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Todos los capítulos de The Billionaire's Sunshine : Capítulo 21 - Capítulo 30

101 Capítulos

Twenty-One: Aftertaste Of Fire

Adam Lewiston The city skyline glittered in the harsh daylight outside my office window. Glass spires reached toward the sky like the teeth of an ancient predator. Cars crawled along the streets below, tiny specks of color inching along in orderly rows. It was all picture perfect precision and efficiency. Just the way I liked it - controlled and predictable. But as I stood there staring, hands in pockets, sleeves rolled to my elbows, and suit jacket forgotten on the back of my chair, I couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted in me. Like a hairline fracture in concrete, invisible but undermining the structure. My mind refused to settle, thoughts skittering away every time I tried to focus on the numbers in the morning report. Because I kept seeing him. Lu. The way his lips curled into a mischievous smile while I pounded him, the way he screams my name, the way he begged for more, the he'd fallen asleep in my bed, curled up an

Twenty-Two: The Architecture Of Aftermath

Lillium Roosevelt The click of the door echoed long after Adam had gone, a sharp, decisive sound that punctuated the silence of the apartment like a period at the end of a sentence. A sentence I wasn't sure I understood. I lay there for a moment longer, staring at the ceiling. The room was still drenched in that soft gold light, the kind that looked expensive even without trying. It bathed the minimalist furniture in a warm, flattering glow, highlighting the sharp angles and the meticulously curated artwork. But the sheets had cooled, and reality had begun to settle in like dust, a fine layer of something gritty and unwelcome. I exhaled and pulled the blanket aside. It was a silk duvet, heavy with a decadent warmth that now felt suffocating. The moment my feet touched the floor, I regretted it. The pain came sharp and immediate—not unbearable, but enough to make me stop breathing for half a second. A dull, br

Twenty-Three: Glass Rooms and Wildflowers

Adam Lewiston The office door shut behind me with a clean finality. It was a hermetic seal against the city's cacophony, a soundproofed promise of solitude and control. I stepped back into silence, took off my suit jacket, and handed it to Ms. Chavez before she went out and return to her station. I ran a hand through my hair, loosening its rigid comb-over. I slightly loosened my tie, the silk sliding free, and then rolled up the sleeves of my shirt to my elbows. Finally, I sat down—exhaling slowly as the leather chair absorbed my weight. The Zurich meeting had ended in success. Numbers lined up. Projections solid. Control maintained. But even now, I could feel a flicker of something else under my skin. An unwelcome tremor that defied logic and calculation. Still him. Still there. I leaned forward, forearms resting on the edge of the desk, the polished surface cool against my skin. That was when

Twenty-Four: Ashes in the Sugar Jar

Lillium RooseveltThe hum of the engine was steady beneath my hands. I kept both palms on the wheel, my shoulders stiff, eyes flicking from the road to the side mirrors as I made my way through the afternoon traffic. The city had always felt big—noisy, relentless, fast—but today it felt… distant. Like I wasn’t really part of it. Like I was driving through a memory.The silver Mercedes felt too clean beneath me. Too quiet. Even the leather seats didn’t creak. The car didn’t belong in my world. It wasn’t made for potholes or stoplights that barely worked. It didn’t know how to blend into cracked sidewalks or neighborhoods where time slowed down between paycheck and eviction notice. I didn’t belong in it either. But here I was. And I had to show my face somewhere that still felt like mine.Rosie’s Diner came into view as I turned the corner—a small corner joint with sun-bleached signage and windows that were always half-fogged from the grill. The green and wh

Twenty-Five: Blueprint Of A Bastard Son

Dominus VanePain had a rhythm if you waited long enough. First came the throb behind my eyes, a dull, persistent ache that radiated outwards, blurring the edges of my vision. Then the sting in my ribs, a sharp, burning reminder of the beating I’d endured. Then the pulse at my wrists—raw, dug into by the thick rope wound tight around them. My ankles were strapped to the chair’s legs. I couldn’t move, but that wasn’t the worst part.The worst part was the silence. That heavy, acidic quiet that filled the warehouse like poison gas. No creaking floorboards. No distant city sounds. Just me, the stink of sweat and iron, and the oppressive hum of the overhead lamp shining directly onto my face.They’d covered my head with a black cloth. I’d lost track of how long ago. Minutes. Hours. Maybe days. Hard to tell when your blood keeps running warm down your temple and time forgets your name. The only constant was the rhythm of pain, rising and falling like a morbid t

Twenty-Six: What The Silence Knows

Lillium RooseveltThe city was quieter than usual. Or maybe it was just me. I drove through the streets with one hand on the wheel, the other resting over my chest where the tension hadn't eased since I left the diner. Rosetta’s words still echoed in the back of my mind like a storm building over water."Dominus isn’t the one searching for you anymore.""Someone worse is."I didn’t know what that meant—not yet—but it had hollowed out something in me. A sense of certainty. Safety. Control. Things I never really had, but liked to pretend I could hold onto.The sky was deep blue now, heading toward black. Streetlights flickered on one by one, splashing gold onto wet pavement. I recognized the buildings as I pulled into my block—cracked brick walls, chipped stair railings, the flicker of a TV behind a curtain in the second-floor window. Familiar.Home.But it didn’t feel like it tonight.I parked the silver Mercedes

Twenty-Seven: Even Titans Lean

Adam LewistonThe city below was nothing but a grid of light and movement. Tiny people in tiny cars chasing tiny ambitions. From this height, their struggles seemed comical, their victories insignificant. I stood with a tumbler of bourbon in one hand, sleeves rolled, collar unbuttoned, tie discarded across the edge of the couch like a ghost of who I was earlier today. The CEO of Lewiston Industry. Now, I was just… a man.I watched the dark sky bleed into the skyline, the penthouse quiet except for the occasional creak of old wood or the whisper of the central air. The kind of silence I once found satisfying. Proof of my dominion, a testament to my ability to control everything around me.Now it felt… incomplete. Hollow. Like a gilded cage, beautiful but still a confinement.James had just returned a few minutes ago, his knock light, his voice even lighter. "It's done, sir. He received the gift."I hadn’t responded. Just nodded once and le

Twenty-Eight: Where Fire Finds The Flint

Lillium RooseveltI sat at the dinner table, elbows on the edge, fingers loosely locked in front of me as I stared at it. The gift. The MacBook sat right where I left it—still in its box, ribbon slightly undone from when I opened it earlier. The silver casing gleamed faintly under the warm kitchen light, pristine and untouched.It was beautiful. Expensive. Completely surreal. And I didn’t know what to make of it.I’d never owned anything like this before. Not because I couldn’t appreciate it, but because people like me weren’t supposed to have things like this. Gifts like this had strings. Expectations. Contracts.And this one… came from him.Adam.I chewed at the inside of my cheek and leaned back in the chair, arms crossed now, trying to decipher the why. I had already thanked James. Profusely. I had already tried to move on from it, to rationalize it as a simple act of kindness. But I couldn’t stop looking at it like it might

Twenty-Nine: Chipped Edges, Soft Hands

Lillium RooseveltThe silence in the room wasn’t uncomfortable. Not exactly. It was the kind of quiet that comes after something… intimate. Something that took more than just your body—it took pieces of your restraint. Of your armor. Left it scattered somewhere between the kitchen counter and the spaces we weren’t ready to name yet.I sat on the sofa, my knees drawn slightly in, an old blanket tucked half around my waist like a shield I didn’t know I needed. My hair was still messy. My pulse had finally steadied.But he was still here.And that alone felt stranger than everything else.Adam moved around the apartment in his quiet, calculated way—no longer a man driven by need, but something else. I watched him with tired eyes, chest still rising and falling in an easy rhythm while his gaze traced every surface.Like he was inspecting it.Or trying to understand it.His fingers skimmed along the chipped edge of m

Thirty: The Shape of Wanting Nothing

Adam LewistonThe hot chocolate tasted like something from another life. Too sweet. Too simple. And yet, somehow… grounding. I didn’t speak at first. I just let the heat of the mug warm my fingers, let the cinnamon rest on the back of my tongue. Let the silence wrap around us like a blanket neither of us asked for but both of us needed.The couch creaked softly as he shifted beside me. He wasn’t close enough to touch—but he was there. Solid. Warm. Barefoot. Wrapped in a blanket and uncertainty.I didn’t look at him when he spoke. His voice was soft, almost too careful.“Are you staying the night?”I exhaled slowly, my eyes still trained on the chipped corner of the coffee table. The question wasn’t casual. It wasn’t a test. It was honest. And I wasn’t ready for it. Not because I didn’t know the answer. But because I did.My instinct was to say no. To stand. To button my coat and walk out without looking back. That was what I alwa

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