All Chapters of The Billionaire's Bargain: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

CHRISTIANLiam was mid-sentence about a client’s request for a decrypted file dump when my phone vibrated across the table. It wasn’t a number I had saved, but the area code pinged instantly: Penelope’s district.I almost ignored it, but it kept vibrating.“Maybe you should take it,” Liam said, motioning to the phone. “Could be important.”I groaned and picked it up, pressing it to my ear. I didn’t expect Jess’s panicked scream to hit me like a shot of lightning.“Christian! They’re arresting her!”I stood so fast the chair slammed backward into the wall. “Jess? What?!”“It’s Penelope—they’re saying attempted murder—” Her voice was broken, desperate, cutting through the noise behind her. “She’s with the cops. They’re forcing her into the car. We didn’t do anything—Christian, you have to—”I heard struggling, boots scuffling on pavement, then Penelope’s voice: it was controlled, but I could hear how terrified she was. “I said I didn’t do it, officer. I’ll comply with you, you don’t hav

CHRISTIANThey wouldn’t even let me in the goddamn lobby. I’d barely stepped out of the car when the first security guard blocked my path with a lifted palm and a dead stare.“No visitors,” he said flatly. “Governor’s orders.”“I’m not here to visit,” I replied coolly, buttoning my coat. “I’m here to talk.”“And I said—no visitors.”The second guard joined him. “Don’t care if your last name’s Hilton or the King of England’s. Nobody gets in.”They were testing me. They didn’t give a damn who I was—and maybe that was their job. But I hadn’t come this far to be stonewalled by men who didn’t realize the difference between a name and a weapon.I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice to a calm hum. “Go inside. Tell Governor Nylander that if he doesn’t let me in, I’ll release what I have on him. Wife in a holding cell or not, I won’t hesitate.”The older guard stiffened, chuckling stupidly. “What exactly do you think you have?”“Enough to make international headlines by noon, and enough to m

PENELOPEWhen I opened my eyes, the first thing I noticed was the sunlight piercing through the blinds in Christian’s room. The second was that I was alone.The space beside me was empty, the sheets cool where his warmth should’ve been. For a second, I sat up slowly, stretching out the soreness in my muscles. Then I saw the note—folded neatly and resting by the lampstand.“Get some rest today. Maybe go shopping with Jess, clear your head. I’ll see you later. — C.” I smiled—he didn’t leave much, just the note and his black card clipped to it.I folded the note again and placed it back gently on the lampstand, leaving it exactly how I found it. The black card, though—I took that. Slipped it into the pocket of my shorts like it belonged there. Then I slid out of bed and made it up, tucking in the corners like I had something to prove.Downstairs, I found Jess perched on one of the stools by the kitchen counter, scrolling on her phone, and Alfred across from her by the slab, dicing straw

CHRISTIANThe house was quiet when I got in, Alfred had informed me that the girls hadn’t come back yet.So I sat alone in the living room, in the darkness, the faint ticking of the clock was the only sound accompanying my rage. It’s been an hour since I got home, an hour since I went through the photos I received and still, my blood hadn’t cooled.Earlier today, an alert came through from my car—movement detected. I had thought it was being stolen, maybe some reckless thief had gotten brave enough to target me, so I checked the feed. I had cameras installed in my cars months ago, for insurance, for tracking, for control.What I didn’t expect to see was Penelope laughing. Jess was seated on the passenger’s seat, Penelope behind the wheels of the car like it belonged to her—which, technically, it did. She had my card, had the keys.And still—I had been glad she used it, she looked better than she had last night. Not like someone who’d been dragged through jail and media fire. She looke

CHRISTIAN I ignored her, I didn’t look back.Didn’t even check to see if she was still there when I slammed the front door. I just got in the car, shoved the key into the ignition, and drove, fast, anywhere that wasn’t here, anywhere that didn’t have her face or scent.The tires screeched as I pulled out, my hands gripping the wheel tight, I was shaking.Not because I regretted it, but because I was angry, so fucking angry. I’d meant every goddamn word, or at least—I wanted to mean them.“I’ll report you…for Eric.” I could still hear myself say it, with so much venom. Like it made me any less of a hypocrite.The guilt crawled in right after. It was her eyes.I could handle her yelling, her tears, the plates she threw—but not that look in her eyes when I called her a murderer. Not the way she went still, not the way her voice dropped to a whisper, “How dare you.”And fuck if I didn’t know I deserved it, because she wasn’t a murderer, not like me.What she did to Eric was in self-defe