Semua Bab RELUCTANT BRIDE FOR THE RUTHLESS BILLIONAIRE: Bab 141 - Bab 150

AUTHOR POVTessa’s lungs burned as she sprinted through the underbrush, the fake passports and her aunt’s forged documents clutched tight in her trembling hand. Moonlight pierced through ragged clouds, guiding her down the narrow dirt road that led away from the Lorenzo mansion. Behind her, the faint glow of the estate’s security lights faded; ahead lay only darkness—and hope.Moments earlier, she had lured Pedro into a late-night conversation in his study, dropping questions about family loyalty until he, in his drunken arrogance, spilled the location of Aunt Norah’s prison: an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Los Robles. She’d thanked him with a kiss and slipped away once he blacked out, careful to lock the study door behind her and leave no trace.Every heartbeat pounded like a warning: this could be the one chance to rescue Norah. She dialed George’s number as soon as she cleared the last tree line—but the call went straight to voicemail.Fingers white with tension, Tessa

AUTHORS POV The part of the warehouse Pedro’s men had taken George , Tessa and Aunt Norah to had sunlight filter through the high, narrow window of the abandoned warehouse office, casting long shards of golden beams across the concrete floor. Tessa stood clutching her aunt Norah’s arm, her pulse hammering in her ears. George hovered beside them, still wincing from his bindings but determined to guide their escape. Then, from the main corridor, came the ominous echo of boots on metal grating. Pedro’s voice rang out, cold and precise: “Tessa—how quaint. I wondered how long it would take for you to find her.” Tessa’s breath caught. She tightened her grip on Norah’s hand. “Pedro,” she said, forcing calm into her voice. “You lied. How could hold my aunt locked up in this godforsaken place.” Pedro stepped into the flickering light, flanked by two of his guards. His tailored suit was immaculate; his eyes were storm clouds. “I told you where she was didn’t I?” “You two timin

AUTHORS POV Tessa’s lungs burned with every breath as she scrambled backward from the warehouse door, her aunt Norah’s arm clutched tight in hers. Behind them, Pedro’s voice echoed—a low, cruel rumble as he ordered his men to seize them both. The metallic taste of fear filled Tessa’s mouth, but she tasted something else, too: the bitter tears she refused to shed. Visual images of george struggling while he was being ripped apart hunted her subconscious. “Go, Tessa,” George’s final plea rattled in her ears, mingling with the thump of her own heartbeat. “Get your Aunt and run. Don’t look back.” But now George was dead. Shards of his thorn fleshed and crushed carcass scattered around in the warehouse gloom. Tessa shook as she loaded two small paper packets into her pocket—each filled with coarse sand she had slipped into her pocket earlier—determined to give their pursuers more than grief. They burst into the bush: ants of lantern light dancing down the old dirt path toward the

AUTHORS POV Tessa awoke before dawn to an ache in her stomach deeper than hunger. Her blankets, coarse and scruffy, did nothing to warm her chilled banded limbs. She lay perfectly still, listening to the settling of the wooden cabin around her, and a terrible thought crept into her mind: where were George’s passports and the burner phone? She sat up slowly, heart pounding, and swung her legs over the side of the narrow cot. The world felt hazy, every movement slo-mo as she fumbled for the small envelope she’d tucked into her robe on the night of her escape. It wasn’t there. She patted the inside pocket—nothing. She searched the blankets, the floor, even the folds of her nightdress. Gone. Tessa’s palms pressed to her temple as a wave of panic hit. She staggered to her knees, scavenging every corner of the room: under the cot, beside the dresser, in the small wooden trunk where Ferdinand had told her to keep her clothes after she showered. She rifled through damp towels and discar

AUTHORS POV The worn wooden floorboards of the small cabin creaked softly as Tessa slipped out of her blouse and into a simple cotton nightdress. A single lantern on the bedside table cast warm light over thatched walls. It was late—too late for late nights, but sleep felt elusive. She brushed damp strands of hair from her forehead and climbed beneath the thin quilt, hugging the patchwork blanket around her shoulders. Just as her eyelids began to droop, there was a gentle knock at the door. “Tracey?” Clarissa’s voice was low, urgent. “Are you awake?” Tessa forgot she had been given a new name. “Tracey?” The voice came in again. Tessa sat up, pulling the quilt more tightly to her chin. “Oh! Yes. Come in.” The door opened a crack, and Clarissa slipped inside. Her normally confident posture was slumped, and she looked colder than the night air. “Can we… talk?” Clarissa asked, eyes bright in the lantern glow. Tessa patted the bed beside her. “Of course.” Clarissa paused, gla