บททั้งหมดของ Affair With My my Ex's Billionaire Father : บทที่ 61 - บทที่ 70

Milo's POVI lay in the hospital bed, staring at the white ceiling above me. All I could think about was Emilie. She was always on my mind, like a song stuck in my head. My heart ached every time I remembered her face, especially the moment I had to leave her in Russia. I could still see her tears as I boarded the private jet. It felt like a knife twisting in my chest. I would kill any man who dared to touch her. No one had the right to hurt her, not while I was away.I needed to gather more evidence about the threats posed by the Bratva. They were dangerous, and I had to eliminate them before they reached Emilie. She was all that mattered to me now. The thought of her being in danger filled me with rage, and I wanted to protect her at all costs.The hospital room was quiet. The smell of antiseptic filled the air, and the beeping of machines was the only sound. I hated being stuck here, but I knew I needed to recover. I looked down at the bandage

Emilie’s POVIrina looked at me with excitement in her eyes. “Let’s go out to a restaurant nearby, Emilie! You need to have some fun now that Milo is not around,” she said, her voice full of energy.I hesitated for a moment. “A restaurant? Right now?” I asked, unsure. “Yes! It will be good for you. Just think about it as a break. You deserve it,” she said, her smile wide.I sighed, still feeling a bit uneasy. “I guess it could be nice. But… I don’t know, Irina. Are you sure?”“Of course! I promise it’ll be fun. Plus, I want to apologize for everything that happened before,” she said sincerely. “I’m really sorry for how I treated you.”I looked at her, searching her eyes. “I forgive you, Irina. But I still feel like something isn’t right,” I admitted. “I understand,” she nodded. “But I swear I just want to have a good time with you. No tricks, I promise.”I remembered how Tatiana had done something similar

Milo’s povThe first thing I felt wasn’t pain. It was cold. The kind that sinks past your skin, curls up in your lungs, and makes every inhale feel like swallowing ice. It wasn’t breeze cold. It was emptiness cold. Soul cold.Then the pain came—slow, deliberate. Like it was reminding me I still had a body. A heavy throb sat behind my ribs, dull but constant. My side burned, every breath dragging through me like broken glass. And my throat? Dry. Rough. Like I’d been breathing through sand.The lights above were too bright, and my eyes squinted against them. For a second, everything blurred. Then I realized something that made my heart pause.I was alive.Barely.And I wasn’t alone.Boris sat in the corner like a shadow with eyes. Arms folded, posture stiff, like he hadn’t moved in hours. Just watching. Waiting.“You're awake," he said gently, like speaking any louder might scare the life back out of me.I tried to talk. Nothing came out. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth like gum

Emilie’s POVThe door thudded shut behind me, startling me so badly I nearly dropped my keys. My pulse kicked up as the echo faded, leaving the room thick with a tension I could practically taste. Milo was already staring at me from across the room - that familiar stormy look in his eyes that always made my stomach do a flip. Before I could speak, his calloused palm was cradling my face, tilting my chin up. He smelled like his leather jacket and that stupidly expensive cologne, the combination weirdly comforting even now. "On the bed," he said, voice of all gravel and command. No "please," never a "please" when he got like this. My knees hit the mattress before I realized I'd moved. The silk nightgown I'd thrown on felt suddenly too thin, too revealing under that laser-focused gaze. The restraints clicked into place faster than I expected, the cool leather a stark contrast to the warmth of his hands as he adjusted them. His thumb brushed the frantic pulse point in my neck. "Quie

Emilie’s POVThe house was no longer quiet.It throbbed.With tension. With violence. With Milo’s rage barely leashed, humming like electricity in the walls, in the floor, in my bones. Every step echoed too loudly. Every breath felt like it was borrowed time.He hadn’t spoken since the news came in.Just stood there, at the head of the long, oak dining table, hands braced against the wood like it was the only thing anchoring him to the earth. The light above him cast sharp shadows across his face, turning him into something cold. Unforgiving. Not a man, not anymore.A weapon.Boris stood to the side, flipping through the reports with the detached efficiency of someone who’s lived through too many betrayals to be shocked. His lips were pressed into a grim line, the air between them thick with unsaid things.Names.Routes.Safehouses.All burned.“She’s helping him clean the houses,” Boris finally said, voice like gravel. “Zoya’s father is wiping out everyone who’s ever worked with you.