All Chapters of Marrying The Domineering Billionaire In My Sister’s Place: Chapter 161 - Chapter 170

Sylvester’s POV.I was furious, and I could feel it in the way my chest rose and fell as if I could hardly contain the storm building inside me. I could not bring myself to wrap my head around what I had just discovered Jenna had done, and no matter how many times I turned it over in my thoughts, it refused to settle into something I could understand. My marriage with Natasha was already hanging by a thread, and yet Jenna had taken it upon herself to cut deeper into it until it felt beyond repair.Yes, I was angry at Natasha. I would not deny that, because part of me could not believe she had allowed herself to be swayed to such a point that she did not even stop to ask me first, did not give me the benefit of doubt that a woman who truly loved her husband should give, but deep down, beneath all that disappointment, I knew it was Jenna who had planted those seeds, watered them, and stood by waiting for them to sprout into this disaster. At that instant I no longer saw her as a frie

Jenna’s POV.The apartment I found and rented was small, barely enough space for a bed and a table, but it would be where I would be staying until I figured out how to get Henry out of my way. I had stripped it of any trace of who I was, leaving no name, no address that could be traced back to me. The walls were bare, and the blinds were closed tight. It wasn't something comfortable but it was better than being under Henry’s watchful gaze. For the first time in a week, I breathed without looking over my shoulder, and the freedom, even if temporary, felt electric.I sank onto the edge of the bed, my hands shaking slightly as I pulled out my phone. I stared at it for a long moment, thinking about how I had finally outsmarted Henry, how I had walked out of his clutches with my head held high even if my heart had thumped like a drum against my ribs. I had played the part of the broken girl well enough for him to believe he had won me back, and now the tables were mine to turn.I whis

Henry’s POV.The ride back to my house was quiet as Jenna sat rigid in the passenger seat. I could feel the tension radiating off her, the tiny tremor in her hands resting in her lap, and the way her eyes darted to every shadow, every streetlamp as though the night itself were a threat. I felt a satisfaction deep in my chest at having her under my control again, knowing she had no place to run and no one to turn to.I glanced at her sideways, watching her fingers twitch as she clenched them together, trying to contain the shaking of her hands. I could feel the heat of my own anger, my mind spinning with the knowledge that she had tried to outsmart me, that if Marcus had been the one to leak her plan, everything she had on me would have been already exposed to the police and I would be arrested.“You know,” I said quietly. “I am not going to tolerate half-truths or silence from you, Jenna. Everything you have planned, everything you have done, I want It's all. I want to hear it from

Sylvester’s POV.I sank into the leather chair, my hands gripping the arms so tightly that my knuckles ached, my mind spinning as the news replayed over and over in my head. Jenna was dead, Marcus was the suspect, and somehow, my company was being mentioned and involved in a story that didn’t make sense.I had been looking for Jenna for weeks, and Marcus had told me she had traveled, that she wouldn’t be back anytime soon, and I had believed him. I had searched every place I thought she might hide, called every friend I could remember she mentioned, and now this. This news hit like a hammer to the chest, making my stomach churn, leaving a bitter taste I could not swallow.I reached for my phone again, trying to call my assistant, but it rang and rang without answer, and the call limit for the day had been reached. I slammed my fist lightly against the table, frustration burning through me. I leaned back, letting my head fall against the back of the chair, staring at the ceiling as

Natasha’s POV. The next morning, I woke up determined. My eyes were heavy from crying the night before, but I forced myself out of bed. The silence in the house was suffocating, and even though Sylvester hadn’t spoken much to me since I returned, I couldn’t let things remain this way. I had made a mistake—one I would give anything to undo—but if I didn’t at least try, if I didn’t fight for us, then I would lose him completely. I slipped into a simple dress and walked into the kitchen. The marble counters gleamed, the space too big, too cold, and too quiet. For the first time in weeks, I tied on an apron and set about preparing his favorite breakfast. I moved carefully, the way I always did when I wanted things to come out perfectly. Eggs done just the way he liked, toast lightly buttered, and sausages browned evenly. I even brewed his coffee strong, adding the slightest hint of cream—he always teased that I knew exactly how much he needed to soften the bitterness. When I wa