Semua Bab Signed Sealed and Divorced. The CEO’s biggest regret: Bab 41 - Bab 50

The security room smells faintly of antiseptic and old metal — like someone scrubbed it within an inch of its life but could never quite erase the years. The overhead light is dim, casting a cold circle over the cot where Neo sits.The medics are quick and clinical, their gloved hands moving over him with the quiet efficiency of people who have seen too many bruises on small bodies. A flashlight beam sweeps across his pupils, then the inside of his mouth. They note the tenderness on his ankle, the faint red rings on his wrists where his sleeves don’t quite cover.Through it all, Neo clings to me. His small, chilled fingers hook into the fabric of my sleeve like if he lets go, I’ll dissolve into the walls. The toy car — the one I found wedged under the crate — is locked in his other fist, the chipped blue paint catching in the weak light.The door slams open.She bursts in like a storm — breathless, frantic, hair slightly mussed in a way that looks deliberate, not chaotic. Her eyes dar

SiennaMorning comes with a buzz that feels different. Lighter. The storm is gone, and the air hums with something close to relief. When I walk back onto set, the place is a hive of motion—props being shifted, cameras rolled across tracks, laughter echoing off scaffolds. The storm left its marks here too: a corner of the backdrop warped by water, scattered debris by the lot entrance. But the crew is already on it, cleaning, patching, fixing. There’s almost a holiday mood in the air.It’s the last week before the break. Everyone knows it, and you can feel that restless energy. Jokes fly easier. Music leaks faintly from someone’s portable speaker as set dressers staple fabric in place. The heaviness of the past days seems to slough off like old skin. Everyone is visibly excited as the thought of a break brings delight. I sit with Layla near the edge of the soundstage, our folding chairs tucked side by side. She’s scrolling on her phone while I sip weak coffee from a paper cup, the tast

Dear Readers, As the story unfolds, I’ve decided to shift the narration from first person to third person. This change will allow me to capture the essence of the story more vividly and to explore each character’s emotions, motives, and secrets with greater depth. It also gives me the freedom to communicate the world and its intricacies in a clearer, more immersive way. Thank you for your patience and support as I continue to shape this journey—you’re in for even more intensity, twists, and revelations ahead. With love, Andrea Katie.

The groan of metal seemed to echo endlessly, like the dying heartbeat of the set itself. Crew members froze in place, their faces tilted upward, every breath suspended.Sienna’s arms quivered as she clung to the trembling railing, her ankle screaming in protest. Sweat stung her eyes, but she refused to let go. Not now. Not here.“Secure her! Now!” the stunt coordinator barked, his voice breaking through the haze. Two crew members scrambled toward the safety lines, fumbling with cables.Layla’s scream cut sharper. “Sienna! Hold on!” She tried to push past a grip blocking her path, but the man held firm. “You can’t go up there! It’s not safe!”“I don’t care!” Layla shoved at him, frantic, her eyes wild. And then, a smaller voice pierced through the chaos—breathless, breaking, desperate.“Wait! Something’s wrong!”Heads turned. Chloe, the young makeup artist, had forced herself to the front of the crowd. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she tried to form the words. “I— I heard her— Se

The necklace lay untouched on the seat between them, gleaming in the muted cabin lights like a silent witness to everything unspoken.Sienna had just refused it, her words clipped, her voice steady. But the silence that followed was heavier than steel.Adrian didn’t push, didn’t shove the velvet box back into her hands with the arrogance of a man who always got what he wanted.Instead, he leaned back in his seat, studying her in a way that made her chest tighten. His expression wasn’t the cold, untouchable mask of the billionaire CEO who signed off empires with a pen stroke. No—this was different. His voice, when it came, was low, rough with something dangerously close to vulnerability.“I know I hurt you. That’s why I’m here.”Her spine stiffened. The admission wasn’t an apology, but it cracked through her defenses like light through a shutter.“I don’t need your acknowledgment,” she said coolly, staring out the oval window. The sky was endless, the world below small and insignifican