All Chapters of The Billionaire's Dirty Secrets: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

CHAPTER 42 - Failed AttemptCalla’s POVWaking up in the master suite was a revelation. Not because of the luxury, but because of the solid warmth of Ronan’s body curved around mine, his arm a heavy, comforting weight across my waist. The first thing I saw wasn’t the ocean, but the sleep-softened line of his jaw, his dark lashes fanned against his cheek. Peace looked good on him.For a few stolen minutes, I just watched him breathe. This was ours now. This sanctuary.When he stirred, his eyes opening to find me already watching him, a slow, unguarded smile spread across his face. It was a smile I’d only seen glimpses of—pure, unfiltered, and utterly devastating.“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice gravelly with sleep.“Morning,” I whispered back, my heart doing a silly little flip.He leaned in and kissed me, a soft, lingering press of lips that tasted of sleep and promise. It was a kiss that said I’m here, not I want you. And in that moment, it was everything.The day began with a

CHAPTER 44Calla’s POVThe fragile, hard-won peace of the last week felt like a dream. Ronan’s pride in me after the confrontation had melted the last of the ice. We’d fallen into a new, electric rhythm—passionate nights, collaborative days, a partnership that felt both thrilling and solid. Jade’s presence was a grounding, joyful counterpoint. For the first time, the cliff house felt less like a fortress and more like a home humming with life.I’d taken to walking Aurelius along the public coastal path just beyond the estate grounds in the late afternoons. It was my small rebellion, my claim on a piece of the world that wasn’t filtered through security cameras or gilded by Ronan’s wealth. Just me, the dog, the wind, and the endless sea.That’s where Dominic found me.He seemed to materialize from the gathering sea mist, leaning against a gnarled cypress tree as if he’d been waiting for a stage cue. He looked thinner, paler than the polished villain I remembered, but his eyes held the

CHAPTER 46 Ronan’s POV The air in our bedroom was different that night. It wasn't the tense quiet of our first nights sharing the space, nor the comfortable silence that had begun to settle. This was a charged, liquid stillness, thick with everything left unsaid and everything that was about to be said without words. Calla stood by the wall of windows, bathed in the cool silver of moonlight on water. She’d changed into a simple slip of ivory silk, the kind of garment that was more devastating in its simplicity than any lace could ever be. It whispered over her curves, hinting at the warmth beneath. We had spent the evening finalizing the initial phase of what we’d code-named Operation Meridian. It was all digital footprints and contingency plans, a cerebral chess game. But now, the game was over. The screens were dark. The only thing left in the room was the raw, humming current that had been building between us since the moment I’d found her on the kitchen floor, since the couch,

CHAPTER 48 Calla’s POV The Gilded Pearl had yielded nothing but a doorman’s polite indifference and the hollow echo of my own panic. I’d stood frozen across the street until the chill of evening seeped into my bones, but no one emerged. No Ronan. No Elira. Just a stream of anonymous, wealthy patrons. Jade’s certainty warred with my own desperate hope. Maybe she was mistaken. Maybe it was a lookalike. Maybe there’s a reason. The maybes were thin threads holding my sanity together as I drove back to the cliff house. The place was quiet, empty. Anya had left a note saying she’d taken Aurelius for his evening walk. Jade was in her room, giving me space I didn’t want. I couldn’t breathe in our bedroom. The scent of us was now a taunt. I needed answers, something solid to either shatter me or put me back together. My feet carried me, almost of their own volition, to Ronan’s private study in the east wing—the inner sanctum he’d only recently granted me full access to. The place where w

CHAPTER 50 Ronan’s POV Three white sticks. Three silent verdicts. Not Pregnant. The words should have been a relief. In the cataclysm of our trust, the last thing we needed was the seismic complication of a child. It was a reprieve. A chance to mend what was broken without the pressure of a ticking clock made of flesh and blood. But as I looked at Calla’s face—pale, closed-off, her eyes avoiding mine as she presented the evidence—a cold certainty settled in my gut. She was lying. It wasn't the nausea or the pallor, though they were clues. It was the ferocity of her denial, the almost frantic way she’d insisted it was “impossible.” It was the subtle shift in her scent, a change so primal I recognized it on an instinctive level I couldn't explain. And it was the look in her eyes now: not the devastation of a negative test, but the grim, determined relief of a secret kept. She thought she was protecting something. Herself. The fragile remains of her autonomy. From me. The realiz