All Chapters of the billonaires secretary : Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

BiancaI woke up expecting awkward silence. You know, the kind that creeps in after skin brushes against skin for too long, or after someone's lips linger a little too close to a boundary line.But the silence that greeted me was warm. Peaceful. The kind that makes you feel like you’re floating in a bubble you don’t want to pop.I padded around the guest suite in one of my older oversized T shirts for a while, listening to the faint clatter and movement downstairs. He was up early, which was unusual. Especially on a getaway.I figured I’d give him time.I took a long shower, scrubbed last night’s pool water off my skin, and tried not to think about how his hands had moved like he knew exactly where to touch me. The way his voice had dipped when he whispered my name.God.Stop it, Bianca.I threw on a black tank top and a pair of tiny blue jean shorts that barely covered the curve of my ass. My hair went into a messy ponytail, two pink clips snapping down the flyaways. Flip-flops. No m

BiancaThe thing about being happy is, it always feels too good to last.For the past few weeks, Dean and I had been living in a bubble. Late night calls that stretched into dawn, sleepy eyed texts filled with flirtation, dinners that turned into slow, exploratory kisses and those turned into nights tangled in each other’s arms. We were finally… real. Official. Not just a complicated mess of tension and chemistry.And I’d been floating in it our soft walks through Central Park, quiet mornings in his penthouse kitchen, his hand at the small of my back when no one was looking.Until he leaned against my desk one afternoon, still dressed in a crisp navy suit, and said, “I want you to come to Thanksgiving dinner. With my parents. At my place.”My fingers froze mid typing. “Really?”He smiled at me. Not the usual corky smirk. The real one. “Yeah. Just you, me, and them. No work, no pretenses. I want them to know who I’ve been spending all my nights thinking about.”I blinked at him, swallo

Bianca The two weeks after Thanksgiving were, surprisingly, smooth. Dean and I had found our rhythm again quiet mornings in the office, coffee runs that turned into hand holding moments, shared smirks across the conference table that made my stomach flip for reasons that had nothing to do with butterflies and everything to do with want. It felt… normal. Ours. I liked it. There were still unspoken things between us things we hadn’t fully unpacked but for the first time in a long time, it felt like we were breathing in the same direction. Like we wanted this. Whatever was happening, we were choosing it. So when Dean told me he was taking me as his plus one to the infamous Annual Christmas Eve Gala the one crawling with upper-class elites, tech moguls, political families, and every rich person who pretended not to care about being rich, I froze. Not because I didn’t want to go. But because… this was it. The hard launch. He wasn’t taking his secretary. He wasn’t taking Evely

Bianca The first thing I noticed after the abortion was how quiet everything became. Not the kind of quiet where you finally get a moment of peace but the kind that wraps itself around you, sticky and heavy, like grief pretending to be silence. I went back to work like nothing happened, smiled when people greeted me, answered emails like clockwork. But inside, I was just… off. Hollow. Even Lily could tell. She curled up next to me more than usual. Followed me from room to room like she was scared I’d float away. Dean gave me space. Of course he did. He was... wonderful in that way. Gentle looks. Soft check-ins. Never pushing. But something between us shifted that day at my apartment. I couldn’t touch it, couldn’t name it, but I felt it every time he walked into the room. And worse I could tell he felt it too. Christmas faded. The new year came and went. Dean invited me to some fancy rooftopNew year's eve countdown party he was attending. I told him I’d think about it. I didn’t

BiancaIt’d been two weeks since I moved to Ohio. Two long, oddly quiet weeks.My apartment still smelled like new paint and unfamiliar detergent. The heating clicked too loudly at night. I missed the New York noise the dull roar of taxis and too many conversations bleeding into each other. Here, everything was still. Too still.That afternoon, I was in the lobby, staring down a blinking vending machine like it owed me something. All I wanted was a granola bar the cranberry almond one, the only one worth eating. I pressed the button, hopeful.Clunk.I smiled. Victory. Until a hand bigger than mine, calloused tatooed fingers, a hoodie sleeve pulled down too far reached in and stole it right out of the tray.“Excuse me?” I blinked, half offended, half in shock.The guy took a bite like he hadn’t just committed a small act of war. “What?”“That was mine.”He looked at me, unbothered, chewing slowly. “Didn’t see your name on it.”I opened my mouth to argue. Then closed it. Then opened it