Lahat ng Kabanata ng Marrying The Domineering Billionaire In My Sister’s Place: Kabanata 1 - Kabanata 10

Sylvester’s POV.I wasn’t supposed to be late.I knew how important this day was, even if the marriage itself didn’t mean much to me emotionally, It was just a business arrangement. A six-month contract in exchange for the loan I gave their family. Still, I felt like I owed them the basic courtesy of showing up on time.But the board meeting ran over. One of the older members had a list of concerns as long as his arm, and I couldn’t just walk out, not with my grandfather already breathing down my neck about taking my role seriously. So I stayed, gave the answers they wanted, and tried to stay focused. But the entire time, the clock kept ticking.By the time I left the office, I was almost an hour late. I drove straight to the registry. Luckily there were no stops or detours.I kept thinking how awkward it might be to walk in so late. Her parents would probably be annoyed and Carol, too. But at least I would be there. I would apologize, we would sign the documents, and this whole thin

Natasha’s POV. After that call from my mother, I was a mess. Torn between rushing to the hospital to check on my father and going straight to the police station to face her. But I couldn’t even get to the hospital without her. I didn’t know where my father was. She was the only one who could tell me. So, with a heavy heart and trembling hands, I turned back and made my way to the police station. When I stepped inside, everything hit me all at once—the ringing phones, overlapping voices, and the buzzing lights overhead. I stood there for a few seconds, completely blank, not knowing where to go or who to ask. I must have looked lost, an officer behind the desk called my attention and pointed down a hallway without even asking my name. My legs moved on their own, as if betraying me each step heavier than the last. Every step felt wrong, like I was walking into something I couldn’t come back from. There I found my mother, sitting behind a table all alone. Her hands were folded in her

Sylvester’s POV. The second I caught the fear flickering across Natasha’s face, I moved. Amara was spilling too much and I didn’t stop to think about it. I crossed the room in a few strides, reached for her hand, and wrapped my fingers around hers, anchoring her to me. Her hand was cold, trembling slightly, but she didn’t pull away. She just stood there, frozen, like she didn’t know what to do next. It didn’t matter what Amara was trying to stir up. It didn’t matter what anyone else at that table was thinking. Natasha was my wife now and I wasn’t going to let anyone instill an unnecessary fear into her or let her be humiliated while I stood by and watched. Without a word, I led her to the dining table, weaving us through the heavy silence that had fallen over the room. I pulled out a chair for her. "Sit," I said, keeping my voice low but firm. She lowered herself onto the chair almost mechanically, her posture stiff, her eyes cast down like she was bracing for another

Sylvester’s POV. I caught her just in time. If I had failed to show up right at that moment, Amara would’ve spilled more than she should. I could see it in her eyes—the thrill of dancing that fine line between what was safe and what was too far. That girl always did love to test limits. And I had let her get too close this time. I told Natasha not to talk to anyone. Not unless I was there. Not because I wanted to control her, but because I knew what kind of people they were—what kind of games they liked to play. She didn’t know the rules yet, and Amara? Amara had no mercy for the clueless. Still, I didn’t like the way I spoke to Natasha. I could hear my own voice echoing back in my head, cold and clipped. I hadn’t even looked her in the eye when I left that room. Just dropped a few instructions and walked out like it didn’t matter how she felt. But what was I supposed to do? Let her stand there, making excuses for someone like Amara? If only she had listened. Just stayed

Natasha’s POV. The knock on my door came just as the sun broke through the curtains. I hadn’t really slept—just lay there staring at the ceiling, my thoughts bouncing around too much to settle. I sat up slowly, still in a daze, as the butler stepped inside. "Good morning, ma’am. Your stylist is here." I blinked at him, unsure how to respond. A stylist. For me. It felt strange—like I was playing dress-up in someone else’s life. He stepped aside, and a woman walked in, smiling brightly, her arms full of garment bags and a little silver case. She didn’t talk much beyond polite instructions, and I was grateful for that. She moved around me like I was a mannequin—curling my hair, brushing makeup onto my face, zipping up the soft navy-blue gown she had picked. Everything felt foreign. The fabric clung to my skin like it knew I didn’t belong in it. By the time she was done, my hands were damp. I kept wiping them on my dress, even though I knew I shouldn’t. I looked at myself in the m