Semua Bab The Billionaire's Reluctant Bride : Bab 191 - Bab 200

Some milestones don’t come with fireworks. They come with stillness—the kind that wraps around you when you finally stop bracing for the fall.I stood just inside the glass doors of the new school, the chill of late autumn clinging to my skin, despite the coat.Outside, a sea of people had gathered—donors, teachers, students, press. Not for us, not this time. For the idea. The dream.But still, it felt surreal.I turned around and looked at the building we’d poured ourselves into. The hardwood floors, the open library with its hanging garden, and the classrooms flooded with natural light. All of it had started on a coffee-stained napkin and a conversation we didn’t dare take seriously back then.And now?“Leila.” Alexander’s voice echoed down the hallway as he walked toward me. His coat was already off, sleeves rolled, jaw tight with something between nerves and awe. “You’re hiding.”“I’m... pausing.”He stepped beside me, glanced outside. “Looks like we have a full house.”“Too full,

You don’t know what real support looks like until you’re standing in the middle of a storm, and someone says, “I’m not leaving.”The school’s generator hummed like it was on its last breath. Emergency lights flickered overhead. I stood in the server room, staring at the wreckage of our digital life—student records, donor files, admin databases—all violated.“Can you isolate the breach?” I asked, voice tighter than I wanted.“No,” the IT director said. “They routed it through multiple international proxies. Whoever did this knew what they were doing.”Of course they did.They always do.Alexander stood beside me, arms crossed. Calm. Focused. But I could see the vein in his jaw. The one that only popped when he was holding back rage.“They didn’t just hit the school,” I said. “They went for my personal files too.”Alexander turned toward me fully. “What kind of files?”“Old employment records. Contracts. Some early consulting projects from before I joined your company.”His eyes darkene

The past only haunts you if you keep leaving the door open.I stared at the contract on my desk for a long time.It didn’t move.Didn’t blink.Didn’t care that it had just shaken the foundation beneath me.I could feel the ghost of who I used to be pressing into my skin.The girl who would’ve torn the paper up without reading past the first line.The woman I’d become knew better.She also knew that even ghosts leave fingerprints.Alexander stood at the window, hands braced against the sill. His reflection in the glass looked more like a painting—tense, silent, unreadable.“This doesn’t make sense,” he said quietly.“I know.”“They dissolved Blackthorn.”“I know.”“And yet someone kept the original contract... just waiting?”I didn’t respond.Not because I didn’t want to.But because I had no good answer.Only theories. And all of them ugly.“Let me handle this,” he said.“No.”His head whipped toward me.“No?” he repeated.I stood, slow and measured, even though every part of me was t

They say the bravest thing you can do is begin again.But no one ever tells you how much it costs to stop being afraid.We didn’t speak for a long time after the photo.The silence wasn’t avoidance—it was calculation. The kind of stillness that comes just before a storm, when you’re too tired to panic but too wired to rest.Alexander held the photo between two fingers, studying it like it might rearrange itself if he stared hard enough.“I know who took this,” he finally said.His voice was steady, but I could hear the tension rippling beneath it.“I figured,” I said, arms crossed tightly over my chest. “So do I.”He looked up. “Are we going to talk about it?”I exhaled through my nose.The truth was—I didn’t want to. Not because I couldn’t handle it. But because I could.I’d handled so much, endured more than most people knew. And I’d come out stronger.But strength didn’t mean I wanted to keep fighting.Not anymore.I sank onto the arm of the couch and rubbed my thumb across my lowe

I always thought Alexander’s strength came from his composure.Turns out, that was just the armor.I woke to the sound of the shower running. The room was still dark, the clock reading just past 4:00 a.m.He didn’t usually get up this early.And when he did, he wasn’t this quiet about it.I sat up, blanket falling to my waist, and listened for a minute. There was no music. No usual clatter of a toothbrush being slammed into the cup. Just water. Low. Constant. Almost… avoidant.I slid out of bed, pulled his hoodie over my tank top, and padded toward the en suite.The door was slightly ajar. Through the gap, I could see the shape of his back under the cascade of water. His head bowed, both hands braced against the tile.Tension radiated off of him in waves.Not the kind of tension that comes from a hard day.The kind that comes when something inside you begins to crack, and you’re not sure how to hold it together anymore.I pushed the door open gently and stepped inside.“Hey.”No answe