Semua Bab Dear Ex, I'm More Than Your Plan B: Bab 191 - Bab 198

The moment the private jet touched down at Teterboro, Dorian Fontaine pulled his sunglasses down and stared out the window, jaw clenched tight.He hadn’t even gotten off the plane before his phone exploded.Missed calls. Voicemails. Texts from business partners. Paparazzi alerts.And one simple message from his assistant that made his vision haze:“You’ve seen the post, right?”What post?His fingers moved on instinct.Instagram.Search: @asherdonovan.And there it was, at the top of the feed, with almost a million likes in less than a day.The photo.That hand.Vera’s hand.A soft golden ring mark still faintly visible from years ago, holding a mug of tea.Little fingers curled under a blanket.Eira.And his hand, too. Asher’s. Resting close. Too close.Caption:Some things are louder than press releases. Dorian’s blood boiled beneath his skin.He read the caption again. And again. Each time, it felt more like a blade, twisting deeper.His driver opened the door of the jet, but Dori

SarahShe’d always loved the view from Le Jardin’s private patio, secluded yet central, with white iron wrought furniture and ivy covered trellises that made the place look like a secret garden for billionaires.But today, the view got a little better.Her champagne flute paused midway to her lips the second she saw him.Dorian Fontaine.And God help her, he was finer than the polished magazine covers had ever done justice.The photos always painted him as cold. Controlled. Almost statuesque. But in real life?There was heat.He walked like power was his second skin, crisp navy slacks, charcoal shirt rolled at the forearms, dark sunglasses that cut across his face like sin. His stride was slow, unhurried, every step screaming that he owned the ground beneath him.Sarah’s breath caught before she could stop it.She was ogling.Actually ogling.She quickly adjusted her posture, sipped her champagne with the ease of a woman unbothered, and let her designer sunglasses shield her gaze.But

Tuesday morning crept in quietly, dressed in soft clouds and a chill that hinted it might rain later.Vera stood in front of the full length mirror in Asher’s penthouse, adjusting the lapel of her charcoal blazer. Her fingers moved slowly, precisely, like she could will away the nerves building beneath her skin with every press and tug.Eira’s laughter echoed faintly from the living room.She smiled at the sound, soft, distracted.Asher was with her, as promised. He was entertaining their daughter with some over the top cartoon antics and the occasional dramatic yelp of defeat whenever she “won” at her puzzle game.It had been her idea to leave Eira with him today. And her choice alone.Because this wasn’t a day for children.It wasn’t even really a day for smiles.Today, she would read the will of her late mother, Elena Sterling, the woman who had given her life, then disappeared, then died without Vera ever getting the chance to spend time with her.Vera let out a long breath.Six y

Asher adjusted his cufflinks as the elevator descended, the sharp ding of each floor calming his nerves more than the silence had. Beside him, Eira was perched like a queen, legs crossed, arms folded, and oversized pink heart shaped sunglasses balanced just perfectly on her tiny nose.“Is this the tallest building in New York?” she asked, tilting her head dramatically.“No,” Asher replied with a grin, “but it’s one of the most important ones.”“Because it’s yours?”“Exactly.”She beamed, chin lifting as if she’d just inherited her own skyscraper.He couldn’t help but admire her confidence. Every ounce of her radiated curiosity and attitude, the perfect blend of Vera’s quiet steel and something mischief, born straight from him.She had dressed herself that morning while Vera was still out, fluffy pink tulle skirt, glittery backpack, and a buttoned pink blazer she had insisted was “office professional.”“I’m ready to take notes,” she declared earlier, stuffing crayons into the side pock