Semua Bab I Kissed The Billionaire: Bab 41 - Bab 47

Chapter Forty-One.The silence in the boardroom was deafening—a oppressive, almost suffocating quiet that pressed down on everyone present. It was louder than any applause, louder than any shouts of victory could have been. Every eye was fixated on me, frozen in time, as if the room itself was holding its breath. Belladonna had been dragged out screaming by security, her face flushed with fury, her voice echoing with rage and humiliation. Agatha, slumped into her chair like her bones had finally remembered their age, her body sagging under the weight of years and regret, looked as if she’d aged a decade in the span of a few minutes.I didn’t speak. I didn’t gloat. I didn’t so much as blink as I stood before the long table, the damning files displayed behind me like a verdict from a judge with no room for appeal. Every document, every signature, every forged transaction—each a scar, a wound etched into the fabric of this corrupt empire—had been bled out of me. I’d nearly sacrificed my s

Chapter 43.Grief has a scent. It’s not perfume or rot—it’s something more insidious. Paper and old flowers. The faintest trace of worn leather and lavender, like my mother’s favorite shawl—the one I used to bury my face in when the world felt too loud. Today, that scent clung to me like a second skin, a ghostly perfume of memory that refused to fade. Standing before her grave, I clutched a bouquet of white hyacinths—fragile, fragrant, and pure—yet heavy with the weight of unspoken truths.Silence pounded in my chest, echoing like a war drum. I wasn’t here to cry. Not this time. I was here because the dead deserved the truth, too. Because silence was the greatest betrayal, and I refused to let it drown her memory.The wind curled playfully around me, its cold fingertips brushing my skin, whispering secrets I couldn’t hear. It tugged at my hair, whipping strands into my face, icy and relentless. I lowered myself slowly, kneeling on the damp earth, my fingertips tracing the rough granit

Chapter Forty-Five.The air still clung with the acrid scent of burnt paper, charred wood, and secrets smoldering in the shadows. It pressed into my skin, heavy and unrelenting, like a tangible reminder of everything that had been lost—and everything I might still find.I pulled my scarf tighter around my mouth, the fabric thick and rough against my skin, filtering the worst of the smoke as I stepped carefully across the threshold of what once was the Hall Corporation’s most clandestine archive. The building had been a fortress of silence—walls lined with guarded secrets, files stacked like armor. Now, it was a skeleton, a ruin that whispered stories in the crackle of burning beams and falling debris.The smell of burnt paper and melted plastic seeped into my nostrils, sharp and invasive. Every breath felt like a betrayal, reminding me that beneath the ashes, something more dangerous still lurked. I glanced around, my eyes adjusting to the dim, flickering light cast by the flickering

Chapter Forty-Seven.The night was thick with silence, broken only by the distant, rhythmic toll of a church bell echoing midnight through the shadowed streets of San Sebastian. The city seemed to hold its breath, waiting. I moved through the alleys like a ghost, my footsteps muffled by the damp cobblestones, the chill of the air seeping into my bones. Every breath tasted of salt and smoke, remnants of a city that had long since buried its scars beneath layers of decay and secrets.The destination was a forgotten relic—an antique bookstore tucked away in a crumbling alley, its façade battered and obscured by years of neglect. Once, perhaps, it was a place of warmth, of stories shared between pages—now, it was a hollow shell, a tomb of faded memories. But tonight, it would serve as my sanctuary, my battleground, my confessional.I pushed open the heavy, splintered door. It groaned loudly, protesting its age, and the air inside was thick with dust and the smell of old paper—ghost storie