Semua Bab The Billionaire’s Unexpected Love: Bab 51 - Bab 60

May’s POVThe mansion transformed overnight.Guards on every floor.Cameras repositioned.Access logs double-checked.Keypads reprogrammed.John didn’t sleep. He just moved from room to room with a new, simmering silence—like a man trying not to fall apart in public.“It’s just a precaution,” he said, more to himself than to me.But nothing about this felt like precaution.It felt like panic.Like war.The flash drive was gone.One minute it was in the drawer beneath my favorite books—the one no one ever touched—and the next, it wasn’t.No sign of forced entry.No broken lock.No fingerprints.Just absence.I stared into the drawer like it would blink and return. But it didn’t. The hollow space was almost cruel in how neatly it mocked me.I went to John.He didn’t even ask how it vanished.He just stared at the wall for a long time before muttering, “They’re in the house.”That afternoon, I found one of the new maids in the west wing, standing just beyond the linen closet. She had her

May’s POVJohn stood at the window, his back rigid, fists clenched. Rain tapped steadily against the glass like it was trying to speak on Lena’s behalf. The mansion, for once, felt too big. Too quiet.And I was tired of quiet.I stepped into the room, holding the small speaker in my hand. The last voice file had finally played after hours of trial-and-error with the code Saint had drawn. L.B.17.08—Lena’s initials and a date. Maybe the day she knew she wouldn’t survive.I didn’t give John a warning. I just pressed play.Lena’s voice crackled, small and terrified:“They want my silence. I have proof. If I don’t make it, it’s on the drive. You have to believe me. One of them smiles too much. One of them never blinks. He said I wasn’t needed anymore—like I was disposable.”John turned slowly. His face didn’t change, but his silence did—it went from dismissive to rattled. I paused the recording.“Who was she talking about?” I asked.He didn’t answer. Just looked past me.“John.” I stepped

I haven’t slept. Not really. Not since the symbol showed up. Not since I found the mirror carved like a warning in Lena’s old room, not since the letter slid under the door like a whisper. You’ve seen enough. Walk away, May. Or disappear like her. That line keeps looping through my head. Even now. Even as Saint breathes softly beside me, thumb curled near his cheek, body curled close like he knows something I don’t. And maybe he does. John’s on the other side of the bed. Silent. Awake. I can tell by the way the light from his phone screen flares and dims every few minutes. He doesn’t scroll. Just stares. Like he’s waiting for something to crash through the silence. We’re in the same room now—for safety, not comfort. That’s what he said. But it feels like something else. Like some thread neither of us wants to name is pulling taut between us. He hasn’t brought up the flash drive again. I haven’t told him it was stolen. We’re both holding things back. Trying not to look directl

May POVMEANWHILE, the board of directors summoned a meeting.John’s hands were clasped too tightly on the polished edge of the boardroom table.Every screen on the wall was frozen on the same headline:Billionaire Caught on Camera – Is May Hemlings More Than Just a Nanny?Below it, blurred screenshots of a dimly lit hotel room. His silhouette. Her back. Skin. Sheets. Shadows.It was a damned witch hunt.“Gentlemen,” he started, voice sharp, “this was a leak—an invasion of privacy. What happened in that room was months ago and—”“—And the public doesn’t care, John,” cut in Marlowe, his Chief Risk Officer. “They see a scandal. Our stocks dropped 6% this morning. The Asia markets opened lower, and by mid-day, we’re looking at another dip.”A low murmur rippled through the room like a tide of dissent.He straightened in his chair, jaw locked. “I didn’t know May when that happened. We were strangers.”“That’s worse,” muttered Soraya Zhang, his Head of Strategic Comms. “A nanny with a sex

May POVIt’s strange how quickly silence can become a kind of noise.In the days after everything collapsed, the quiet in my hotel room felt like punishment. No Saint running through the hallways. No morning toast crumbs. Just me, the buzz of my phone vibrating across the table, and headlines that painted me into something I wasn’t.The tape had done its job. The world had decided.May Hemlings: homewrecker, liar, opportunist. The woman who “tricked” a billionaire into bed and stayed close to his son to get a second chance.I didn’t even know where the footage came from. I couldn’t remember that night—just fragments. The taste of something sweet, a dizzy spell, a blackout. And then waking up sore and confused the next morning in a hotel room, alone. No answers. Just a headache and an invoice.But it didn’t matter. Not to the board. Not to the press. Not even, apparently, to John.The door to that world had been slammed shut. Literally.I replayed the moment the guards escorted me out