All Chapters of The Arrogant Billionaire's Redemption: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

He looked at me strangely, his brows arched high, his expression somewhere between confusion and mild alarm. The way his eyes searched my face made me pause, and for the first time, I turned inward, wondering what exactly he saw that drew such a look. His glance was not hostile, not unkind, but curious in the way one might look at someone who had suddenly spoken in riddles. It was enough to make me fumble in my bag, pulling out the small mirror I always carried. The sight that greeted me was nothing short of disastrous. My hair, usually wild but manageable, was a storm-tossed mess. Curls stuck out in all directions, defying gravity and reason. Some strands jutted sharply outward while others clung flat to my scalp, creating a disheveled, almost comical picture. I let out a soft groan and dragged my hand through the thick, tangled mass, trying with little success to tame it into some resemblance of order. The curls resisted like they always did, rebellious, springing free no matter how

"Not in this lifetime," I remembered Bella's words as I took the bus to work the next morning, refusing the advice adamantly even in my head. The imposing logo of Trove didn't look as imposing to me anymore as I walked through the glass doors. Its magnificence had worn out-probably because I saw it every day. The shine of the golden letters, the marble lobby, the pristine smell of freshly polished floors-it all blended into the monotony of routine. Yet, my heart still beat too fast as I stepped inside. Why then had this feeling not worn out? I stared at myself in the reflective walls of the elevator through weary eyes. Why did this feeling of impending doom, mixed with that schoolgirl excitement, with splashes of tremor-inducing anxiety and that lingering longing, refuse to tire out? My face stared back at me, unmoved in its hard set-an unshaken mask, a total opposite of the raging furnace that was my mind. Why did these feelings always put me in a chokehold whenever I was on my

I found myself on the rooftop again after dumping the bag of overturned pasta into the trash. The breeze that usually greeted me up here did little to soothe the hollow pressing into my chest, the hollow that always returned after heated conversations with Simon. It was never just irritation with him-it was a deep-seated cold that clawed into me, a chill that lingered long after my blood had stopped boiling. The afternoon sun blazed against the crown of my head, its heat oppressive, while the rooftop wind skimmed across my cheeks, cool and faint. I tilted my face upward, trying to focus on the birds cutting the sky instead of the ache twisting through my ribs. Their wings looked effortless, clean arcs of freedom against the wide blue. I envied them for that-their distance from people like Simon, from words that cut and clung. A strand of hair broke loose, drifting across my forehead. I brushed it back, only to feel the tacky smear of something greasy on my skin. My fingers came away

Taking deep breaths, my eyes still rested on his, and my fingers fumbled for the phone in my pocket, unwilling to break this fragile slip in time. Then that loud ringing echoed again. My eyes fluttered shut as I tried to ground myself in reality, my chest rising and falling as I forced in calming breaths. When I slid my eyes open, the phone screen glowed back at me, showing an alarm for Simon's first schedule of the day. I closed my eyes once more, drawing in another long breath, steadying myself, making sure my voice wouldn't betray me when I spoke. "You have a meeting with the CEO in ten minutes." My voice came out barely above a whisper despite all the effort I'd poured into calming myself. When I turned my eyes back to him, I caught him closing his own, taking in a deep breath, his hand raking through his hair again. Abruptly, he stood. He didn't say a word to me, just slicked his hair back with his fingers, aiming for that semi-perfect look he'd worn earlier. He walked towa

With a piercing look, he stared, his hands neatly folded together on top of the laptop I had expected him to be occupied with. There was no glow from the screen, no furious clicking of keys, just silence-his gaze pinned squarely on me as though I had somehow stolen the role of his distraction. He stared at me with a forlorn look, something so close to longing it unsettled me. The sort of look that belonged to another time, to another version of him that I wasn't supposed to know existed. But that was impossible, wasn't it? I told myself quickly, sealing the thought off before it could spread. I wrote it off as fatigue, or imagination, or anything safer than what it resembled. "I might as well get this over with," I muttered under my breath, peeling myself from the deceptive comfort of the armchair. My legs carried me closer to this man with a face that confused me more than it should, my hand slipping into my bag to fetch my phone like it was some kind of shield. "Good morning, Mr.