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Chapter six
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2025-07-03 05:00:24
Latest chapter
The Billionaire's Temporary Mistress Chapter seventy-seven
Sophie's pov The city sprawled beneath me, a glittering, indifferent beast. Rain lashed the penthouse window, blurring the sharp lines of skyscrapers into watery smears of light, mirroring the blur in my own vision. Five months. One hundred and fifty-two days. Each sunrise a fragile bud of hope, ruthlessly crushed by sunset. Each cycle was a cruel, predictable betrayal.My hand drifted, unbidden, to rest flat against my lower abdomen. Empty. Always empty. Just like the digital display on the ovulation predictor kit I’d thrown away yesterday with trembling hands. Negative. Again. The pristine chrome and cool marble of our beautiful home, Damian’s impeccable sanctuary, felt suddenly sterile. A gilded cage for the gnawing despair that had taken root inside me, twisting my insides into knots.I remembered Month One: the giddy secret, the shared glances full of heat and promise, Damian’s eyes lighting up like dark stars when I’d shyly whispered, “Maybe… maybe we should just… see?” His ki
The Billionaire's Temporary Mistress Chapter seventy-six
Sophie’s POV The fragile peace forged on the nursery floor didn’t erase the countdown. “5 months, 24 days.” The numbers pulsed like a phantom heartbeat beneath the surface of our tentative new understanding. Alistair’s folio remained on the obsidian desk, its cream cover a malevolent eye watching from the periphery. Yet, the air in the penthouse had shifted. The oppressive dread had lifted, replaced by a simmering current of shared purpose, laced with the terrifying, exhilarating tremors of the decision made in moonlight.Damien moved differently. The crushing weight hadn’t vanished, but it had transformed. It was no longer the burden of inevitable failure or the icy grip of his father’s ghost; it was the focused intensity of a man marshaling forces for a chosen battle. He spent hours locked in his study, but the murmur was the steady rhythm of research, the crisp tap of keys outlining strategies for a future beyond Aurth Blackwood’s clause. He consulted discreet financial advisors
The Billionaire's Temporary Mistress Chapter seventy-five
Sophie’s POV The penthouse, after the vibrant chaos of Lilian’s brownstone, felt like a vacuum chamber. The lingering scents of beef bourguignon, turpentine, and the warm, milky sweetness unique to baby “Mateo” had dissipated, replaced by the sterile, chilled air smelling faintly of lemon polish and Damien’s sandalwood cologne. The silence wasn’t peaceful; it was a physical weight, pressing down, amplifying the echoes of Lilian’s joyful announcement, Mateo’s soft, snuffling breaths against my neck, and the seismic shift in Damien’s eyes as he watched me cradle his nephew.He’d been… different. Since returning. Not distant, exactly, but profoundly still. He’d moved through the penthouse with a new kind of quiet intensity, his gaze often distant, lost in thought. He’d poured us both a nightcap, a smoky single malt but hadn’t touched his. He’d stood by the window, staring at the glittering cityscape, the glass reflecting not the powerful CEO, but a man grappling with something immens
The Billionaire's Temporary Mistress Chapter seventy-four
Sophie's POVThe fragile peace woven after Damien’s raw confession about his father felt like spun sugar, luminous, precious, but terrifyingly susceptible to the slightest tremor. The Alistair folio remained on the obsidian desk, its silent countdown – “5 months, 26 days”– a constant, low thrum beneath the surface of our cautious reconciliation. We moved with deliberate care, conversations softer, touches infused with a newfound awareness of the deep wounds we’d bared. Evelyn’s recovery remained our shared anchor, her slow but steady progress a fragile bloom in the lingering winter of our anxieties.It was against this tender backdrop that Lilian called, her voice carrying a vibrant energy I hadn't heard in years, not since before the illness that had shadowed her childhood and adolescence. "Soph! Family dinner! Tomorrow! My place! And bring Damien! It’s… important!"Lilian’s world was a universe away from Damien Blackstone’s sleek penthouse. Her "place" wasn't a Brooklyn brownstone,
The Billionaire's Temporary Mistress Chapter seventy-three
Sophie's POV The silence after the detonation wasn’t peaceful. It was the ringing, deafening aftermath of an explosion, thick with suspended debris and the acrid scent of scorched earth. The word "incubator" hung between us like shrapnel embedded in the very air, vibrating with the ugly echo of my own fear and the devastating wound it had clearly inflicted. Rain lashed the penthouse windows with renewed fury, blurring the city lights into streaks of liquid despair, mirroring the tears blurring my vision.Damien stood frozen, barely two feet away, his face a mask of ashen horror. The panic that had contorted his features moments before was gone, replaced by a dazed, hollowed-out shock, as if I’d physically struck him with that brutal word. His eyes, wide and wounded, fixed on mine, held a depth of hurt so profound it stole my breath. His lips parted slightly, trembling, but no sound emerged. The raw confession of his terror and desire "I wanted it so much... but I want it right... I w
The Billionaire's Temporary Mistress Chapter seventy-two
Sophie's POVThe silence in the penthouse had evolved. It was no longer the suffocating tomb of mutual retreat, nor the brittle tension of Alistair’s visit. It had become a watchful, fragile thing,the quiet of two people navigating a minefield in the dark, painfully aware of every buried charge. Alistair’s folio sat on the obsidian desk like a malevolent toad, its cream cover seeming to absorb the weak afternoon light filtering through rain-streaked windows. “5 months, 28 days”.The digital countdown on Damien’s private calendar app felt like a physical pressure behind my eyes.He’d been distant since the lawyer’s visit, buried deeper in work, his presence a vortex of contained stress that pulled at the atmosphere. He spent hours sequestered in his study, the low murmur of tense calls bleeding through the heavy door. When he emerged, his eyes held a haunted, hunted look, fixed on some internal horizon only he could see the ticking clock, the empty nursery down the hall, the specter o
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