All Chapters of The CEO'S SECRET BRIDE : Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

The silence at the table was thick enough to cut with a knife. Annabel pushed a piece of pancake around her plate, the syrup a sticky, amber puddle that she refused to touch. The bacon, once a beacon of comfort, lay like a slab of rubber. Fred ate with deliberate slowness, his fork scraping against the plate as he pretended not to notice her cold, coiled fury. He tried to speak to her a few times, his voice a low rumble, but she pretended not to hear."Annabel?" he asked. She took a long, exaggerated sip of coffee, the mug rattling slightly as she set it back down. "The coffee's good," he said. She stared at a spot on the wall behind him, her jaw clenched tight. He fell silent again, and the only sounds were the distant hum of the refrigerator and the quiet clink of his utensils. The air grew heavy, charged with all the words they weren't saying. When he finished, he stood up and began to clear his own plate. Annabel watched him, her eyes narrowed. She didn't move.When he r

Fred was still in his sitting room, the financial report in his lap, a useless jumble of figures. The apartment was physically weighed down by the eerie silence. The quiet aftermath of a disaster was worse than a door slamming. He knew he ought to be at work.He was aware that he should not be motionless. With the chair making a loud scraping sound against the hardwood floor he stood up suddenly. He sensed a strong alluring pull in the direction of the stairs. His gut urged him to approach her knock on the door that was angrily closed and provide some pitiful insufficient explanation. His body prepared for the climb as he took one step toward the library doorway. And then he halted. The voice of caution murmured in his mind. A familiar and painful reminder of the life he was stuck in a knot of tension tightened in his chest. It would only get worse if you went to her now. The well-built barrier he needed to maintain between them would be breached and it would be a moment of we

Fred slept in a shallow way, giving in to fatigue rather than getting any real rest. Although he didn't intend to fall asleep, the leather armchair in the library had held him close and the soft sounds of the city outside had lulled him into a fitful sleep. A dim icy blue light was reflected across the ceiling by the laptop which was left on the desk. A sudden noise cut through the silence before dawn. It came from downstairs in a single commanding knock, not the shy tap of a delivery but the firm rap of someone who was expecting a prompt response. Fred's eyes popped open. For a brief moment he couldn't tell what day it was. He blinked, his eyes stinging from the blue light. He raised his arms above his head and as his tense muscles relaxed, a long low moan of protest came out of his chest. His burned hands' dull throbbing was the first tangible sensation he noticed. He looked at the desk where a single incomplete sentence about logistical projections was visible on the lapto

“Fred?” Annabel called from the other side of the door.The sound of his name, spoken with a simple, questioning lilt, released the tension in his shoulders just enough for him to breathe. It wasn't Carson. The adrenaline rush subsided into a heavy, lingering beat in his chest. He took a slow, deliberate step toward the door. His mind raced. What did that soft inquiry mean? Was it relief? An urgent plea? Or just a simple check-in? He reached out, his hand hovering over the cold metal knob.He turned the knob slowly, carefully, the mechanism clicking almost silently. He pulled the door inward an inch, then two. The sliver of opening showed the pale morning light of the hallway, and then her.Annabel stood there, still in the thick gray robe, its collar pulled high. Her dark hair was a mess, and her face, usually so animated, was scrubbed clean of emotion, a blank canvas of weariness. Her hands were tucked into the robe’s pockets.He opened the door fully and stepped back, invitin

“For what?” He asked He looked down at her.“For this” she said, whispering softly against his sweater. She turned her head just enough to give him a quick glance. “To go for a walk… for treating me more like a person than a project.” She said,“For simply being my…friend.” Fred remained stiff.Simple and everyday the word slammed into the still morning air with the unwanted finality of a prison door. Friend.It didn't feel enough; it was a courteous rejection of the electric current that flowed between them and a rejection of the way his chest constricted when she was close. He wanted to speak up and challenge the label with something more direct and demanding of the facts they had just avoided. In his mind the thought cried out “I don't want to be your friend. I want something else.”He maintained the quiet, allowing the soft rustle of leaves and the distant siren to fill the void left by his rejection. In a conscious attempt to avoid looking her in the eye and showing the ab