Semua Bab Billionaire's Regrets:He Hurt Me But Wants Me Back: Bab 71 - Bab 80

Dwight’s POVThe jet touches down in New York just before dawn. The sky remains a murky shade of blue, the city still shrouded in the last remnants of night. I should be exhausted—I haven't slept in nearly twenty-four hours—but exhaustion isn’t something I have the luxury of feeling.Not when two of my workshops have burned to the ground in a single night.The moment the wheels hit the tarmac, I unbuckle my seatbelt, my jaw clenched so tight it aches. The cabin door swings open, letting in a gust of biting cold air. It does nothing to cool the fury simmering beneath my skin. Without waiting for my driver, I descend the steps swiftly, pulling out my phone as I cross the private runway.Jordan’s name flashes on the screen. I answer immediately.“Tell me.”His voice is sharp, controlled. “The fires were fully extinguished a few hours ago. Both locations are in ruins.”I exhale slowly, my grip tightening around my phone. “Any injuries?”“A few. Some minor burns and smoke inhalation. But n

Dwight’s POVThe moment I step into my office, Jordan is already waiting, his sharp blue eyes meeting mine. He’s standing near the windows, phone in hand, but his posture tells me he’s been expecting me.“They’re all gathered in the main conference room,” he says. “Waiting for you.”I nod, slipping off my coat and tossing it over the chair. “Let’s go.”We move down the hallway, the quiet click of our shoes echoing through the otherwise silent space. Ahead, the executive conference room looms, its glass doors revealing the tense figures inside. The department heads—all seasoned, all competent, all waiting for the decision that could change the course of their teams.The second I step inside, conversations hush. Eyes flick toward me, some wary, others resigned.I close the door behind me and take my seat at the head of the table.“Let’s begin,” I say, my voice cutting through the silence.Jordan takes his seat to my right, flipping open his tablet. “As you’re all aware, two of our major

Leah’s POVGolden morning light filters through the sheer curtains, casting soft, shifting patterns across the bed. The distant hum of waves reaches my ears, a steady rhythm against the stillness of my hotel room. I blink slowly, letting the warmth of the sun pull me into wakefulness.For a moment, I forget everything—the weight of the past, the storm of emotions Dwight stirred back into existence.But the moment is fleeting. Reality presses at the edges of my mind, creeping closer with every breath. I refuse to let it in.Not today.Stretching, I push back the covers and pad toward the balcony. The air is warm, tinged with salt and the faint, citrusy scent of the trees below. The sea stretches out in the distance, a perfect shade of blue under the early light. The streets hum with life—laughter, footsteps, the occasional ring of a bicycle bell.This is what I came here for.I deserve this.The thought steadies me. Anchors me.Breakfast. That’s a start. Something simple. Something nor

Leah’s POVAthens has this pulse to it—a rhythm that doesn’t try to be anything other than what it is, ancient yet modern, loud yet quiet. I find a street vendor selling fruit, the rich smell of ripe peaches nearly overwhelming. I pause to pick one up, its skin warm and fuzzy against my fingers, and take a bite. The sweetness bursts in my mouth, so different from the dry, overripe ones I’ve had at home.I smile to myself, feeling the weight of Judith’s call still tugging at me. My father wants to talk. Wants me to come back. Wants me to pick up the pieces of my old life and return to the routine I left behind—the one that feels like it’s been waiting for me, frozen in time. But I know I can’t stay here forever. I’ve had my escape, but now it’s time to go back.I’m not a quitter. I made a promise, and I intend to keep it.My phone buzzes in my bag, but I ignore it. Instead, I let myself focus on the soft chatter of a nearby café, the clicking of a bicycle wheel, the way the sun feels o

Leah’s POVNew York greets me with a sigh.It’s a different kind of morning here—louder, steel-edged. The air bites with the scent of exhaust and something vaguely metallic, like the city’s been grinding its teeth all night. There’s no sea breeze. No citrus trees. No Acropolis glowing in the distance. Just buildings. Tall, grey, and unsentimental. Just like the people streaming past me as I wheel my suitcase across the terminal floor at JFK. I should feel relieved to be back. This is familiar. Structured. It’s the life I know. But as I slide into the back seat of the town car Dad sent, I feel like a guest in my own city.Judith had insisted that I send over my travel details. She had reiterated that father needed them. Right before I'd boarded, she'd informed me that a town car was going to wait for me. Father had always been protective. It wasn't new. When I was in High School, he had never allowed me to return home on foot, or use the school bus like my friends did. Heck, at 16,