All Chapters of Betrayed by Blood, Saved by a Billionaire: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

The rest of that day was a complete blur of ringing phones, endless social media notifications, and my mother alternately cooing over me like I was a prize-winning show poodle and barking orders at imaginary wedding planners. Hailey had locked herself in her room, from which I could occasionally hear muffled sobs or angry shouts. Dylan had just… disappeared. He wasn’t answering Hailey’s calls, and he definitely wasn’t talking to me. I couldn’t blame him. I’d basically told him our quiet, friendly connection meant nothing next to a "whirlwind romance" with a billionaire. The lie still tasted bitter in my mouth.My own phone continued to melt down. Old school friends I hadn’t heard from in years were suddenly sliding into my DMs with gushing congratulations (and probably hoping for an invite to the "wedding of the decade"). Art school acquaintances were dissecting my old student gallery pieces, trying to find clues about the "mysterious artist" who had captured Alexander Sterling’s hear

The next few days passed in a blur of fabric swatches, posture corrections, and Evangeline Dubois’s perfectly modulated French accent gently (but firmly) critiquing everything from the way I sipped water to my “lamentable habit” of doodling on napkins during our breaks. Operation Princess Skye, as I’d mentally dubbed it, was intense. It felt less like becoming Alexander Sterling’s fiancée and more like being prepped for an undercover spy mission where the target was high society and the weapon was a well-placed designer handbag.Despite the whirlwind of "polishing," the gnawing anxiety about my new reality never quite faded. Hailey was thankfully still MIA, probably sulking in her room like a dethroned queen. Mom, on the other hand, was in her element, buzzing around, dropping Sterling’s name into every phone call, and generally acting like she’d won the lottery. Which, in her mind, she probably had. Dylan remained a ghost. No texts, no calls, not even an accidental sighting in the pe

The silence that descended after Genevieve Sterling swept out of the penthouse was heavy, almost suffocating. I just stood there, feeling small and bruised, like I’d gone ten rounds with a heavyweight champion and lost every single one. My carefully constructed composure from the gala felt like a distant memory. This was different. This wasn’t just anonymous public scrutiny; this was targeted, personal disapproval from the woman whose son I was supposedly going to marry.“Pond scum in a Chanel suit, huh?” Alexander finally said, breaking the silence. There was a wry, almost tired note in his voice, but when I looked up, his grey eyes were surprisingly gentle as they met mine. “She does have a certain… flair for the dramatic understatement.”A shaky laugh escaped me. “Understatement? Alexander, she practically x-rayed my soul and found it wanting. I think the only reason she didn’t demand a blood sample to check my pedigree was because she didn’t want to risk contaminating her gloves.”

The charity luncheon for the City Youth Art Initiative was scheduled for the next day. The thought of another public performance, another round of fake smiles and polite inanities, filled me with a familiar dread. But there was also a tiny, reluctant flicker of something else – curiosity. An art initiative. It sounded like something the old Skye, the real Skye, might actually have cared about.That evening, Alexander found me in the vast, intimidatingly minimalist living room, staring blankly at a news channel I wasn’t actually watching. He’d been gone most of the day, swallowed up by the insatiable demands of Sterling Industries. He loosened his tie as he walked in, a subtle sign that he was shifting from "Billionaire CEO Alexander" to… well, whatever version of Alexander he was with me. It was still hard to tell.“Amelia informed me you’d be joining me at the luncheon tomorrow,” he said, his voice a low rumble. He poured himself a glass of water from a crystal decanter, the simple a

Hailey’s visit left a poisonous residue in the air of the penthouse, a lingering chill that even the state-of-the-art climate control couldn’t seem to dispel. I spent the rest of the evening jumpy and on edge, half-expecting her to materialize around every corner like some designer-clad horror movie villain. Alexander had emerged from his study later, his expression unreadable as always. I didn’t tell him about Hailey’s visit. What was the point? It would just sound like I was being paranoid, or worse, trying to stir up more drama. He’d told me to report "significant incidents." Was a veiled threat from my psycho sister "significant" enough in his world of corporate takeovers and international intrigue? I doubted it.The next morning, Evangeline Dubois was scheduled for another session. "Wardrobe refinement and social comportment for informal gatherings," her meticulously organized agenda had stated. I dreaded it. After Hailey’s venom, the thought of being further scrutinized, however