chaotic lab space the Foundation had set aside for the Resilience Initiative. It smelled of recycled plastic, new timber, and Isabelle's insistent, restless energy.Today, the challenge was immense. We were planning the "Resilience Hub," a sustainable community center in a typhoon-prone region of the Philippines, intended to serve as emergency housing and vocational training during the long periods of rebuilding. It was complex, ethically demanding, and structurally terrifying.Isabelle was hunched over a three-dimensional topographic model, a scale representation of the coastline. She had been wrestling with the structural load-bearing requirements for two days.“It just doesn’t make sense, Amelia,” she muttered, stabbing a small wooden dowel into the model. “The local supply chain is
Billionaire’s Pretend Wife To Be Chapter 154
The boardroom was a monument to the old world. High ceilings, the scent of polished stone, and the massive, intimidating silence before a critical decision. I sat at the head of the table, flanked by the six most powerful members of the Foundation’s Executive Board—men and women whose entire careers were built on the premise of minimizing risk and maximizing quantifiable returns. Today was Amelia’s formal entry into the orbit of true executive power, the confirmation of his role as the architect of the next era.I watched him as he waited for the meeting to start. He was dressed flawlessly, composed, every line of his posture speaking of inherited control. But there was a difference now, a subtle softening around the eyes, a patience in his stillness that wasn't there six months ago. The terrifying urgency that once defined him had been replaced by a quiet, grounded assurance, born not from certainty of outcome, but from acceptance of uncertainty.I am finally, truly ready to step bac
Billionaire’s Pretend Wife To Be Chapter 153
The silence between me and Amelia used to be a wall; now it felt like a wide, open field where we could finally meet without bracing ourselves for a confrontation. Since the Marrakesh surrender, he didn’t ask about my projects, he asked about my stories. He didn't offer money, he offered his time. He was a different person, stripped down and raw, and it was a relief to be siblings again instead of adversaries.When they announced their plans—the small ceremony at the old Vetrina house, the rejection of the grand ballroom spectacle—I understood everything. Amelia wasn't just marrying Isabelle; he was marrying the idea of Isabelle: honesty, structural integrity that wasn't about money, and the simple chaos of a life lived on your own terms. It was the purest form of rebellion against the Conti norm, more powerful than any protest I could stage.I had been asked to choose a gift. Something expensive, practical, or traditional. But none of those felt right. The one thing Amelia had consis
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