Semua Bab Accidental Surrogate For The Ruthless Billionaire : Bab 41 - Bab 50

DANTE. She looked like a ghost under the hospital lights. Still. Too still. I sat beside her bed, elbows on my knees, hands braced against the weight if my own uselessness. That sickly beeping from the Montour carved into my head like a knife. Every soft breath she took from the oxygen tubes felt borrowed. Fragile. I had her hand in mine–small, cold, bruised at the knuckles. And all I could do was hold it tighter, like that would tether her to this world. To me. Her lashes fluttered, heavy with the effort. She blinked slowly, lips barely parted. “Dante…”That voice, soft, broken, lodged itself straight into my ribs. I gripped the bed Rail, I didn't breathe. I just watched her eyes try to focus on mine like she was waking up from underwater. She was alive. Christ. I dipped my head to her arm, forehead pressed to her skin like I was grounding myself to the one thing in the universe that mattered. A faint scent of antiseptic lung to her–but underneath that, still her. Lavender and

DANTE.Silence clung to the house. Eloise had finally surrendered to sleep, her chest rising and falling in a fragile rhythm that I watched through the half-lit hallway. Upstairs, her closed door promised peace–at least for now. I slid out of the bedroom, careful not wake her, and descended downstairs, hoping to find solace in the stillness. The living room was dark, only the glow of the streetlight spilled through the curtains. My heart eased, until I noticed the dim light under one of the guest room doors on my way to my office. I'm definitely sure that the light to that room wasn't kept on. I stood there, gut twisting, I wanted to think that Valentina had gone, but here I was, because she was the only one that was inside this house. My instinct screamed for me to rip the door open and drag her out, but Eloise was resting, that restraint held me back. Instead, I walked quietly down the hall towards the door, each step measured. I pressed my hands to her door and it eased open. T

ELOISE. I sat there, hands clasped gently on my lap, fingers digging into each other like a prayer gone wrong. The silence in the room felt like someone had turned the volume down on the world. Just the soft ticking of the wall clock and the sound of my own breath. Slow and measured. Too calm for what was unraveling in front of me. Valentinacrossed her legs with deliberate grace, her red lips curling into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. The boy in her lap, rested against her shoulder like he belonged there, like this was all perfectly normal. Like she had every right to be sitting in my living room, staring at my husband, and holding his supposed son. “I must say,” she began lightly, voice smooth and creamy, “I didn't think you'd actually invite me in. Pleasant surprise. Still charming as always, Dante.” His name on her tongue made something twitch deep inside me. Dante didn't respond. He just stood there, arms crossed, his jaw so tight I thought it might crack. He

ELOISE. I woke up slow, like surfacing from a deep, warm Ocean. For the first time in a long time, the morning didn't greet me with an anxious feeling, though I was a bit anxious from the previous night, but I tried as much as possible to think positive things. The space beside me was warm, an arm slung protectively over my waist, pulling me into a solid chest. Dante. His breathing was a steady, even rhythm against my back, a quiet promise in the early light filtering through the blinds. A small, fragile smile touched my lips. Maybe….maybe this could work, maybe this wasn't just a contract. The way he smelled, he smelled so good. Something clean and masculine like sandalwood and night air, which felt very comforting. I let myself sink into it, just for a moment, memorising the feeling of safety and comfort. The last thing I remembered before going to sleep was Dante holding my hand and putting me to sleep, which felt extra nice. That's probably the reason I woke up feeling

ELOISE. The next few days were filled with tension, even though Dante tried as much as possible to make sure we didn't go downstairs or meet with his mother or Valentina, it didn't reduce the tension. The house felt like a pressure cooker, the lid rattling with unspoken hostility. Anytime I came in contact with Valentina, she always played the part of the gracious, long-suffering victim, and I wondered who she was putting on an act for, because I'm sure Isabella wouldn't mind her being a bitch to me, since she was a bitch herself. No offense to Dante. Isabella was a silent, icy presence, her glare following me from room to room. Yesterday, Isabella came up here and begged Dante to come down for dinner, and he had refused blatantly and shut the door in her face. Not wanting to be a bad person, I coerced him to go downstairs and he told me he would go only if I came with him. And I did. The breakfast was a silent war fought with the clinking of silverware, anytime I entered a