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Chapter eighty-one
Last Updated:
2025-07-28 00:45:01
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The Billionaire's Temporary Mistress Chapter eighty-nine
Sophie’s POV The silence that followed Judge Peterson’s gavel wasn't silence at all. It was the roaring vacuum left after a detonation. Sound rushed back in fractured waves: Alister’s guttural snarl of rage, the sharp scrape of his chair as he lunged forward only to be physically restrained by his lawyer and a vigilant bailiff; the gasps and murmurs rippling through the spectators like startled birds; the frantic clicking of camera shutters capturing Damien on his knees, Lila fused to his chest; Franklin’s shaky exhalation of pure relief beside me; and beneath it all, the frantic, fading drumbeat in my own ears, "thirty-seven hours."But the loudest sound was the one echoing in the cavernous space Damien’s heart had just become. It was the sound of walls built over a lifetime of control and isolation crashing down, replaced by the raw, unfiltered torrent of love pouring from him into the small, trembling body clinging to him. He held Lila like she was the only anchor in a hurricane,
The Billionaire's Temporary Mistress Chapter eighty-eight
Sophie’s POV The air in the cavernous, wood-paneled courtroom tasted like dust and dread. High ceilings echoed with the rustle of expensive suits, the muted coughs of spectators, the sharp clicks of lawyerly heels on polished marble. Sunlight streamed through tall, arched windows, illuminating swirling motes of dust that danced like trapped spirits. It felt less like a hall of justice and more like an arena, cold and impersonal, where our fragile future was about to be dissected. "Thirty-seven hours." The numbers blazed behind my eyes, a countdown synchronized with the frantic thud of my heart against my ribs.Beside me, Lila sat rigidly upright in the too-large chair, her small feet dangling inches above the floor. She was a vision of heartbreaking vulnerability in the simple blue dress John had miraculously procured, her dark hair neatly braided. Yet, beneath the surface calm, I felt the tremor running through her slight frame, a constant vibration of terror. Her hand, icy cold, wa
The Billionaire's Temporary Mistress Chapter eighty-seven
Sophie’s POV - Expanded The Blackstone penthouse, usually a monument to cool power and sleek control, felt utterly alien. Silence, thick and watchful, had replaced the city’s hum beyond the bulletproof glass. It wasn't peaceful; it was the silence after a bomb blast, the kind where every creak of the floorboards, every sigh of the climate control, felt like an intrusion. In the center of this unnerving quiet, radiating a silent storm of her own, sat Lila.Three days. "Sixty-nine hours." The numbers pulsed behind my eyes, a relentless counterpoint to the fragile rhythm of Lila’s breathing. She hadn’t spoken. Not a word. Not a whimper since that tiny, choked sound at the fire scene. She sat curled like a wounded fawn in the center of the vast, cream-colored sofa in the living room, dwarfed by its opulence. The grey blanket from the fire truck was still wrapped tightly around her thin shoulders, a grimy, char-scented shield against a world that had burned her twice over. Her dark eyes,
The Billionaire's Temporary Mistress Chapter eighty-six
Sophie’s POV The silence in the penthouse library was thick enough to choke on. Seventy-one hours. The digital clock on Damien’s obsidian desk glowed with cruel indifference. Each passing minute felt like sand trickling through a clenched fist – the fist currently pressed against the hollow ache beneath my ribs, a constant, physical echo of the emptiness Franklin’s words had carved even deeper."Adoption." A loophole. A transaction. A desperate, grotesque parody of the family we’d dreamed of. The nausea hadn’t subsided since Franklin left; it had settled into a churning dread in the pit of my stomach. Damien paced before the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering, uncaring city, his silhouette etched in tension against the twilight sky. John, his usual stoicism replaced by a grim watchfulness, stood sentinel near the door, his gaze flicking between Damien and me, assessing the storm within the room."It feels like sacrilege," I whispered, the words scraping raw against
The Billionaire's Temporary Mistress Chapter eighty-five
Sophie's POV The relentless "beep-beep-beep" of the heart monitor was no longer a countdown; it was a drumbeat of doom. "seventy-two hours." The number pulsed behind my eyes, a neon brand seared onto my consciousness, throbbing in time with the hollow ache in my womb. Three days until the Blackstone Heir Clause ripped everything away. Three days until Alister won.The District Attorney’s office had been a whirlwind of grim efficiency. Handing over the damning audio recording, hearing Alister’s smug, venomous voice fill the sterile conference room again, confessing to judicial corruption, corporate sabotage, and the casual dismissal of "my poisoning", "my child’s death" had been both cathartic and utterly draining. Seeing the shock, then the hardened resolve on the DA’s face had been satisfying. Warrants were being drafted for Alister’s arrest on a laundry list of charges: conspiracy, bribery, blackmail, attempted murder. The asset freeze was being challenged aggressively by Franklin
The Billionaire's Temporary Mistress Chapter eighty-four
Sophie's POV The relentless “beep-beep-beep” of the heart monitor was no longer just a sound; it was a countdown. Each electronic pulse hammered against the fragile shell of my composure, echoing the frantic ticking of an invisible, monstrous clock. “Three days.” Seventy-two hours. That’s all that stood between Damien and the catastrophic activation of the Blackstone Heir Clause, the archaic, venomous trap Alister had meticulously sprung.I lay propped against the sterile hospital pillows, the thin blanket doing nothing to ward off the chill that had seeped into my bones, deeper than the hospital’s air conditioning. The physical ache,the hollow, bruised sensation deep within my core was a constant companion, a brutal reminder of the life stolen. But it was dwarfed now by the suffocating pressure of the deadline. It pressed on my chest, making each breath feel shallow, insufficient. The grief for our child was a vast, dark ocean, but this… this was a tightening noose.Across
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