All Chapters of Contract Marriage with the Disabled Billionaire : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Isadora’s POVNew Mexico was nothing like Texas.The sky felt bigger somehow, like it went on forever without apology. The horizon stretched in every direction, bleeding into soft red mountains and golden desert that looked like it had been untouched for centuries.It was wild.And so was I, in my own way.I stood at the edge of the mine, the wind whipping strands of hair across my face, the sun casting long shadows over the dry earth. I should’ve felt like a stranger here — a socialite-turned-reluctant-wife, standing in steel-toed boots and designer sunglasses in the middle of a damn industrial site.But strangely… I didn’t.I felt rooted.Solid.Like this wasn’t just Darren’s fight anymore.It was mine too.“You don’t have to be out here,” Darren said from behind me.I turned slightly, watching as he approached with two water bottles in one hand and a clipboard in the other. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, revealing strong forearms dusted with a sheen of sweat. He looked less

Isadora’s POVThe state auditors arrived at dawn.Three black SUVs rumbled down the gravel road like a procession of vultures circling a dying animal. I watched from the second-story window of the executive villa, my stomach twisted in knots.The desert sun had barely risen, but the heat was already brutal — dry and oppressive, pressing down like a warning.Darren stood outside waiting for them, flanked by Alex and two site engineers. His shoulders were squared, his posture calm, his voice low and level as he greeted each inspector. But I could see the tension in his jaw. The flicker in his eyes. He wasn’t just angry.He was preparing for war.I dressed quickly — a crisp blouse, dark slacks, and my hair tied back. I looked the part: Darren’s wife, the poised and supportive businesswoman. But inside, I felt like a storm waiting to break.Alex knocked once before entering.“They’ve asked to speak with you,” he said.I blinked. “Me?”He nodded. “Two of the inspectors want to interview ev

Isadora’s POVThe explosion ripped through the sky like a thunderclap.I didn’t hear it so much as feel it — a deep, gut-wrenching roar that rattled the windows of the villa and knocked the book clean out of my hands. For a moment, everything stilled. The light. The sounds. Even the air.Then the ground beneath my feet trembled.A painting fell from the wall and shattered.Outside, alarms blared.And I knew — with every cell in my body — something had gone terribly wrong.“Darren,” I whispered.The breath caught in my throat. He had gone to the south tunnel less than twenty minutes ago. The same tunnel that now billowed smoke into the orange desert sky.I was already running before I could think.Outside, the scene was chaos.Men and women rushed across the site, barking into radios, grabbing equipment. The air was thick with dust and panic. A black plume curled into the sky from the mouth of Shaft Twelve — the one that had nearly been sabotaged days ago.A truck raced past, kicking u

Isadora’s POV Barlowe Estate – One Week After the ExplosionThe Barlowe estate was too quiet.It should’ve felt like peace. Instead, it felt like the aftermath of a war.No reporters camped outside the gate. No political calls buzzing through the walls. Just the distant creak of old wood settling and the rustle of wind through ancient oaks that lined the driveway.But inside, everything felt wrong.The walls were too still. The air too heavy. And Darren — Darren was walking through it like a ghost retracing the path of a life he hadn’t fully returned to.He moved slowly, his weight balanced against the cane he hated, his leg still wrapped and stiff from the explosion. His gait wasn’t smooth anymore. It was measured. Cautious. Controlled.That, more than the pain in his eyes, broke my heart.This house was supposed to be his sanctuary.Now, it was just another place where something had been taken from him.“Home,” he muttered softly, stepping into the foyer.I closed the door behind u

Isadora’s POVIt had been a while since I walked through the doors of my father’s estate.The air inside hadn’t changed — it still smelled like cold cigars, expensive bourbon, and dusted ambition. Every inch of the marble floor gleamed, the chandelier above my head sparkled like it had been polished by ghost hands, and the oil portraits lining the walls watched me like I was a disappointment.I was older now.Wiser.Tougher.But in this house, I would always be the pawn that dared to refuse the board.“My daughter returns,” my father said dryly, rising from the high-back chair in his study. “Did hell freeze over?”“I didn’t come for tea,” I said. “I came for the truth.”He poured himself a drink with no urgency. “Ah. The famous Giordano directness. You must get that from your mother.”I didn’t take the bait.“I know what you did,” I said.He turned to face me, glass in hand. “You’ll have to be more specific. I’ve done many things worth being scolded for.”“Logan. Richard. You’ve been