บททั้งหมดของ The Billionaire's Dirty Secrets: บทที่ 1 - บทที่ 10

Calla Moreno's povThe ringtone jolted me out of the worst nap ever—face stuck to the couch cushion, neck bent at a death angle, my jeans half-unzipped because I'd passed out mid-Netflix binge. I blinked at the cracked phone screen vibrating in my hand.Unknown number."Ugh." I rolled onto my side, throat dry, heart pounding for no reason. Could be spam. Or worse—him.I hesitated. Then swiped to answer."Hello?""Miss Moreno?" A deep, clipped male voice. Cool. Unfamiliar."Speaking," I said, sitting up. My voice sounded rough, like I smoked a pack a day and hated myself."This is Vexley Estate. You applied for a domestic position?"I froze. The live-in housekeeper ad. The one with no listed name, no posted salary, just a vague "high compensation for discretion and loyalty" vibe. I applied half as a joke. Half out of desperation."I—yeah. I did.""You've been selected. Position begins tomorrow morning. Transportation will arrive at 8 AM sharp. Pack light."Wait. That was it?"Uh, sorry

Calla's Pov I woke up in silk sheets.Not just soft. Obscenely soft. Like my body had forgotten what cotton felt like. Like even my skin didn’t belong here.The room was huge. Way bigger than my old studio. Pale gray walls. Sleek black furniture. No clutter. No warmth. A bed built for someone who didn’t sleep alone.I blinked at the ceiling, heart already racing. It took me a second to remember where I was.Vexley Estate.Right. The job.The mysterious billionaire who didn’t want his staff to ask questions. The one who looked at me like he already knew what I was running from.Ronan Vexley. CEO. Control freak. Beautiful, terrifying man with eyes that could cut glass and a voice that could make you forget your name.I got dressed in the only clean shirt I had left. Stole a banana from the massive kitchen fruit bowl that looked more decorative than edible. My stomach growled like it hated me. I ignored it.Elijah found me by the laundry room.“You're late,” he said without checking the

Calla's POVThe house was too quiet at night.Except for the wind whispering through the cracks in the old windows and the soft tick of the grandfather clock downstairs, silence wrapped around me like a second skin. My room felt colder tonight. The sheets clung to my skin as I lay flat on my back, staring at the ceiling.Sleep wouldn’t come. It hadn't for days. Not since he walked in on me cleaning the library and sat there like a storm waiting to break.Ronan Vexley.My boss. My nightmare. My obsession.He didn’t touch me. He barely looked at me. But his presence was like fire on my skin. And now, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't shake him from my head.The way he stood. The way his eyes dragged over me when he thought I wasn’t watching. The way his voice wrapped around my name like he owned it.My fingers slipped beneath the waistband of my sleep shorts.I bit down on my lip, breathing hard through my nose, letting the image of him flood my senses. His broad shoulders. That co

(Ronan’s POV)I should’ve been reviewing the final guest list.Instead, I stood behind the upper floor banister, scotch in hand, watching her.Calla.Below me, in the entertainment hall, she moved like the cleaning staff’s version of a dancer. She bent low to sweep under the antique settees, stretched to polish the high arched windows. Efficient. Focused. Oblivious.Or pretending to be.Elijah stood nearby, arms crossed, supervising like he always did. But I wasn’t watching Elijah.It was her waist. The way that damn uniform hugged her hips. Her curls were tied up but messy, like she rushed it. Her face flushed, probably from the effort, or maybe the memory of last night.Too late, she’d said.Damn her.I should’ve fired her for wandering into my wing. For the way she looked at me. For the way she made me think about things I had buried under marble and rules and control.I didn’t. I couldn’t.And now I was hiding upstairs like some deviant prince, drinking at noon."Looks like someon

Calla’s POVThe cold of the concrete wall seeped through my thin uniform, a deep, aching chill that had little to do with temperature. Every shift of my weight sent a fresh jolt of pain from the raw, bruised skin around my wrists. I pressed my head back against the unyielding surface, the rough texture a grim anchor to reality.This is my reward for doing my job? The thought was a bitter pill I couldn’t swallow. I close my eyes, and all I can see is the dark stain spreading on expensive silk. I never should have taken this job.The clatter of keys shattered the silence, a jarring, metallic song that made my heart stutter against my ribs. I flinched, curling in on myself. A male officer fumbled with the lock to my cell, his hands unsteady. But it was the woman standing behind him who commanded the space. She was tall, her posture rigid, and she repeatedly slapped a heavy baton into her open palm. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. The sound was a promise of more pain.My body was a map of their a