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Chapter eighty-seven

Penulis: Lily Grayson
last update Terakhir Diperbarui: 2025-07-31 01:57:11

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,
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  • 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

  • The Billionaire's Temporary Mistress    Chapter eighty-three

    Sophie’s POV The sterile hush of the hospital room wasn’t silent. It was a vacuum, sucking at the edges of my consciousness, amplifying the roaring emptiness inside me. Three days. Seventy-two hours measured in the relentless “beep-beep-beep” of the heart monitor, a cruel metronome counting the beats of a life that wasn’t the one I craved to hear. The phantom flutters. The tiny, impossible drumbeat silenced forever.The ache was everywhere. A deep, hollow throb in my womb, a physical echo of the devastation. A sharper, biting pain radiated outwards with every breath, a constant reminder of the trauma inflicted. The drugs blurred the sharpest edges, turned the world slightly fuzzy at the periphery, but they couldn’t touch the core agony. They couldn’t fill the void where hope, life, and a future painted in soft yellows had resided for fifteen precious weeks. Every inhale felt like drawing shattered glass into my lungs.Damien was a monolith of grief and fury carved into the punishing

  • The Billionaire's Temporary Mistress    Chapter eighty-two

    Sophie's pov The world returned in fragments, shards of awareness piercing a thick, drugged fog. First, the smell: antiseptic, harsh and sterile, overlaying the faint, coppery tang that seemed ingrained in the very air of this place. “Blood.” My blood. Then, the sounds: the low, rhythmic beep-beep-beep of a monitor, a constant, mocking heartbeat that wasn’t mine, wasn’t… ours. A distant murmur of voices, the squeak of shoes on linoleum. Finally, the feel: cool cotton sheets against skin that felt too thin, too exposed. A dull, persistent ache, deep and hollow, radiating from the core of my being, a physical echo of the vast, sucking void inside.I forced my eyelids open. The light was muted, but still too bright, stinging. White ceiling tiles swam into focus. “Hospital.” The confirmation slammed into me, not as a surprise, but as a brutal, final sentence. The fragmented horrors of the gala, the sudden, tearing agony, the terrifying warmth spreading between my legs, Damien’s roar, th

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