All Chapters of The Arrogant Billionaire's Redemption: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

“Repeat after me.” I stared at Bella, incredulity crossing my face as she lifted two fingers beside her cheek, almost as if she were swearing an oath. Before I could protest, she grabbed my wrist, raising my arm so my fingers mirrored hers. “I solemnly swear,” she said with absolute seriousness. “I solemnly swear,” I repeated, trying not to laugh. “To put myself first, above assholes who refuse to make their intentions clear.” That broke me. A laugh burst from my lips before I could stop it. She mock-glared at me, her lips pursed in exaggerated disapproval. I bit down on another giggle, managing to repeat her words as faithfully as possible. “He hates me, so I hate him all the more.” The laugh escaped then, bubbling out of me until it turned into a giggle that left me feeling lighter, freer, as if the tension had cracked enough for air to seep through. “This is a serious matter.” Bella bumped her fist lightly against my upper arm, her eyes narrowed but her mouth twitching with

One could have heard a pin drop from the silence that reigned in the room after the presentation. The tension pressed against my chest so tightly it was almost hard to breathe. My pulse thudded in my ears, and though no one moved, the weight of unspoken judgment settled over the room like a thick fog. As Simon smiled, the presenter went paper white, his hand gripping the podium for dear life. The sight made my stomach twist. “Oops.” The quiet sound slipped from my lips in a whisper before I could stop it. Across the table, Simon let out a low scoff, the kind that cut sharper than a slap. Then he stood. The sound of his chair scraping back pierced the silence, followed by sudden, raucous clapping. My head snapped toward him, my breath catching. A manic smile stretched across his face, his eyes gleaming with something icy, dangerous. The sound of his hands smacking together echoed through the room, each clap colder than the last. It was mockery, pure and deliberate, and the temperatur

Despite the soft pull of his voice messing with my head, despite that warmth flickering in the endless depths of his eyes and chipping away at my defenses, I could not stop the scoff that escaped me. It slipped out sharp, like a shield I was desperate to raise, no matter how flimsy it sounded against the weight of his words. If he heard it, he gave no sign. My comment floated in the space between us, unacknowledged, as though soundless in his ears. His silence was worse than any reply. Breaking away from the pull of the mirror, I reached for the file of papers stacked neatly on the counter, gripping them too tightly, as though the pages could anchor me. Without waiting for his assistance, I strode out. From the corner of my ear, I caught the smooth sound of the door opening—on his side. He stepped out with me, effortless, without the smallest pause to wait for me. I kept my eyes forward and picked up my pace. My heels clicked in a brisk rhythm as I walked into Trove without glancing

I ducked out of the enclosure of his hands, slipping free before his fingers could tighten again. His arms, strong in their length, dropped weakly to his sides. His head drooped forward. He looked defeated. I ignored the hurt in his eyes. I ignored the pain in the slump of his shoulders. It wasn’t easy. It tore at me. But I forced a blank look on my face. I forced unconcern into the light steps of my feet. I sank into the leather seats as if none of this touched me. My eyes betrayed me. They lingered on his slumped frame. They lingered on the deep sighs leaving his chest. His hand braced against the door I had just walked through, pressing so hard I thought it might dent. His other hand tangled in his hair, running through it again and again, messing it into disarray. I pulled out my phone. My fingers moved across the screen, pretending to search. A reservation for the PR department—that was what I told myself. A distraction. A shield. But my eyes kept flicking back. To Simon at th

We trailed into the Korean restaurant behind the raucous wave of our PR department, their laughter bouncing against the glass walls. Sliding into the long rectangular table set aside for us, I inhaled the smoky perfume of grilled beef, the scent wrapping itself around me before the first platter even arrived. The waiters laid down trays-raw beef marbled and glossy, pork marinated in crimson spice, neat rows of chicken shimmering in sesame oil. My gaze snagged on the grill suspended from the ceiling as its flame roared to life, heat spilling into the air while the meat began to sizzle, fat popping and crackling like sparks. Simon said nothing. His profile was rigid, unreadable, while the table erupted with chatter. He drank quietly, beer sliding past his lips in measured sips. Miss Debra's voice rang out, louder than it needed to be. "Before we start, a toast! To Mr. Simon Valero, who spoiled us with this premium beef!" Glasses clinked. Cheers rose. Smiles turned sloppy in the amb