บททั้งหมดของ The Billionaire's Reluctant Bride : บทที่ 181 - บทที่ 190

Trust isn’t just handed over with a smile or a handshake. It’s a slow unravelling of walls, a quiet surrender of control, and a raw exposure of the soul. When Alexander gave me access to his entire world—the business, the secrets, the fears—I thought the hardest part was behind me. But in that vulnerable moment, a new question took root inside me, pulsing with a restless urgency: What about *me*? What about the part of me that was more than just an extension of his empire?That morning, the golden sunlight spilt in through the slats of the blinds, casting soft stripes on the floor. I sat at the kitchen table, my fingers drumming a nervous rhythm against the polished wood. Across from me, Alexander sipped his coffee with that calm, almost unreadable expression he wore so well. But beneath the surface, I sensed something different—something waiting to be said.I cleared my throat and finally broke the silence. “Alex… I’ve been thinking.”His eyes lifted from the cup, focused fully on me

Some ghosts don’t stay dead. They wait. They watch. And when you start breathing easy again, they remind you they were never really gone.The moment I saw the unknown number flash on my phone, I knew.Not who, exactly. Not yet.But I knew it wasn’t a stranger. The message was too sharp, too intentional like it was written by someone who still carried a grudge with my name on it.Still watching. Thought you were done with the past? Think again.I didn’t flinch. Not this time. My thumb hovered over the screen, heart steady, breath shallow. Across the room, Alexander looked up from his laptop, sensing the shift in the air like it was wired into him.He was already beside me before I could say a word.“Who is it?” he asked.I handed him the phone. He read the message, jaw tightening by degrees. “Do you recognize the number?”I shook my head. “No. But it feels… deliberate.”He was quiet for a beat, eyes scanning the screen again. “Encrypted. Spoofed. Whoever sent this didn’t want to be tra

The photo wasn’t threatening in the usual sense. There were no guns, no slurs, no red letters shouting *watch your back.*But somehow, that made it worse.It was subtle. Calculated.I was in the frame, captured from behind. Coffee in one hand, keys in the other. Hair up in a lazy knot. Vulnerable. Alone.The message attached was short.*You think that was your last battle?*I stared at the screen long enough for my vision to blur, then turned the phone over and set it facedown on the coffee table. My heart thudded once, slow and dull. No panic. Just pressure, like a tide rising slowly.I didn’t say anything. Just stood up and walked down the hall into our bedroom.Alexander was there, halfway through unbuttoning his shirt, his tie discarded over a chair.He glanced up the second I entered. “What’s wrong?”I didn’t answer. Just handed him the phone.He read it once, his expression flattening. Read it again, slower this time. Then he looked up, gaze locked on mine.“Taken this morning?”

You can prepare for storms. Build barriers, reinforce the walls. But some storms don’t knock. They slip in through the cracks and wait until you’re comfortable, then tear everything down.That’s what this felt like.Not a wave crashing. A slow, methodical pull.Alexander didn’t speak for five minutes after the call. He just stood at the balcony, unmoving, the city lights brushing gold across his jaw.I waited. Not out of patience, but instinct. You learn a person’s silences over time. His were never about retreat—they were about reckoning.Finally, he turned to me.“I’m going.”I sat on the edge of the sofa, arms wrapped around my knees. “You think he’s playing a game?”He didn’t answer right away. Then: “Always.”“But you’re still going.”He nodded. “Because if there’s even a one per cent chance he has something that could hurt us—our company, our future—I have to know.”The “us” wasn’t lost on me. It didn’t sound like a reflex anymore. It sounded like a choice.“I’m coming with you,

Some decisions don’t scream when they arrive. They whisper. And if you’re not listening closely enough, they pass you by.This one didn’t whisper. It slammed into us like a freight train.---We didn’t talk much after the message. There was no shouting, no scrambling. Just silence. The kind that thickens the air and makes your skin hum.Alexander stared at the phone like it held a ghost. His jaw was tight, his chest rising and falling in slow, deliberate breaths.“You okay?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.“No,” he said. “But I’m not afraid of it.”That, more than anything, made me lean in. “Do we know who it is?”“Not yet,” he said, sliding off the bed and grabbing his laptop. “But I have a feeling.”He typed with the precision of a man who used to eat crisis for breakfast. I watched the lines form on his forehead, the weight returning to his shoulders.I moved behind him, wrapped my arms around his chest. “Whatever this is, you’re not alone in it.”He didn’t answer w