Semua Bab The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée: Bab 51 - Bab 58

The hospital room had become my second home over the past week. I'd memorized every detail..the rhythmic beeping of monitors, the antiseptic smell that never quite masked the underlying scent of illness, the uncomfortable vinyl chair that had left permanent imprints on my body.Sophia dozed fitfully, her once vibrant face now gaunt and pale against the stark white pillows. I adjusted her blanket, making sure she was comfortable before returning to my sketchbook. Drawing helped pass the endless hours of waiting, gave me something to focus on besides the inevitable."Angel??" Sophia's voice, weak but determined, pulled me from my thoughts.I set aside my sketchbook immediately. "I'm here. Do you need anything? Water?"She shook her head slightly, patting the edge of her bed. I perched carefully beside her, taking her frail hand in mine."Damien?" she asked, eyes searching the room."In a meeting with your doctors," I explained. "He'll be back soon."She nodded, seemingly satisfied. "G

Sophia's gaze sharpened despite her weakness, moving between us. "I see.""I'm surprised Damien left you alone," Evelyn continued, changing the subject. "He must trust you implicitly.""He's gone to rest," I explained. "He's barely slept all week.""And you volunteered to stay." She nodded approvingly. "very devoted."Something in her tone made the compliment feel like an accusation. Before I could respond, my phone chimed with an incoming message. A glance showed George's name on the screen, sending an unwelcome jolt through me."excuse me," I murmured, stepping away to check the message.Angel, please. Just five minutes. I need to explain. I'm outside the hospital.I closed my eyes briefly, fatigue making it difficult to process this new complication. George had been relentless in his pursuit since the gallery confrontation, sending flowers, notes, even attempting to contact me through Elena at work. Each gesture precisely calculated to appeal to the romantic fantasies he'd once m

The weight of Sophia’s illness and the unspoken tension between Damien and me had settled over the estate like a suffocating fog. Days blurred into a routine of hospital visits, hushed conversations, and stolen moments where Damien’s guard would slip, only to be hastily rebuilt. Evelyn Ivanov’s presence was a constant, subtle pressure, her knowing glances and shared history with Damien a silent counterpoint to whatever fragile thing was growing between us. George, too, was a persistent shadow, his texts and calls a steady drip of reminders of a past I was desperate to escape but that he was determined to resurrect. One afternoon, seeking refuge from the oppressive atmosphere of the main house, I found myself wandering the grounds. Izzy had mentioned Damien’s ‘secret painting place’ weeks ago —the boathouse by the lake. I’d tried to respectnhis privacy then, but today, a strange pull led me toward it. The air was heavy, threatening rain, and the gray sky mirrored my mood. The b

His hands slid down my body, his palms warm against my skin through the thin cotton of my dress. He lifted me effortlessly, and I wrapped my legs around his waist as he carried me deeper into the boathouse, laying me down on an old, paint splattered canvas drop cloth spread over a worn chaise lounge. The rough texture of the canvas against my bare legs was surprisingly erotic. He knelt beside me, his eyes devouring me. Slowly, reverently, he began to unbutton my dress, his colorful fingers a stark contrast against the pale fabric. With each button undone, he pressed a kiss to my newly exposed skin, leaving faint smudges of paint that felt like brands. When the dress was open, he pushed it aside, his gaze lingering on my simple bra and underwear. A low growl rumbled in his chest. “Beautiful.” he murmured, dipping his fingers into a nearby pot of crimson paint. He then traced the outline of my lace bra with the vibrant color, his touch sending shivers of anticipation through me.