Semua Bab The Billionaire’s Unexpected Love: Bab 21 - Bab 30

May POVThe sun rose with a deceitful gentleness—its golden light spilling across the velvet curtains.I rolled over in the guest room bed, my shoulder still sore, but it wasn’t the ache that kept me awake. It was the ghost of what almost happened. The brush of John’s fingertips against my jaw, the intensity of his stare, the way his voice had softened. I had leaned in. He had leaned closer.Then he left.I exhaled, staring at the ceiling. It had been a mistake. A beautiful, reckless mistake that couldn’t mean anything.This was temporary. All of it. The mansion. The warmth. The quiet joy of Saint knocking on my door in the morning just to show me a poorly drawn giraffe. The shared breakfasts. The way John looked at me as if I weren’t broken.I pulled the sheets off and got up, grateful for the silence. I needed normalcy, something to scrub away the memory of last night.That peace lasted all of twelve minutes.A shrill voice pierced the hallway.“Where is she? I said I want to see he

May POV “Saint!” I was sprinting now. My voice cut through the house like static, bouncing off walls that gave nothing back. Every hallway was empty. Every room, hollow. His bed had been made. His little bunny slippers still lined up neatly by the corner. But he wasn’t in it. I’d searched the bathrooms, the kitchen, the laundry room, under the stairs. Nothing. And the worst part? He couldn’t call back. Saint’s silence wasn’t just emotional. It was literal. A scream trapped in a child who couldn’t scream. I stormed into the living room. Celeste was curled up on the velvet couch, scrolling through her tablet, a half-empty glass of wine beside her. “He’s not in his room.” She didn’t look up. “So?” “So he’s not in his room, Celeste.” I tried to keep my voice even, but it shook. “I’ve searched everywhere. He’s not answering. I don’t know where he is.” She gave a lazy blink. “He’s not answering because he doesn’t talk, darling.” I froze. The way she said it—lik

May POVI heard them. The next morning. Through the vents.Celeste pacing her room. Her voice low but sharp enough to cut glass.“…yes, I understand that, Jeremy, but I’m telling you—the optics are dangerous. The board has to act. If this were any other executive—any other company—this would’ve been handled already.”A pause. Then laughter. Cold. Precise.“Of course I’m not suggesting we oust John. But pressure’s effective. Let him feel it. Let him remember where his priorities lie.”Silence.Then: “No, I haven’t told him the Lena angle yet. I’m saving that.”My blood went cold.Lena.John’s dead wife. Saint mother!Her name hadn’t been spoken since I got here. Not around me. Not around anyone. John guarded her memory like a lockbox welded shut.But Celeste wasn’t just trying to open it.She was planning to drop it at his feet like a landmine.I backed away from the vent, bile climbing up my throat.She was orchestrating it. All of it.Whispers to the board. Nudges in the press. The p

John’s POV I pulled into the driveway, the soft patter of rain against the windshield setting a quiet rhythm in my chest. The house loomed, familiar and cold in the gray evening light. My suitcase rested heavy in one hand, my suit wrinkled from the hours of travel, but I barely noticed. My mind was elsewhere — on Saint, on May, on everything waiting for me inside. The front door swung open before I even reached it. There she stood. May. Disheveled, raw—nothing like the polished woman I’d sometimes glimpsed through the polished lens of the mansion’s façade. Her eyes caught mine, and I saw it — exhaustion, a weight I couldn’t measure but could feel pressing through the air between us. “May,” I said, voice low, trying to bridge the distance I didn’t know had grown so wide. Before she could answer, the sharp click of heels behind me drew my attention. Celeste. Gliding in with that practiced grace, wrapped in cream and confidence like she owned the room. Her lipstick was perfect, he

May POV The silence in the house was the kind that hummed—like it had just survived a storm. Celeste’s heels no longer clicked against the floors. Her perfume didn’t linger in the hallways. The scent of lavender and lies had finally vanished from the walls. She was gone. Finally. Not gone for good—but moved out, back to her penthouse downtown. Because John had told her to. I stood at the top of the stairs as she swept out, her suitcases lined like obedient soldiers at her side. Saint peeked from behind my leg, silent. John didn’t say much—just nodded once when she brushed past him without a backward glance. The click of the door shutting behind her was quiet… but it echoed like a gunshot. The house exhaled. So did I. Later, I curled up on the couch with Saint tucked under my arm. He was drawing something chaotic—dragons and clouds and fire all tangled together in a wild boy-dream mess. I watched his little brow furrow, his tongue sticking out slightly in concentration. “You’