Semua Bab My Daughter Found Me A Billionaire Husband : Bab 51 - Bab 58

Lily ThompsonThe scandal wasn’t just online.It was everywhere.On TV screens in shop windows.On the cover of magazines at the checkout line.Whispered in the hallways at Denzol.Even the morning radio DJ had the audacity to laugh about it like I was a punchline.Everywhere I turned, there I was—blurred photos of me beside Ryan, headlines screaming:“CEO Sleeping With His Assistant.”“Single Mom Mistress Exposed.”“Unqualified Lily Thompson Wrecks Denzol’s Image.”It didn’t matter that none of it was true. The world believed it.And the questions—God, the questions.Outside my apartment. Outside the office. Outside Isabella’s school. Reporters swarmed like flies, microphones thrust at me, flashes burning my eyes.“Lily! How long have you been sleeping with Ryan Edwards?”“Do you regret using your daughter as cover for your affair?”“Is it true you were disowned by your parents after getting pregnant?”That one hurt the worst. It was like being stripped naked in public, all my scars

Lily Thompson I woke up furious.Furious at him. Furious at myself. Furious at the fact that my body still hummed like a live wire hours after he’d kissed me, touched me, almost had me only to pull back with that maddening calm.“I want to wait,” he’d said, like patience was some kind of gift. Like restraint was the key to undoing me.I should have been relieved. I should have rolled my eyes and laughed in his face. This should have given me time to rethink, get a grip of myself.But instead, I’d lain awake all night, heat pooling between my thighs, my brain on fire with one question: What does Ryan Edwards consider special?Because if this was just about sex, he’d have taken the deal. He’d have stripped me bare and had me against the wall until we were too dizzy to stand.But he hadn’t.And that terrified me more than if he had.The PR team decided today was a “soft image day.” Which basically translated to: let’s parade Lily around in another designer dress while Ryan pretends not

Lily ThompsonIf perfect couples were a product, PR would’ve boxed us, slapped a gold sticker on the front, and shipped us to every camera in Manhattan.Hand in hand. Smile tilt just so. His palm warm at the small of my back, mine resting light on his sleeve like I wasn’t counting the seconds until I could breathe again.The event was supposed to be soft press—children’s museum fundraiser, pastel balloons, tiny cupcakes with too much frosting. The kind of room where even scandal puts on a bowtie. We walked the step-and-repeat, did the wave-and-nod rhythm, answered three “How are you holding up?”s and two “You look radiant, Ms. Thompson”s that felt like compliments with teeth.Since the start of our fake dating, Denzol had clawed its way back into profit, and the press couldn’t get enough of us—the picture-perfect couple everyone suddenly admired. People weren’t just speculating about the campaigns anymore; they were wondering when the city’s most renowned bachelor would finally put a

Lily ThompsonI’d made harder decisions in my life—signing away my pride in a contract, for one—but this one still knotted my stomach.College.It should have been simple. Choose a school, enroll, finish what I’d started before everything went to hell. But no matter how many shiny brochures I flipped through or how many “fresh start” articles I scrolled past online, one name kept coming back like a bruise I couldn’t stop poking.My old college.The place where everything began and ended. Where I laughed too loud in dorm hallways, scribbled notes I never got to use, kissed Ryan in stairwells when we were supposed to be studying. Where I first found out I was pregnant. Where he left me.Part of me wanted to torch it, never set foot near those halls again.But another part—the louder, angrier part—needed to.If I can walk through those halls and not break, I told myself, then I’ll know I’m stronger than the girl he left behind. I’ll know I’m not haunted anymore.So that’s where I was goi