Semua Bab Contract Marriage With My Billionaire Boss : Bab 171 - Bab 180

THIRD PERSON POV The city looked different from this side of it. Not the glass and marble of uptown, not the prim, manicured blocks where doormen tipped their hats and women carried little dogs in designer bags. No, here the air tasted of rust and rain-soaked asphalt. The buildings sagged inward, windows boarded or spiderwebbed with cracks, the kind of places rats claimed long before tenants. Caroline hated it. Every second. Every step that scuffed grime onto her heels. And all of it—every single miserable turn that had landed her in this rotting corner of the world—she laid at Aaron Sinclair’s feet. She tugged the hood lower, the black fabric casting shadows over her face, and adjusted the mask until it pinched her nose. God forbid someone recognized her. Not here, not now. Her voice broke inside her head, venom wrapped in silk. Damn you, Aaron. Damn you for ruining everything I built. Damn you for stealing what should have been Dorian’s. For taking Richard’s pride, for making

VENUS … The world felt like it narrowed down to the little white sticks in my hand. Two of them. My fingers clenched tight, the edges biting into my palm. Sabine tilted her head, one brow arching in that Sinclair way that demanded truth. “Venus. Don’t make me drag it out of you.” I swallowed, throat dry. I tried to speak, but the air caught. My lips trembled, betraying me. And that was all it took—Sabine’s expression shifted from playful anticipation to sharp, cutting clarity. “Oh my God,” she whispered. I sank onto the edge of the bed, staring down at my fist. My chest was caving, lungs tight, like I’d been running for miles and only just realized it. Sabine’s hand closed over mine, firm and steady. She pried my fingers open one by one until the sticks lay revealed between us, stark, undeniable. Two pink lines. Clear as sunrise. On both. Positive. My vision blurred. “I can’t—” My voice broke. “Sabine, I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t even know if I want—” Her grip t

AARON The glass in my hand was already the third. Or maybe the fourth. Time blurred when the whiskey burned its way down, numbing everything it touched. The bar was dim, buzzing with low music and the occasional crack of laughter from strangers who didn’t know me, didn’t care. Perfect. I needed a place where no one looked twice, where I could disappear into the amber haze and let the edges of tonight dull enough to breathe. But Connor, goddamn Connor, always found me. He slid into the booth across from me, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp. Always sharp. He didn’t need to ask how many drinks I’d had. He already knew. “You’re supposed to be home,” he said flatly. I stared at the whiskey, swirling it once before knocking it back. The burn felt good. Felt punishing. “Couldn’t stay.” He didn’t push, not at first. He just watched, the way only a man who’s known you since boyhood can. And then, after a beat: “What happened?” My jaw clenched. My throat was tight. I wanted

VENUS The hospital smelled like antiseptic and quiet. Too clean. Too controlled. My heart pounded as Aaron’s hand wrapped around mine, firm and unyielding. We sat in the waiting room, fluorescent lights painting everything too harsh, until the nurse called my name. Aaron stood with me, his shoulders squared like he was walking into a fight. My fight. Our fight. Inside, the gynecologist’s office felt calmer—soft blue walls, a chair angled by the desk, the faint hum of a monitor. A woman in her fifties with kind eyes introduced herself as Dr. Patel. She shook both our hands before sitting down, flipping through my chart. “So,” she said warmly, “you’ve had positive home tests, yes?” I nodded, my throat dry. Aaron squeezed my hand. “Three,” he added, his voice gruff. “All positive.” The doctor smiled knowingly. “That’s usually a very strong indicator. But to be medically certain, the first step is a blood test to measure hCG levels. We’ll also check progesterone and a few

VENUS Rosemary’s dining room glowed with warm light, the chandelier scattering soft gold across the table that seemed almost too big for one family. But tonight, it was full—every chair pulled close, every plate set, every glass catching the flicker of candles. The smell of roasted herbs and butter still clung to the air, Rosemary bustling until Aaron finally drew her into her seat with the same authority he used in boardrooms. The Sinclairs gathered like it was instinct, magnetic, inevitable. And I, somehow, was at the center of it. Colton was the first to approach me when I slipped free from Aaron’s arm to greet everyone. His tall frame blocked out the light for a moment, his expression rawer than I’d ever seen. “Venus.” His voice carried that quiet weight he always had, the gravity of a man who had learned restraint the hard way. But when he hugged me, he didn’t hold back. His arms wrapped around me with fierce finality, like he was staking a claim. “You’ve barely been in