Todos los capítulos de The Lost Billionaire’s Lover : Capítulo 11 - Capítulo 20

LENA'S POV The next morning, I woke up with a plan—deal with Harlin, and find Kian.But my mother had other ideas.“Lena, we’re going to the dealership. You need a new car.”I groaned, rubbing my temples. “Mother, I already have six.”She waved off my complaint. “And now you’ll have seven. You’ve been driving the same Range Rover for over a year. It’s time for an upgrade.”I sighed, already knowing that arguing with Vivian Whitmore was pointless. Once she decided on something, it was as good as done.So that was how I found myself in the backseat of our Bentley, heading toward one of the most exclusive car dealerships in Hudsonville, with my mother sitting beside me, scrolling through her tablet as if this was just another business transaction.An Argument Waiting to Happen“You should be focusing on Whitmore Enterprises more,” my mother said suddenly, without looking up.I raised an eyebrow. “I run the company, Mother. What more do you want?”She turned to me, her piercing gaze unre

KIAN'S POV I hadn’t expected to spend the day with Mr. Alcante. In fact, I hadn’t planned on spending it with anyone. But when he knocked on my door that morning, weathered hat in one hand, a mischievous smile on his face, and a backpack slung over his shoulder, I knew whatever he had in mind would be far from quiet. “We’re going to the city,” he announced. I raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you leave the beach?” “Since today. There’s a carnival. Once a year. Big, bright, loud. Come on, you need it.” Before I could protest, he was already halfway down the path that led away from the cottage."I don't think this is a good idea. I'll prefer to stay in and work on my company's portfolio.""Work, work, work. Is all you do recently. We're not getting any younger, you know?" He responded."I know, and that's why I'm trying to retire the both of us. I want to be able to comfortably buy a large mansion for you at the city, before the year runs out." I said, a smile plastered across my f

KIAN'S POV The sky was ink-black by the time I pulled into the driveway. The porch light flickered once, then steadied as I cut the engine and sat for a moment, letting the silence press in. Mr. Alcante was already asleep in the back of the truck, snoring gently under a folded blanket. I didn’t wake him. He’d find his way inside eventually, like he always did. But me? I wasn’t ready to step inside. Because tonight felt different. Because tonight, she was in my head again. Lena. It wasn’t just her voice or her scent or her smile. It was the way she said my name. The way she looked at me with this desperate, aching belief that I was someone she used to know. Someone she still cared for. Someone she maybe still loved. I recognized her. That was the worst part. I recognized something in her. And yet, my mind refused to hand over the memory. Like it had locked the truth behind a door I wasn’t allowed to open. Not yet. Not until it decided I was ready. I stepped inside the house

KIAN’S POV The next morning broke through the windows with merciless brightness, chasing away whatever fragments of sleep I had managed to hold onto. I sat at the edge of the bed for a long while, staring at the worn floorboards, letting the silence ring. I was angry. Again. And for the same reason. Not the kind of anger that came with rage or yelling. It was the quiet, gnawing kind. The kind that simmered in your bones and made everything feel off-kilter. I started to wonder how many times I’ll be agitated because of the person I couldn’t remember. Maybe she isn’t lying, maybe she is. Because no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake Lena Whitmore from my mind. Her eyes, her voice, the way she said my name—they haunted me. Not because they were unfamiliar, but because they weren’t. Because they meant something I couldn’t touch, like trying to remember a word that was always on the tip of your tongue. I recognized her. I just couldn’t remember why. I started int

KIAN'S POV The following morning felt heavier than most. I was up before the sun, staring at the gray ceiling, my thoughts consumed by two things: Mr. Alcante and what I was about to do next. He had improved slightly overnight—the fever had gone down a notch, and his breathing was less labored. But there was still a fragility about him that unsettled me. I left a note and made sure he had water, his medicine, and a way to reach me if things worsened. Then I got dressed, straightened my tie, and stepped into my plan. Today, I was walking into Whitmore Enterprises. Not as a guest. But as an employee. The corporate building stood tall and glossy in the morning light. The receptionist, now familiar, directed me to the upper floor where HR conducted interviews. I waited in a sleek white lobby with three other applicants—all younger, all nervous. When my name was called, I walked into the interview room with the practiced calm of someone who had been through far worse. Three