All Chapters of The Arrogant Billionaire's Redemption: Chapter 121 - Chapter 130

“I can’t let you leave.” He repeated it, the words almost fragile, yet carrying weight enough to crush me. And just like that, the bone-deep exhaustion I had masked with coffee came creeping back, seeping into my limbs, dragging me down. “I’m done with this,” I bit out, my voice sharp, stripped of the coolheadedness I prided myself on. The exhaustion left no room for restraint. “I’m tired of this fighting. This back and forth with you, Simon.” I glared at him, the words rattling out before I could catch them. “Aren’t you tired?” He didn’t answer. His mouth stayed sealed, while my own spilled confession after confession, like cracks bursting through a dam. “I’m tired of it all, so I’m going to leave. I’m going to go, and you can just forget all of this happened. Pretend the last few months were a dream, a figment of your imagination.” Still, Simon said nothing. His silence pressed against me harder than his words ever had. I turned away, running my hands through my hair, clinging

I blinked repeatedly, my breath coming faster, shallow and uneven, as though my heart had stopped mid-beat and forgotten how to recover. The room pressed in on me with its silence, a silence that seemed deliberate, almost complicit in what it held. Adam wasn’t here, but his absence didn’t make the place feel any less dangerous—because it was thick with secrets, secrets that settled over me like a cold mist. The temperature had dropped without warning, and I felt as though I’d stepped into a morgue. My arms wrapped around my body, a poor attempt to shield myself from the sudden chill sinking bone-deep. I couldn’t move at first, couldn’t tear my eyes away from the left wall of Adam’s bedroom. The wall that was supposed to be ordinary, the one he’d kept hidden behind a mirror that, until now, I thought was simply for vanity. That mirror had been pushed aside, and the bare truth stared me in the face. The wall was not empty. It was alive. It breathed with images. Pictures. Hundreds of th

My hands felt weak against the cold glass of my phone screen, trembling so badly that I almost dropped it. Every strike against the door seemed louder than the one before, the wood rattling in its frame, echoing with my name shouted into the night. How had I gone months—years—without any clue? How could I not have known? “Tina, can you open up, please?” At first, his voice was pleading, soft, dipped in false sweetness, like honey poured over poison. Then the mask slipped. “Tina, open up before I break down the door!” The words cracked like a whip, sharp with fury, meant to scare me into obedience. But I was past that stage. My knees buckled, and I slid down the door, my back pressed against it, legs useless beneath me, when Simon’s voice finally came through the line. “Heeeyyy,” he sang, his tone bright, casual, completely unaware of the storm on my end. The sound broke me. Tears stung my eyes instantly, spilling faster than I could blink them back. “Heyy,” I whispered, my vo

I burst out of my bedroom, heart lodged in my throat, every nerve braced for the chaos that had shattered the air. The living room looked like a battlefield, my belongings scattered, glass glittering under the dim light like spilled stars. But none of it mattered. My eyes fixed on the sight in the center of it all—Simon, flat on his back where my glass table had stood, and Adam crouched over him, a jagged shard in his hand aimed straight for Simon’s chest. My heart stopped cold. Simon’s hands were raised, trying to block the descent, but the shard kept coming, inch by inch. Too close. Too fast. I didn’t think. My hand found the leg of a dismantled stool near my bedroom door, and I hurled myself forward, a desperate cry tearing from my throat. “Get! The! Hell! Away! From! Him!” The makeshift weapon arced above my head, my body alive with adrenaline. Two things stopped me. The first was Simon’s voice—raw, panicked, his fear ringing out like a slap. “Tina! No!!” His eyes were on

The moment the words left my lips, Simon’s hands froze on my waist. His eyes locked on my face, waiting—steady, patient—as if the weight of the silence was his to carry until I found the courage to fill it. I took in a breath that trembled through my chest. Now or never. “Looking at those pictures on Adam’s wall was both terrifying and freeing,” I began, my voice barely above a whisper, yet sharp enough to cut into the quiet. Simon said nothing, only stared. His silence made the words tumble out faster. “I mean, I’m part grateful that he stalked me over the years… that he summarized six years of my life on a seven-foot wall.” A shocked noise broke from Simon’s throat. His brow knit into a frown. “Don’t get me wrong—it was horrifying,” I rushed on, clinging tighter to his large palms, as though holding him would anchor me through my own storm. “But how else was I supposed to see how pathetic all that running and hiding was? How else was I supposed to discover that a life lived in