Lahat ng Kabanata ng Contract Marriage With My Billionaire Boss : Kabanata 31 - Kabanata 40

VENUSThe second we stepped out, two burly men flanked us; bodyguards, obviously. The flashes hit like lightning—chaotic, blinding. Reporters screamed Aaron’s name like he was royalty.He didn’t break stride. His hand found my waist, firm and grounding. His cologne wrapped around me like armor, and just like that, the nerves simmered. Not gone, just hidden beneath his touch.“Who’s the lady?” someone shouted.But Aaron didn’t stop. No interviews. No pauses. Just a purposeful stride and his hand never leaving my waist as we swept into the building.I could already picture the headlines:"Aaron Sinclair Spotted With Mystery Black head"Gianna better not check the tabloids today or I’m toast.We entered the Rosemary Hotel, and my breath caught. The lobby was a cathedral of opulence—crystal chandeliers, marble floors, and gold accents screaming money from every corner. I instinctively moved closer to Aaron, hyper-aware of how out of place I felt. His fingers tightened on my side, a silent

VENUS I took a deep breath and leaned closer to the mirror, smoothing out the edges of my lipstick. The color matched the heat still blooming in my cheeks. Get a grip, Venus Astor. What the hell was that out there? The kiss. The crowd. The stares. And the ache still crawling beneath my skin, slow, deliberate, impossible to ignore. Jesus, is this what abstainance does to someone? I can't believe I'm getting warm and worked up over a kiss. I should've gotten laid before I signed the damn contract. Now my little battery companion will just have to do. For three years though? I don't trust myself not to jump him. I squared my shoulders and stepped out of the restroom, heels clicking against the marble with calculated confidence. I barely made it halfway down the hall before a hand shot out from the shadows and yanked me roughly between two towering pillars. "Caroline?" My voice cut through the silence, sharp with disbelief. Her nails dug into the soft flesh of my forearm—talons

VENUSI woke up on a plane. No, seriously, I woke up on a freaking plane.“Aaron, what the fuck?” I hissed, sitting up. My voice cracked from sleep, and my head spun like I’d been drugged. “How the hell did I even get on here?”Last thing I remembered was him handing out donations, saying goodbye to Sabine and Connor, and us leaving the ballroom. Then... what? I definitely remember going to bed in my room at the penthouse.But now I was wrapped in silk sheets, surrounded by mood lighting and the soft hum of altitude pressing through the walls of a private jet, I'm sure.I scrambled out of the bed—because yes, apparently this plane had a bedroom—and stormed into the main cabin. There he was. Aaron Sinclair, in all his smug glory, sitting at a sleek table with a glass of wine in one hand, laptop open like he hadn’t just abducted me.“You’ve got a hell of a lot of explaining to do, Mr. Sinclair. How the hell did I end up on a plane?”“No.”“No?” I blinked. “That’s it?”He sipped his wine

VENUS"I don't want to die. I haven’t even tried Nigerian Jollof Rice yet."Aaron turned toward me, one brow raised like I’d just confessed to murder. Unbothered. Untouched. Like the plane wasn’t shaking like a coin in a tin can. Of course he was calm. He probably rode out turbulence over the Himalayas with a scotch in hand and didn’t spill a drop.“What?”That’s all he said. What. Like the cabin lights didn’t just flicker. Like the plane didn’t just drop two feet and take my soul with it.I gripped the armrest with one hand and his wrist with the other, maybe even his whole damn hand. I couldn’t tell. My brain had switched to full survival mode.“This is it. I can feel it. I haven’t even repented properly,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “My mom—oh God, she’s gonna think I disappeared! Just like that!”He didn’t flinch. Of course not. Devil himself. Probably had a seat reserved in hell with a view.“Venus—”“I knew marrying you was a mistake,” I snapped, my pitch rising like a sire

VENUS “Eavesdropping is rude, Venus.” His voice wrapped around my name like silk over steel—soft, controlled, but sharp enough to draw blood. He stepped over the shattered vase like it was nothing more than confetti, not fine porcelain probably worth more than my entire rent for the year. I blinked up at him from where I’d landed, palm still stinging from the fall. “I wasn’t eavesdropping. I slipped.” One brow lifted. That classic Aaron Sinclair brand of disbelief. Deadpan, arrogant, and thoroughly unimpressed. “I believe you,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching-mockery in motion. Like he was talking to a child insisting Santa was real. Liar. I glanced at the wreckage, then back at him. “I’m sorry. For breaking your vase,” I added, after a beat. “...And for eavesdropping.” There. Happy now? But he wasn’t listening to my apology. Not really. His gaze dropped, subtle, slow, deliberate. Like a touch without touching. He traced the curve of my body with his