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Todos os capítulos de The Billionaire Trap : Capítulo 111 - Capítulo 120

121 Capítulos

Crushed dreams

Leyla's POV The night air tasted of jet fuel and freedom. I was lost in the thoughts and realization of what I had just done when the car doors opened and the runway lights flickered across the tarmac — like a thousand little stars reflected in puddles of oil and rain. Stacy’s hand was warm around mine, firm, grounding. Everything about her felt like escape; the way her hair lifted in the wind, the black coat brushing against her legs, her face lit by the dim blue of the plane’s interior lights.We were finally leaving. Her family’s jet stood ready, silver and silent, engines humming like a heartbeat beneath the stillness of the night. Two guards carried our bags toward the steps, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. The idea that everything behind us — the house, the mariage, the pain, Alex — would soon be nothing more than a distant shadow in the sky, almost felt too good to be real.Stacy looked at me with that soft curiosity that always made me nervous. “What was it you had to d

Mr Richards

Mr. Richards POV Two months have passed, and the walls still smell of rust and mold. The light that slips through the bars comes thin, almost embarrassed to touch me. I’ve stopped counting the days. In here, time isn’t a straight line — it’s a dull circle, dragging itself through the same dirt-stained hours. Morning means noise, afternoon means hunger, night means remembering.They gave us one meal a day, something gray that tastes of nothing. I used to complain about the food at my company dinners. Now I lick every trace from the tin bowl and still feel empty. The guards don’t speak much to me anymore. They look at me like a ghost that hasn’t realized it’s dead yet. Maybe they’re right.At night, when the lights go out and the shouts fade, I whisper her name.Sophia.The sound of it still hurts my throat, as if even the air refuses to forgive me. I see her in every dream. Not the child she once was, with ribbons in her hair and sugar on her cheeks, but the woman she became — tired,

Burning Candle

Sophia’s POV The morning light felt wrong. Too bright, too forgiving. It spilled through the curtains as if it didn't know where it was landing — on a body that had forgotten peace, in a house that no longer felt like home. I sat by the mirror, combing my hair without really seeing myself. Every strand felt heavy, every movement mechanical. There was a small photo frame on the table — me, as a child, smiling beside a man who once seemed invincible. Father. Mr. Richards. The name tasted different depending on the day. Today, it burned.Two months since everything fell apart. Two months since I buried everything I once believed in — love, safety, the illusion of family. And now, I was heading to a place I swore I’d never return to: a prison.He asked for me. The guards called. Said he wanted to see me. I almost said no. I should have said no. But something in me — the part that still remembers his voice telling bedtime stories, the way his hand felt warm on my shoulder when I was smal

The beginning

Sophia’s POV The road was silent. Only the wind moved through the trees, carrying the sound of my footsteps as I walked up the narrow path that led to Mrs. Stevens’ house. It was small — pale walls, a faded porch, a lonely chair that creaked in the breeze. Nothing about it looked like the kind of place that could hold the answers I’d been chasing all my life.I hesitated at the door. My heart was beating so hard I could hear it in my ears. I didn’t even know what I wanted from her — truth, comfort, maybe just a reason to believe that everything hadn’t been a waste.When she opened the door, she smiled — that kind of gentle, tired smile that felt like it had seen too much but still chose kindness.“You must be Sophia,” she said softly. “I’ve been waiting for you.”Her voice had a warmth reassurance I didn’t expect. I nodded, unsure how to start. She motioned for me to come in.Inside, the house smelled faintly of chamomile and old books. The furniture was worn but clean, and a little

Step one

Author's POVThe city hummed like a beast with a throat of glass and steel; Mr. Holmes’ office sat near its heart, a block of black stone and brass that inhaled power and exhaled orders. Inside, the walls wore portraits with cold smiles and the air tasted faintly of old money and sharper things—ink, oil, the metallic tang of decisions made in private. Mr Holmes moved through the room with the easy arrogance of a man who had never been asked to fear anything. His desk was a carved altar to himself: ledger piles, a heavy leather brief, a bottle of whisky left to warm in the lamplight.The chief guard had come in earlier with news that should have pleased him. “Stacy has been located, sir,” the man had said. He spoke respect first, then the hungry part. “She’s trying to leave the country with Mrs Leyla.” Holmes smiled thin, already plotting: allies gained by betrayal, a network rebuilt. “Inform our friends of her flight details. Let them do what must be done,” he told him. “Let them cha

Ashes

Zack's POV The room stood quiet, too quiet. Only the fire spoke — the soft crackle of burning wood, the occasional hiss when a log split open. I sat there, half-buried in the leather chair, my hand wrapped around a glass of whisky that had long stopped warming me. The flames kept dancing, but they didn’t give any comfort. They just reminded me of what I’d lost. Sophia’s face lived inside that fire. Every flicker looked like the shape of her smile, and every spark dying out felt like one of her fading breaths. I didn’t blink. I couldn’t. The heat on my skin was the only thing that made me feel alive.I took another sip. It bit hard at my throat, sharp, punishing. Maybe I wanted that. Maybe pain was the only thing that made sense anymore. Two months. That’s how long it had been since everything collapsed — the mansion, the lies, her. Two months since I’d stopped sleeping properly, since I’d stopped trying to wash her scent out of my hands. My father’s parlor still smelled of old power

Furor

Alex’s POV The hospital smelled like disinfectant and death. That sterile, suffocating kind of smell that crawls into your skin and stays there for days. Zack was pacing like a maniac, barking orders at the doctors, shaking nurses by their arms, as if screaming could save our father. I just sat in the corner, staring at the monitors blinking above the bed. Tubes everywhere. Our father looked smaller, weaker. The great Mr. Holmes—ruthless, untouchable—reduced to a bundle of wires and bruises.I didn’t feel a thing. At some point, I was actually happy that this little piece of shit was suffering in his bones and I watched over him now with all the power he always swore I wasn't worth having. No fear. No sadness. Just boredom mixed with a kind of bitter curiosity. I wondered if this was finally it—if the old bastard would finally die and leave me the fortune I’ve been waiting for my entire fucking life.Zack looked pathetic. His voice cracked as he kept questioning the nurses and guard

Terror

Sophia POVThe room froze the second I stepped in.Silence didn’t just fall — it crashed.Every eye turned to me as my heels clicked against the marble, echoing through the long, suffocating conference room. White suit. Straight posture. Controlled breath. My heart thundered beneath the calm mask, but my face? Cold. Sculpted. Unreadable.Alex’s smirk was the first thing to break through that still air. “Well, look who crawled out of the gutter! I didn't know rats were invited to this family meeting!” he said, his eyes trying to pierce through my soul like he owned my existence. “Sophia Buckleman, huh? You thought it'd be funny to come here with your pathetic suit and try to convince us all that you stole the name of the richest family on the West Side?! YOU'RE MORE STUPID THAN I THOUGHT AND I DON'T HAVE ANY TIME TO PLAY YOUR SHITTY GAMES.”I didn’t flinch. I walked right past Zack, right past the lawyer, and stopped at the head of the table — his seat. The one that used to belong to M

The end

Author's POV The hospital had a strange way of swallowing sound. Even the corridors, always full of steps and distant voices, seemed to breathe quietly tonight. Behind one of the closed doors, in a dim blue room that smelled of disinfectant and slow hours, Zack Holmes laid motionless on the bed, staring at the ceiling as if every answer he ever wanted could be etched there if he looked long enough.His mother sat beside him. She hadn’t moved for hours. Her hand rested over his, light and trembling, as if she feared that the smallest pressure could hurt him more than the bullet already had. Zack didn’t speak at first. He hadn’t spoken much since the surgery. Painkillers softened the edges of reality, but not enough to dull the regret burning through him. It made something sharp in his chest twist with every breath. When he finally opened his mouth, his voice came out low, cracked, as if carved out from a bruise.“I loved her,” he whispered.Mrs. Holmes closed her eyes, the words cutt

Or maybe not

Sophia's POV The rain lashed against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the mansion like a thousand tiny fists, each drop a reminder of the storm raging outside, and the one brewing inside me. I paced the marble floors, my bare feet cold against the polished stone, my silk robe clinging to my skin in all the wrong ways. The mansion felt too big, too empty, the echoes of my footsteps swallowed by the high ceilings. My dad, Rae and my mom stayed at home while I was at one of my mansions out of town. My mind was a whirlwind of fury and need, a toxic cocktail that burned through my veins. Zack. Just thinking his name made my stomach twist, my thighs clench. I hated him. I wanted him. I couldn’t decide which was worse. The thunder cracked so violently the windows trembled, and I jumped, my breath hitching. My reflection in the glass was a ghost—wild hair, flushed cheeks, lips parted as if I’d been kissing someone. But there was no one here. Just me and the memory of his hands on my body, hi

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