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The Ghost Room
Last Updated:
2025-08-20 18:03:10
Latest chapter
The Billionaire's Forgotten Night When Fire Meets Ice
Richard stormed into his room like a thundercloud about to burst, Marc trailing behind him, still stunned by Annabelle's daring move in the gym.The second the door shut behind them, Marc moved quickly. "Boss, let me at least clean that up before it turns worse.."He reached for the first-aid box on the table and knelt beside Richard, but the man flinched away like Marc had tried to stab him."For god's sake, Rich—if you don't let me bandage that, it's going to turn septic and cost you more than your pride."Richard didn't respond. He slumped onto the couch, elbows digging into his knees, both hands pulling at his hair in frustration.Why the hell did he keep letting that woman get under his skin?She was nothing. A housemaid. A blip. A mistress.But somehow, she walked in like a damn firecracker and left behind an explosion.Why the hell does she rattle me like this? Why can't I shake her off?"Boss?" Marc asked, breaking the silence.Richard didn't lift his head. "Did you ever find
The Billionaire's Forgotten Night The Mistress Who Dared
"Miss Hamilton, please wait."Annabelle was making her way toward her room when Marc called out from behind."Yes...?" She turned with a raised brow."Could you do me a favor, please?" he asked earnestly.Annabelle studied his face. Marc, usually upbeat and full of charm, looked disturbed and troubled. He was the closest thing to an ally she had in this house. Not quite an angel in a den of monsters, but definitely the most human one."Sure. How can I help?"Marc had helped her more than once. She owed him a little kindness in return."Boss took a bullet in his left arm, but he's still working out in the gym like nothing happened. He shouldn't be."Annabelle blinked. "Of course he shouldn't. But since when has Richard Barton ever acted normal?"Richard Barton—the bane of her existence. He'd dragged her into this gilded cage, parading her as his mistress. Yet, there were moments—fleeting ones—when he wasn't the monster she had labeled him. Like when he changed her soaked clothes during
The Billionaire's Forgotten Night Legacy of Fire
"My mom was a chief police officer. I was only 13 years old when she passed away."Annabelle blinked, and tears rolled down her cheeks. On the other side of the room, Richard clenched his fists at the mention of Annabelle's mother. His worst wound, pressed without warning."My mom died in an encounter with the underworld mafia. She was shot... so many bullets in her body... mercilessly. When they found her, she still had her gun in her hand. She was fighting until her last breath. I saw her like that... I can't forget it, not even now."Her voice cracked as she explained the reason behind her trauma. Tears streamed as memories of her mother consumed her.Richard turned away with a stern face, red-rimmed eyes. But Annabelle, lost in her sorrow, failed to notice his reaction.His breathing grew ragged, jaw clenched tight. Her words fanned flames buried deep.Her mother... again. Angela Sparker. The same name. The same scar. All these years, and it still burns like hell.His gaze turned
The Billionaire's Forgotten Night Shadows Beneath Her Skin
"This ruthless monster you keep calling names? He's actually a mafia king. Real guns, real bullets, real blood," Richard snarled, jabbing a bloodied finger toward his chest. In one swift, furious motion, he ripped the sleeve off his arm, revealing a bullet-grazed wound."Ahh, damn it!" he groaned, the pain making his jaw clench as fresh blood gushed from the wound on his upper arm—a clean graze but nasty enough to sting like hell.Annabelle stood frozen, her breath caught in her throat. The sight of the twin handguns he'd just tossed into his closet like discarded shoes had shaken her to the core, and Richard's injury knocked the wind out of her. Her knees wobbled. Then came the panic. A full-blown, gut-wrenching, heart-racing panic attack."No... no... no! This can't be happening!" she cried out, voice rising to a desperate shriek as she stumbled back and covered her eyes with both trembling hands.Richard blinked, baffled. What the hell? He'd seen her stand tall against threats, ans
The Billionaire's Forgotten Night The Ghost Room
Annabelle's eyes darted around Richard's bedroom, taking in every detail. Her breath caught in her throat.It was identical. Every corner, every shade, every furnishing matched her childhood bedroom back at her home—The Willow Creek Mansion—the one her mother had designed with such care. For a moment, the present dissolved, and she fell headfirst into the past.The Willow Creek had been a wedding gift to Angela from her father. It was elegant, expansive, and filled with warmth—back then, at least. Angela had poured her heart into every inch of it. When Annabelle was born, Angela decorated her nursery in pastel pink—the classic choice for a baby girl. But things changed when Annabelle turned five.The mansion was undergoing renovations, and little Annabelle, who had already formed strong opinions, looked up at her mother and said, "I hate pink. White is better."Instead of dismissing her, Angela had smiled and brought in a renowned interior decorator all the way from France. The result
The Billionaire's Forgotten Night Ghosts in White
Richard locked the study with a firm click and headed straight to his master bedroom.As he entered the bedroom, he halted. There she was.Annabelle stood motionless in the middle of the room, staring into space like she was lost between worlds. Her gaze roamed over the pristine white decor—the ornate furniture, polished marble, crisp curtains, and silver-lined shelves. Something about it hit her hard. There was pain in her eyes, like an old wound being prodded open. A memory hovered just beneath the surface, threatening to break free.Richard stepped behind her and tapped her shoulder, snapping her out of the trance."Why are you just standing here like a statue?"Annabelle turned to him slowly. Her glassy eyes met his, then flicked around the room again. She looked like a ghost of herself—confused, vulnerable, on the verge of crumbling.Richard stared at her. For a moment—just a fleeting one—the guilt tugged at him. She looked like a kicked puppy, a gentle soul who didn't deserve th
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