All Chapters of My Daughter Found Me A Billionaire Husband : Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

Lily Thompson I couldn’t stop staring at the envelope. Even after Isabella climbed into the back seat, chattering about how her teacher had praised her drawing in class, even after Ryan buckled her in and started driving, even after the rice sat half-eaten in my lap, the envelope lay there like it weighed more than the car itself. I wanted to throw it out the window. I wanted to rip it into tiny pieces. I wanted to pretend it didn’t exist. But I couldn’t. Because whatever was inside had already cracked open a hole in my chest, and ignoring it wouldn’t patch me back together. “Mommy, are you okay?” Isabella’s little voice floated forward. I forced a smile in the rearview mirror. “I’m fine, sweetheart.” Her eyes, too much like mine, studied me for a second before she went back to pulling out her crayons. Kids knew when you were lying. But she was kind enough not to call me on it. Ryan didn’t speak either. His eyes flicked to me at every red light, his jaw tight, like

Lily Thompson I forced my face to stay still. No flinch, no tremor. Just a blank stare. If she wanted a reaction, she wouldn’t get it from me. The man I’d called father all my life—his shadow, his anger, his rules—wasn’t even mine. And the man who was mine, the one who thought about me enough to leave me a will, had been gone before I could even open my eyes to him. I dug my nails into my palm under the table, hard enough to sting, just to anchor myself. My throat wanted to close, to choke on the ache rising up, but I swallowed it down. She couldn’t see that. Her eyes searched me, like she was hoping for some soft crack in my armor. I kept my face smooth, my tone clipped, my shoulders straight. “After he died, I was twenty nine with a newborn,” she went on. “Your grandparents were gone. I was alone. I met him, the man I later married when you were ten months old. He was charming. He was patient with you. He brought diapers and soft toys. He told me I looked tired and that

Lily Thompson The night after meeting my mother, I couldn’t sit still. I tried reading, but the words blurred. I tried writing notes from the documents, but my hand shook too much. I tried lying in bed, but my brain kept spinning, restless and loud, like an engine that refused to shut off. Every part of me was on edge. My skin felt too tight, my thoughts too sharp. The anger, the grief, the confusion—they all tangled until the only way I knew to quiet them was the same way I always had. I hadn't decided if I wanted to go after the inheritance yet. I couldn't decide I just needed a release. I wanted distraction. I wanted sex. And of course, the only person in the house who could give me that was the one man who insisted on holding back. Ryan. It was close to midnight when I left my room and padded down the hall. The light under Ryan’s door glowed faintly. I didn’t bother knocking. I turned the handle and pushed it open. He was sitting on the edge of his bed in a

Ryan EdwardsI couldn’t sleep,Not because I wasn’t tired. God knew I was exhausted.I shut the door after Lily left half embarrassed. My chest was tight, my cock still hard, and the taste of her was still in my mouth. I sank down to the floor because my legs didn’t feel steady.God, I wanted her. I wanted her so bad it almost broke me. She had just come undone under my hand, and all I could think about was pushing deeper, giving her everything, finally fucking her the way I had been holding back from for so long.But I didn’t. Because I couldn’t.I didn’t want her to feel that look on her face again, the one I caught right after she came. Half embarrassed, like she wasn’t supposed to enjoy it. Like she wasn’t allowed to need me. I wanted the opposite for her. I wanted her to feel free, safe, wanted. I wanted her to feel loved, even after the sex. Not ashamed. Not used.And right now wasn’t the time. Not when her mother had just come back and ripped open wounds that had barely closed.

Lily ThompsonThe papers were still on the table where I had left them, stacked in uneven piles like they were waiting for me to stop running from them.It wasn’t just about me anymore. If it had only been about me, maybe I would’ve walked away already. But I had Isabella now.If I didn’t fight for this inheritance, what kind of world would I leave for her? Would she grow up watching me bow to fear the way I watched my mother bow her whole life? Would I let history repeat itself, swallowing us whole?The truth was, I was scared. Scared that fighting for it meant opening wounds I had tried to stitch shut for years. Scared it would drag Isabella into a war she was too young to understand. But more than that, I was scared that if I didn’t fight, she would grow up thinking it was okay to let fear rule her life.I pressed my hand to my chest, closing my eyes. What kind of mother would that make me?A knock at the door startled me. When I opened it, Theo stood there, his easy smile softenin