All Chapters of The Lost Billionaire’s Lover : Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

LENA’S POV It was nearly midnight when my phone rang. I stared at the screen, the contact glowing like a pulse in the dark: Grandfather. My chest tightened. He rarely called—messages, yes; a carefully chosen word dropped through Harlin now and then, definitely. But not a call. Not this late. And not directly. I picked it up on the fourth ring. “Lena.” His voice hadn’t aged a day. Still sharp, low, authoritative. A voice that could cut marble if it wanted to. “Grandfather,” I said, trying to mask the hesitation in my tone. “It’s late.” “I didn’t call to chat about the weather.” Of course not. My hand tightened around the phone. I was already walking toward the windows of my office, the city glittering below in sterile silence. I had stayed late tonight, clearing reports and re-reading old data. But the moment I heard his voice, every spreadsheet and deal felt miles away. “There’s been a noise in the wind,” he continued, slowly. “About a man. A ghost. They’re saying

LENA'S POV The weekend air was warm and sweet, touched with the scent of blooming grass and the distant murmur of bees. The clearing we picked for our picnic was wrapped in soft sunlight, the kind of light that made everything feel a little less heavy. Kian and I had barely been official for a week, but there was something about being with him today that made the world feel whole. We set up the blanket beneath an oak tree that leaned ever so slightly, like it was bending to listen. The basket between us was filled with lemonade, strawberries, a couple of sandwiches we haphazardly threw together that morning, and a container of fresh mango slices Kian insisted on adding, claiming, "They taste like joy." He stretched beside me on the blanket, one hand propping his head up, the other absentmindedly toying with the edge of my dress. His fingers moved like he was trying to remember something tactile, something he couldn’t quite name. "You’ve been awfully quiet," I said, brushing a s

LENA'S POVThe tension in my chest didn’t fade after Kian walked off with Tara for their little discussion. If anything, it deepened, settling in the pit of my stomach like a stone I couldn’t digest. I returned to my office and dropped into my chair, mentally composing a hundred different messages I wouldn’t send.Then, without knocking, Clara entered.She was carrying two coffees and wearing that amused expression that said she was about to ruin me with honesty and caffeine."I saw your face from the elevators," she said, placing one of the cups in front of me and sliding into the chair across the desk. "Something’s up. And if I had to guess, it’s tall, charming, and temporarily memory-wiped."I sighed, rubbing my temples. "Tara.""The one with the kid and the silky voice?""That’s her."Clara took a slow sip. "What did she do?""Nothing technically," I muttered. "Kian bumped into her last week. Helped her son cross the road. Today, she’s talking about real estate partnerships and wa

KIAN'S POV The next morning, I woke with a sense of clarity I hadn’t felt in a long time. The previous night’s conversation with Mr. Alcante still echoed in my head, but it no longer weighed me down. It gave me purpose. A reason to act. He was still sleeping when I left the house. I scribbled a note, placed it on the kitchen counter, and tucked the blanket around him one last time before stepping out into the crisp morning air. The coastal breeze was stronger than usual, whipping through my shirt as I climbed into the truck. The roads were quiet this early, the world still shaking off the last traces of night. When I pulled into the small-town pharmacy, the bell above the door jingled as I walked in. The shelves were lined with everything from painkillers to vitamins, old carpet underfoot muffling my steps. And there she was. Behind the counter, the same woman who had helped me a few weeks ago when Mr. Alcante was in a bad medical state. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun, gla

The rain had stopped by the time Harlin pulled up in front of the Clementine estate. The sprawling mansion sat beneath the gray clouds like a lion at rest—imposing even in its silence. He stepped out of his car, adjusted the collar of his coat, and made his way past the iron gate that groaned open with the memory of old secrets.Mr. Clementine was waiting.He always was.The old man sat by the fireplace in the study, a glass of untouched scotch in his hand, the flames casting flickering shadows across the lines of his aged face. His cane rested against the leather armchair, but his posture was sharp, alert. He looked up as Harlin entered, his blue eyes unreadable."I assume this isn't a courtesy call," Clementine said.Harlin remained standing. "It's about Kian Davenport."The old man's eyes narrowed. He said nothing."He’s alive. Walking around like he didn’t vanish five years ago. Getting close to Lena again. Too close."Clementine raised the glass to his lips but didn’t drink. "You