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48 - Tokyo
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2025-05-10 21:50:14
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The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée 60 - Very Vulnerable
This terror, this clawing fear that she wasn’t truly mine, that some part of her still belonged to him, or worse, to the idealized memory of what she thought he was — it was a poison. It fueled a cold, calculating rage that settled deep in my bones. If I couldn’t excise him from her mind by force of will, then I would do it by systematically dismantling every shred of security she thought she had with me. I needed to see her. To deliver the next blow. To dangle the precariousness of our arrangement before her like a guillotine, each word carefully chosen to flay her insecurities, to remind her that her place here was conditional, entirely dependent on my whim. It was late when I finally went to her suite. The mansion was silent, the staff long since retired. I didn’t knock. The door opened silently under my touch. She was curled on the window seat, staring out at the storm-lashed grounds, a desolate figure wrapped in one of my cashmere throws. Her face was pale, her eyes
The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée 59 - Welcome Discomfort
DAMIEN_____The boathouse felt contaminated. The scent of turpentine and oil paint, usually a balm to my frayed nerves, now reeked of vulnerability, of a catastrophic lapse in control. Her scent lingered too, faint floral notes mixed with the earthiness of the lake and the phantom sweetness of her skin. I scrubbed at my hands with a solvent soaked rag, trying to erase not just the paint, but the memory of its application, the feel of her skin yielding beneath my touch. Each stroke of color I’d laid upon her had been an admission, a brand of intimacy I hadn’t intended and now violently regretted.Rain lashed against the windows, a fitting soundtrack to the storm raging inside me. I’d shattered her. I’d seen it in her eyes— that wide, wounded look that always managed to pierce through my defenses. Good. Let her break. Let her understand that proximity to me came with a price, that my world was not a sanctuary for soft hearts and naive hopes.But the image of her tear- streaked face,
The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée 58 - Just Like That
{Angel, please pick up } {I need to talk to you. It’s important.} {Are you with him? Is that why you’re ignoring me?} Damien had moved to stand by the window, his back to me, but I saw his shoulders stiffen. He must have seen the name on the screen over my shoulder. “George again?” His voice was deceptively calm, dangerously so. I quickly turned off the screen. “He’s just being persistent.” Damien turned slowly, his face a cold mask, all traces of the passionate artist gone. The shift was terrifying. “Persistent? Or are you encouraging him?” “Of course not!” I exclaimed, scrambling to my feet, pulling my dress closed. “I told you, I don’t want anything to do with him.” “Then why are his texts still coming through? Why haven’t you blocked him?” He advanced on me, his eyes like chips of ice. “What aren’t you telling me, Angel?” “There’s nothing to tell!” My voice rose in panic. “He’s delusional if he thinks there’s any chance for us.” “Is he?” Damien stood over me, radiating c
The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée 57 - Interruption
His hands slid down my body, his palms warm against my skin through the thin cotton of my dress. He lifted me effortlessly, and I wrapped my legs around his waist as he carried me deeper into the boathouse, laying me down on an old, paint splattered canvas drop cloth spread over a worn chaise lounge. The rough texture of the canvas against my bare legs was surprisingly erotic. He knelt beside me, his eyes devouring me. Slowly, reverently, he began to unbutton my dress, his colorful fingers a stark contrast against the pale fabric. With each button undone, he pressed a kiss to my newly exposed skin, leaving faint smudges of paint that felt like brands. When the dress was open, he pushed it aside, his gaze lingering on my simple bra and underwear. A low growl rumbled in his chest. “Beautiful.” he murmured, dipping his fingers into a nearby pot of crimson paint. He then traced the outline of my lace bra with the vibrant color, his touch sending shivers of anticipation through me.
The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée 56 - Colors
He studied me for a long moment, his gaze intense. Then, a flicker of something I couldn’t name crossed his face. He picked up a clean brush, then a tube of cerulean blue. Without a word, he dipped the brush and then, instead of turning to the canvas, he reached out and drew a gentle line of blue along my cheekbone. The touch was feather-light, unexpected. The paint felt cool against my skin. I stood frozen, my breath catching in my throat. “What are you doing?” I whispered. His eyes never left mine. “Adding a little color to the gray day.” He dipped another brush into a vibrant yellow, tracing a delicate swirl on my collarbone, just above the neckline of my simple cotton dress. “You look like you’re carrying the weight of the world, little butterfly.” The endearment, spoken so softly, coupled with the unexpected intimacy of his touch, made my knees weak. “I... I am worried. About Sophia. About.... everything.” His fingers, now smudged with blue and yellow, came up to gently cu
The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée 55 - Don't Have to Hide
The weight of Sophia’s illness and the unspoken tension between Damien and me had settled over the estate like a suffocating fog. Days blurred into a routine of hospital visits, hushed conversations, and stolen moments where Damien’s guard would slip, only to be hastily rebuilt. Evelyn Ivanov’s presence was a constant, subtle pressure, her knowing glances and shared history with Damien a silent counterpoint to whatever fragile thing was growing between us. George, too, was a persistent shadow, his texts and calls a steady drip of reminders of a past I was desperate to escape but that he was determined to resurrect. One afternoon, seeking refuge from the oppressive atmosphere of the main house, I found myself wandering the grounds. Izzy had mentioned Damien’s ‘secret painting place’ weeks ago —the boathouse by the lake. I’d tried to respectnhis privacy then, but today, a strange pull led me toward it. The air was heavy, threatening rain, and the gray sky mirrored my mood. The b
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