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Chapter 33: The First Time – Again
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2025-09-03 15:29:41
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The Billionaire’s Cure: The Betrayed Bride Chapter 33: The First Time – Again
The kiss lingered in the air between them, sweet and heavy, like smoke that refused to disperse. It was more than a simple kiss; it was a conversation, a silent admission of everything they had been holding back. Neither spoke. Neither pulled away. The small, enclosed space of the trailer was quiet except for the faint, rhythmic whisper of the ocean beyond the cliffs, a sound that wrapped around them like a secret.She looked at him—breathless, wide-eyed, her lips still tingling with the memory of his mouth against hers. Something inside her had shifted, as though a locked door had finally opened, revealing a room she had forgotten even existed. It was the room where she held her hope, her trust, her most vulnerable self.And he didn't look away. He stayed close, his body still and his dark eyes tracing her face with an intensity that both unsettled and anchored her. He was studying her, cataloging every detail of her reaction, searching for any sign of fear or regret. For once, the s
The Billionaire’s Cure: The Betrayed Bride Chapter 32: kissing
They didn’t move. Not for minutes, and then not for hours. The sun had vanished completely, taking with it the last of the day’s golden light. Outside the trailer, the low voices of the crew had finally faded into silence. The base camp quieted, the hum of distant generators becoming the only constant sound, a mechanical pulse in the vast, still night. The soft, rhythmic crash of waves below the cliffs was a distant, lonely whisper.Inside the trailer, the only light came from the small lamp in the corner, a warm pool of gold that did little to fight the encroaching darkness. Long shadows stretched and shifted across the walls, creating a world of their own. Amara sat on the sofa, knees drawn to her chest, wrapped in a blanket that had long since lost its warmth. Damian sat beside her, coat still on, gloves untouched, his posture relaxed but alert, a constant study in contrasts.He hadn’t let go. Not fully. His arm remained around her, a solid presence, a quiet anchor against the stor
The Billionaire’s Cure: The Betrayed Bride Chapter 31: The Call Back
The trailer was quiet, a small, insulated box of silence. Amara sat on the edge of the sofa, her costume still on—a long, dark coat that made her feel like a character from a different, colder world. Her hair was down, falling in soft waves over her shoulders, and her makeup was untouched since the final scene, a mask of composure she hadn't yet had the strength to remove. The sun had dipped below the jagged cliffs outside, casting the room in a soft, fading light, a last kiss of gold before the coming night. Outside, the low voices of the crew echoed as they packed up, the steady hum of generators winding down.Her phone lay on the coffee table. The screen was dark, a black rectangle of indifference. She had called him. Twice. The first time had been a quick, impulsive gesture, a simple check-in. The second had been more desperate, an unspoken plea to hear his voice.No answer.She hadn’t left a voicemail. She didn’t know what to say. The words felt hollow and pointless. She had just
The Billionaire’s Cure: The Betrayed Bride Chapter 30: The First Day
The sun rose over the cliffs, a pale gold spilling across the vast expanse of the ocean. The air, crisp and sharp with salt and the faint scent of damp earth, carried a quiet energy. The set of Phantom buzzed with urgency, a symphony of purpose. Crew members adjusted massive C-stands, grips laid down black cables that snaked across the ground, and costume assistants moved like ghosts, ironing out final creases in the early morning light. The main structure of the set—a crumbling seaside theater, its walls cracked like old porcelain, its roof half-collapsed—stood like a ghostly monument to a forgotten past.Amara stepped out of her trailer, the cool air raising goosebumps on her arms. She wore the character’s costume: a simple, dark wool coat over an even simpler dress. Her hair was pulled back into a severe bun, and her face was bare, a canvas wiped clean of any artifice. She held the script in her hand, the pages a familiar weight.Today was the first day of filming. Not rehearsal. N
The Billionaire’s Cure: The Betrayed Bride Chapter 29: The Script Reading
The studio was on the outskirts of Malibu—a low-rise building tucked between cliffs and sea, its modern lines softened by the gentle curve of the coastline. The exterior was all understated glass and polished concrete, a deliberate rejection of Hollywood flash. A single, discreet sign read “Blackwell Studios Annex.” The only indication of its purpose was the faint, industrial hum of generators and the imposing, high chain-link fencing that separated it from the PCH. No red carpet. No paparazzi. Just a security guard at the gate, a clipboard, and a quiet, anticipatory air.Amara stepped out of the sleek black car, the salty coastal wind whipping her hair. She wore oversized black sunglasses and a classic trench coat pulled tight against the chill. The air smelled of eucalyptus and ocean spray, a sharp, clean scent that did little to calm the nervous flutter in her stomach. Beside her, Lena, ever the professional, was already tapping away at her tablet, her posture as sharp and tailored
The Billionaire’s Cure: The Betrayed Bride Chapter 28: The Goodbye
The black leather suitcase sat open on the bed, a dark maw waiting to swallow up her belongings. Amara folded her clothes slowly, the movements of her hands deliberate and almost meditative. Soft sweaters, comfortable rehearsal outfits, a chic black trench coat for the final scene—each item was a piece of the new life she was stepping into. The coastal set for Phantom was hours away, a remote haven nestled between jagged cliffs and crashing waves. Three weeks of filming. Three weeks away from the penthouse. From the relentless hum of the city. From him.She zipped the bag with a sharp, final sound. Then, with a sigh that was part frustration and part indecision, she unzipped it. She took out the silk robe he had given her months ago. It wasn't a grand, theatrical gesture for the cameras. He had simply seen her shiver on a cool evening and handed it to her with a quiet, “You should wear this.” The fabric was soft and cool against her skin. She folded it carefully, a silent tribute to a
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