Semua Bab RELUCTANT BRIDE FOR THE RUTHLESS BILLIONAIRE: Bab 211 - Bab 220

AUTHORS POV The previous night had been hell for Pedro. Dean would not stop tossing, waking up midway sleep to cry and go back to sleep. Tessa had called but Pedro missed it. He wished he had not missed her call, perhaps speaking to Dean would have brought about some relief, he returned twenty calls and she ignored all of them or maybe she was busy and would probably reach out to him later, or so he thought. In the dining room, a pristine white tablecloth waited. Pedro had brewed strong espresso, but his concern was planting it in Dean’s stomach now. He prepared scrambled eggs, fruit, and toast—thinking it healthy and easy. He carried the tray in with a wary hope.He prayed in earnest for Dean to like the food, the chef had offered to prepare a mild delicacy for him but he wanted to try making a meal for his son. Dean poked at the food. “I don’t eat fruit.” Pedro froze. “But fruit is good for you.” Dean looked down, tugging at his pants. “I’m not hungry.” Pedro fought the st

AUTHORS POV Tessa sat at her large glass desk in the top-floor corner office of her firm, morning light spilling through floor‑to‑ceiling windows. Outside, Monterrey’s skyscrapers formed a jagged horizon; inside, the quiet theatre of productivity reigned. A pristine white mug filled with coffee steamed gently before her, dispensed moments ago by her assistant, Carla. Carla placed the cup neatly beside Tessa’s laptop, then set a small leather-bound notebook on the desk. “Your schedule, ma’am—some coffee to get you started, then you’ve got the Ambani expansion review with the regional team at ten. And after that, the branding meeting before lunch.” “Thank you,” Tessa said, offering a small polite smile though her mind was elsewhere. The routine was well-known, but her heart resisted. As Carla slipped out, Tessa caught the glossy photograph beneath her desk: Dean’s happy, chubby-cheeked face from last week. A pang tugged at her chest. She tapped the mug, suddenly jonesing for it.

AUTHORS POVThe kitchen was warm on Tessa’s skin, aromatic with herbs and garlic simmering in olive oil. A dozen staff stood at stations, chopping, stirring, plating. The space smelled of rosemary, salt, the sounds of cooking gas boiling.The chef led her to a prep counter. “Signorita, please take this apron.”She tied it on, still stiff in her cloth. He pointed to bowls of pre-chopped vegetables, chicken, pasta just like she had requested on their way there.“We are preparing chicken linguine with garlic, rosemary, olives—Dean’s favourite.”Tessa’s heart twisted—a pang of both sadness and gratitude. She did not envision cooking in that mansion for a long time. The Chef handed her a wooden spoon and nodded encouragingly before fading back into the orchestrated chaos.“Nothing else to say,” she murmured, stirring the sauce.She thought of Dean; how he’d run to her. How he looked to her for anything he wanted, for comfort or anything but now he wanted someone else too, his dad.It made

AUTHORS POVThe day had started almost peacefully.Pedro was sitting at the dining table in his usual suit, reading the paper and sipping black coffee when his phone buzzed sharply beside him. He picked it up without much thought until he saw the school’s name.Gerard’s Montessori SchoolHis heart skipped.He answered quickly, “Hello?”“Good morning, Mr. Lorenzo. This is Mrs. Espinoza, the vice principal at St. Gerard’s. I’m calling about your son, Dean.”Pedro straightened in his chair. “Is he alright?”“He’s safe, but there’s been an incident. Dean struck another student in the playground. We’d like you to come in to speak with us.”Pedro blinked. “Struck?”“Yes, sir. He hit another boy—Miguel Flores—after what appeared to be a disagreement over a toy car.”Pedro exhaled slowly. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”He hung up and rubbed his temples.“Dean,” he muttered to himself, “what now?”Twenty-Five Minutes Later at St. Gerard’s Montessori School. Pedro walked through the clean h

AUTHORS POV The silence in the Lorenzo mansion was strange that morning. No footsteps echoed through the halls. No toys were strewn across the floors. No giggles bounced off the marble walls. Just an eerie stillness that made Pedro uneasy. It was the new nanny who found Dean still in bed, his tiny body curled under his blanket like a shivering puppy. The removed tooth had given him fever. “Dean?” she called softly, brushing her fingers across his forehead. Her face twisted immediately with worry. He was burning up. She didn’t waste time. She called Pedro. “Sir, something’s wrong. Dean has a fever. He’s sweating and cold at the same time.” Pedro was already in his car about to leave for work before she ended the call. In no less than a few minutes had gone by, Pedro burst in, tie loose, jacket discarded halfway across the corridor. Dean lay motionless on the bed, cheeks flushed, his breath shallow and fast. “Dean?” Pedro said, kneeling beside the bed. The boy didn’t