Semua Bab Contract Marriage With My Billionaire Boss : Bab 241 - Bab 250

VENUSThe first morning passed without incident.That was how I knew everything had changed.I woke before the alarm, body already tense, mind cataloguing the day ahead with mechanical precision. The house was quiet, early enough that even the security shift change hadn’t stirred yet. I lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, listening to the familiar cadence of Aaron’s breathing on the other side of the bed.He was awake.I knew because he was lying too still.We didn’t look at each other. We didn’t speak. Eventually, he got up first, moving carefully, as if sound itself might be intrusive. He dressed without the usual easy intimacy: no shared glances in the mirror, no absentminded touch as he passed behind me. When he left the room, the door closed softly.Not gently.Softly.There was a difference.I got up ten minutes later and dressed in silence. When I reached the kitchen, Aaron was already there, pouring coffee. George sat at the table, his legs swinging faintly beneath

VENUSThe place she chose was deliberate. Of course it was. A quiet restaurant on the city’s edge—the kind people visited when they didn’t want to be remembered. No signage worth photographing. No valet. No cameras in sight. Neutral lighting. Neutral music. Neutral everything. She always preferred environments that erased witnesses. I arrived five minutes late on purpose. Not because it mattered to her, but because it mattered to me. Walking in exactly on time felt like obedience, and I needed to remind myself I still had a spine, even if she kept her heel pressed to it. She was already seated. Corner booth. Back to the wall. A glass of water untouched, condensation sliding down its side. Her phone lay face down, perfectly aligned with the table’s edge. Control, in physical form. She looked up as I approached, lips curving faintly—not a smile, more an acknowledgment. As if she’d expected nothing less. I slid into the seat across from her without greeting. “You texted m

VENUSI got back into the car and sat longer than I meant to. The engine idled. Dashboard lights glowed softly, indifferent. My hands rested on the wheel, fingers curled, knuckles pale. For a moment, I let myself feel the imprint of Colton’s arms—the echo of being held without expectation, without strategy. Then I inhaled. And let it go. The drive away from the docks was quieter than the drive there. The city thinned as I moved through it, buildings giving way to long stretches of road that asked nothing. I drove on muscle memory, my mind replaying everything he’d said, everything he hadn’t. We’re not giving up. I didn’t know if that was hope or stubbornness anymore. By the time I reached the house, the sky had darkened into that bruised blue before night fully settles. The gates opened smoothly. Everything about this place worked the way it was supposed to, even as the people inside it didn’t. I parked farther from the entrance than usual. I needed the walk. Each

VENUSThe car stopped at the gate, and it didn’t open right away.That was the first sign.The delay was brief—seconds, maybe—but I felt it in my chest, the way you feel a misstep before your foot actually lands wrong. The guard at the gate looked at me through the tinted glass, his face unreadable, his posture a shade too formal. Then the gate slid open, smooth and silent, as if nothing had changed.Everything had changed.The drive up the long curve toward the house felt longer than it ever had. The gravel crunched under the tires, louder than usual, like it was announcing me. When I parked, no one came out to meet me. No Rosemary hovering with concern. No staff pretending not to watch while very obviously watching.Just the house.Still. Upright. Waiting.I got out of the car and stood there for a second longer than necessary, my hand resting on the door, my pulse ticking hard in my throat. I could still feel the studio lights on my skin, the weight of the words I’d dropped into th

Venus I didn’t have time to speak. I didn’t even have time to breathe. The door hadn’t fully swung open before Aaron moved—fast, decisive, as if the world had narrowed to a single point and I was it. His hands came up, framing my face, rougher than I remembered, desperate in a way that bypassed thought entirely. And then his mouth was on mine. Hard. Unapologetic. The sound I made was small, useless, swallowed instantly as he kissed me like he was afraid I might vanish if he let go. As if the argument, the house, the words—leave my house—had all been lies we’d told ourselves. I should have pushed him away. I didn’t. My hands rose on instinct, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket, anchoring myself to something solid before my knees gave out. His body was warm, familiar, devastating. Every memory lived there—in the way he leaned in, the way his breath hitched just slightly when I kissed him back. Because I did. God help me, I did. The door shut behind us