All Chapters of Marrying The Domineering Billionaire In My Sister’s Place: Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

Natasha’s POV The street ahead stretched under the dim glow of the city lights, but my eyes were fixed on the address in my phone. Each passing block felt like a countdown. The driver’s hands rested steady on the wheel, the hum of the engine filling the silence. I could feel my heartbeat in my ears, quick and uneven. We were only a few minutes away when something inside me shifted. A thought rose so suddenly that it made my chest tighten. What was I doing? I stared out the window at the blur of passing shops and pedestrians. If I went to his office now, what would it prove? If he really was there working, I would look paranoid, like I didn’t trust him at all. And if he wasn’t doing anything wrong, I would be the one hurting him, planting doubts in his mind about how much I believed in him. I pictured his face if I showed up unannounced, and the image made my stomach twist. He would be surprised, confused, and maybe even disappointed. The last thing I wanted was for him to think I

Josh’s POV. The moment I decided to dig deeper into Sylvester and Jenna, it was like something inside me switched on. I wasn’t just curious anymore. I was invested. I wanted answers, and more than that, I wanted something I could use. I had enough cash now from Henry to make things happen quickly. No more hanging around street corners or wasting time following people myself. I went straight to a private investigator I had worked with in the past. He was discreet and fast, the kind of man who could find out where someone spent their evenings without anyone noticing. I met him at a small café off a quiet street. He sat across from me, leaning forward with a notepad. "I need you to find out everything you can about a man named Sylvester Mason and a woman named Jenna Montes," I told him. "They work together. A lot. She’s a strategist in his company. I heard they’ve been spending time at one of his penthouses. I want proof of it." He nodded. "What kind of proof are we talking about

Amara’s POV. It’s strange how easy it is to fall into a rhythm when you’re holding all the cards. Dr. Richard barely looked me in the eye the next time we crossed paths in the hallway. He looked… hollow. As though he had lost something of himself that night and hadn’t been able to get it back. I, on the other hand, walked taller and smiled more. Because I knew what he was too afraid to admit. I owned him now. He was quiet in meetings. He stayed out of my way. And when I needed something—paperwork signed, statements made, and conversations steered—he did it despite being my superior. Sometimes reluctantly. Sometimes with a clenched jaw. But he did it. And I made sure to never let him forget what was at stake. * It was another work day, and I arrived earlier than he this morning and walked straight to his office. I slid an envelope into his locker without writing anything on it. It was just a printed still from the video I took that night—blurred, grainy, but unmistakable. His

Natasha’s POV. I was sitting on the couch when I heard his car pull into the driveway. My chest felt heavy, my hands pressed together so tightly my knuckles hurt. I had been holding it all in all day, going over every word from Jenna, every line from those anonymous messages. By the time Sylvester opened the door, I could feel the tears threatening to spill. He stepped inside, looking tired but calm. That calmness made my stomach twist. How could he just walk in as if nothing had happened when I was falling apart inside? "Sylvester," I said, my voice low but trembling. He looked at me, frowning slightly. "Natasha? What’s wrong?" That was all it took. The tears came without warning, and I stood up, facing him. "What’s wrong? You really want to know what’s wrong? I’ve been getting messages. Anonymous messages. And then Jenna…" I paused to catch my breath. "She told me you’ve been working with her in your penthouse for over a month. That you’re only sharing your ideas with her beca

Natasha’s POV.There was something quietly jarring about waking up to warmth that used to be so familiar. The kind of warmth that didn’t come from the sun or the sheets, but from the presence of someone who used to feel like home. His arm was draped loosely around my waist, my fingers lightly splayed as if unsure whether he was allowed to hold me that way again.We had spent so many nights back-to-back, silent in the same bed, breathing the same air but miles apart. And now… now this. His body pressed close, his breath steady and slow, brushing against my skin in the hush of early morning.The scent of his cologne clung to the air—earthy, clean, and edged with something I couldn’t name but always associated with him. A breeze drifted through the open window, tugging at the curtains, carrying the faint sounds of a city just beginning to stir. But here, in this moment, the world had shrunk down to just us.It felt strange having him this close again. His hand rested on my waist, warm a