Semua Bab The Ultimatum Wife: Bab 131 - Bab 140

Elena took three slow breaths, steadying her brain like she was about to dismantle a bomb and not seduce a six foot three battle scarred billionaire who could level empires but apparently could not recognize a thirsty woman sitting five inches away from him.She mentally reset.Operation Seduction had been a disastrous first run, yes, but she wasn’t done.She pivoted.Civilian mode.She sat upright, shoulders back, sipping her tea slowly, this time without theatrics.Neutral.Poised.Untouchable.She could feel Roman relax beside her.His confusion softened into something warmer.And finally, finally, he looked at her. Really looked. From her loose hair to the bandage peeking under her shirt, down her legs tucked neatly under her at the island. Something clicked across his expression like a switch.Roman blinked again, slowly.Elena almost dared not breathe.“…Thank you,” he said suddenly.Elena frowned. “For what?”He swallowed, voice lower. “For breakfast. For… sitting here. For tr

“Roman,” Lysandra breathed dramatically, sweeping into the room like she was entering a senate floor. “Thank God. I’ve been trying to reach you since last night.”Elena winced, not from pain, but from disgust, and leaned harder against the counter, a hand on her bandaged ribs like the motion physically hurt.Roman immediately moved toward Elena.Lysandra’s eyes flared.“Oh,” Elena murmured quietly, voice soft and wounded, “it’s fine. I’m fine. Don’t worry.”Roman stopped short, torn.Lysandra stepped in close, heels clicking like a threat.“You look… awful,” she said to Elena with a soft giggle that wasn’t soft at all.Elena blinked up at her, eyes big and innocent. “Oh thank you,” she whispered. “Gunshot trauma is so inconvenient.”Roman’s jaw ticked.Lysandra didn’t glance at his reaction.She only positioned herself between Roman and Elena, chin raised, hair perfect.“Roman,” she said, placing a hand on his chest, “are you okay? Let me see...”Elena coughed sharply, exaggerated and

Elena’s fingers found his hair, tangled in it. Roman’s hand slid under her thigh, pulling her closer, careful not to put pressure where she hurt.He always remembered where she hurt.Her ribs.Her side.Her shoulder.He avoided all of them.But his mouth found everything else.Breath, lips, skin, pulse.“Roman,” she whispered, voice shaking just once.He looked up at her through dark lashes, bandaged shoulder flexing from bracing his weight.“Tell me if I’m hurting you.”“You’re not,” she said, voice so soft it barely existed. “You’re not.”He kissed her again, slower this time, almost reverent, like he was discovering her piece by piece, not rushing, not devouring, just knowing.And then they moved together.Slow at first.Then desperate in all the quiet places.Every flinch was met with care.Every wince became tenderness.Every breath was shared.Bandages and bruises and exhaustion didn’t stop anything, it made it more real, more human, more right.Roman’s hand stroked along Elena’

Mrs. Harrow stood slowly. “I’ll provide resources,” she said. “People. Money. Silence.”Lysandra rose to meet her, heels clicking like gunshots on marble. “And I’ll find her weaknesses,” she promised.Mrs. Harrow’s eyes hardened. “There’s only one outcome,” she said quietly. “Elena Sinclair dies.”Lysandra smiled, a beautiful, poisonous smile. “No,” she corrected in a whisper.“Elena Sinclair disappears. And Roman Thorne will forget she ever existed.”They shook hands.Cold.Formal.Deadly.The men outside had no idea two women just declared war. Lysandra didn’t linger.She stayed just long enough to plant the seed, shake Mrs. Harrow’s hand, and leave behind the faintest perfume of threat and privilege in the air. She thanked no one on her way out. She didn’t offer condolences twice. She simply slipped back into her car like a woman who had already gotten what she came for. Two Weeks Later...The world kept spinning, stupidly, normally, like there weren’t bodies buried under it and

Two other men were already downstairs, wearing dark suits and carrying whatever “back up” meant for Vauxhaul money, discreet weapons, phones with burner networks, the kind of confidence that comes from knowing you can buy silence if anything goes wrong.Lysandra descended the marble staircase with practiced calm, but her insides were humming, not with fear, with anticipation.Elena Sinclair was a nuisance. A glitch. A splinter under manicured nails. But she was also a challenge. And Lysandra didn’t mind challenges.They made victory sweeter.She slid into the backseat of a sleek black Maybach, men taking front and passenger seats like a small private security convoy.“Mall,” Lysandra said. “Premium Plaza. And keep your eyes open.”The driver hit the gas.The city blurred past them, but Lysandra’s mind stayed razor sharp.Elena Sinclair thought she won. Thought Roman chose her. Thought one moment of pathetic domestic bliss made her special.Lysandra had known Roman years before Elena e