All Chapters of Contract Marriage with the Disabled Billionaire : Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

Darren’s POVI thought walking through the front door would feel like victory.But it doesn’t.The air inside the house is still. Unchanged. Familiar. But nothing feels safe. My own home wraps around me like a cold whisper, and every corner reminds me that I wasn’t here when she needed me.It’s the quiet that gets me.The silence of a house that didn’t expect me back.I move through the hallway like a stranger, each step echoing louder than the last. I expect her to be in the bedroom, or gone, or locked away in another room trying not to fall apart. But I find her where I always find her when she’s trying to hold things together — my study.She’s sitting in my chair with the candle lit, the notebook open but untouched.The moment she hears me, her back stiffens. She doesn’t turn.And I freeze at the door, unsure if I have the right to speak.“Can I come in?” I ask, my voice rough from days of silence.She nods, but still doesn’t look up.That’s when I know this isn’t going to be easy.

Isadora POVI wake up to the sound of voices.Not inside.Outside.Muffled, but growing louder — like a swarm pressing against the gates.I sit up in bed, Darren’s arm sliding off my waist, and walk to the window.The sky is still pale, streaked with blushes of dawn. But below the driveway’s curve, just beyond the hedges, I see them — microphones, cameras, people in cheap suits with over-bright smiles and coffee breath and ambition in their eyes.Reporters.They’ve found us.I head downstairs in silence.The coffee brews slowly — slower than usual, or maybe I’m just impatient. I stare through the kitchen window while the machine sputters, watching the shapes behind the wrought iron gates multiply like shadows.They’re not going to leave.Not until they get something worth printing.And right now, that something is Darren.The headlines are already bad.“Barlowe Walks Free After Killing Ex-Fiancé.” “Wife of Billionaire Murder Suspect Refuses to Speak.” “Isadora Giordano: Love, Money,

Logan PovThere’s something unsettling about watching your sins try to clean themselves.I thought the night she saved me would be the end of this. That once I choked on my own pride and she walked out with her dignity intact, I’d step away. Leave the whole damn mess alone. Let the universe balance itself.But I’m not wired that way.And guilt, I’ve learned, is a stubborn thing.It doesn’t go away with silence.It festers.So I do what I do best.I go to work behind the curtain.Not at her feet.But in the background.Quietly.Pulling strings. Smoothing wheels. Oiling hinges in backrooms where power lives and breathes and devours morality like candy.And I do it all without her knowing.Because she can’t know.If she did, it wouldn’t count as redemption.My first call is to Rhys Gardner — senior court liaison for the Southern Circuit and an old classmate from law school.He owes me.Twice over.“Favor,” I say.“Let me guess,” Rhys drawls. “You’re still nursing that bleeding heart afte

Darren’s PovLogan Smith helped me.The man who once tried to take my wife, who laughed at my scars, who invited us to his party only to humiliate me in front of hundreds — that man used his connections to clear my name.And I don’t know what the hell to do with that.When Carrington laid the affidavit in front of us — Richard’s brother’s full confession — my first reaction wasn’t relief.It was dread.Because I saw Alex’s face.And then I heard his voice.“It was Logan.”And everything inside me buckled.I didn’t speak the whole ride home.Not because I didn’t have thoughts.But because I was afraid of what would come out if I started saying them aloud.Isadora sat beside me, still and silent, her fingers clenched together in her lap. Alex sat in front, brooding like he wanted to punch something. None of us knew what to say, and even if we did — there was no privacy in a car with too many windows and too many ears listening.So I stayed quiet.I bottled it.Like I always do.When we

Darren’s POVThe moment I step out of the car, it begins.The flashes. The shouting. The names I stopped answering to months ago.“Darren! Did you plan the attack?” “Was it a crime of passion?” “How did you really lose your hand, Darren?” “Is it true you offered hush money to witnesses?”I stare straight ahead.My good hand clenches at my side.Isadora’s beside me, calm but unreadable, and I swear to God, she’s braver than I’ll ever be.Alex walks on my other side, phone in hand, eyes scanning the crowd like a hawk. We move as one unit — practiced, silent, calculated.Up the steps.Through the doors.Away from the chaos.And into the next kind of war.The courthouse is like a vacuum.All that noise outside gets sucked away the second the doors shut behind us.But the silence inside is worse.Because here, no one shouts.They judge in silence.In stillness.In the flick of a pen or the shuffle of paper or the way someone won’t meet your eye when they say “defendant.”Carrington meet