All Chapters of Betrayed by Blood, Saved by a Billionaire: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

The morning after… well, the morning after, was like stepping into a completely different reality. The penthouse, which had always felt so vast and impersonal, suddenly felt… cozier. Warmer. Like a home, almost. Or maybe that was just the ridiculous, lovesick glow I was apparently radiating, according to the tiny, almost imperceptible smile Amelia Thorne gave me when she delivered Alexander’s morning briefing tablet.Alexander himself was… different too. The cool, controlled CEO mask was still there when he was on calls or dealing with staff, but with me, when we were alone, there was a new softness in his eyes, a new tenderness in his touch. He’d find excuses to brush his hand against mine, his fingers would linger a moment longer than necessary when he passed me a coffee cup, and those grey eyes, usually so unreadable, would sometimes hold mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.It was intoxicating. And terrifying. Because as much as things had changed between us, the outs

The days following Alexander’s quiet admission of vulnerability, and my own silent acknowledgment of the same, were filled with a new kind of electricity. It wasn’t the nervous, uncertain buzz of our early interactions. This was… deeper. A thrumming undercurrent of something real and powerful that flowed between us, even when we were just sitting in the same room, not speaking. The "fake" part of our engagement felt like a flimsy, see-through curtain that we were both increasingly ignoring.He was still Alexander Sterling, the billionaire titan, locked in a brutal corporate war with Marcus Thorne. The stress was a constant shadow in his eyes, the late nights in his study a regular occurrence. But now, when he emerged, weary and battle-worn, he’d seek me out. Not for a report, not for a strategic discussion, but just… for my presence. We’d sit together, sometimes talking about his day in vague, coded terms I was starting to understand, sometimes just existing in a comfortable silence t

The fragile peace we’d found, that secret bubble of love and understanding between Alexander and me, felt too good to last. And, of course, it was. Because Hailey Miller, my psycho sister, was not the type to just quietly accept defeat and move on with her life. Oh no. That would be far too… normal.She’d been laying low for a few weeks, a disconcerting silence that was almost more unnerving than her usual histrionics. Mom reported that Hailey was spending most of her time locked in her room at our old family apartment, refusing to see anyone, even Dylan. Dylan, from what little I gathered, was still a mess, torn between his lingering loyalty to Hailey (or maybe just the idea of the perfect life he thought they’d have) and his dawning, horrified realization of just how toxic she truly was. Their "perfect engagement" was apparently hanging by a very frayed thread.I almost felt sorry for Dylan. Almost. But then I’d remember Hailey’s venom, her relentless cruelty, and any sympathy I mig

The air in the penthouse for the next couple of days was thick with an unspoken tension that had nothing to do with Marcus Thorne. It was all Alexander. He was… different. Quieter than usual. More distant. The easy camaraderie we’d started to build, those shared smiles and soft glances, were gone, replaced by a guarded watchfulness that made my stomach clench with a familiar, sickening dread.He didn’t mention Hailey. He didn’t mention Dylan. He didn’t mention any suspicious photos. But I knew. I just knew. Hailey had done it. She’d sent him that picture of me and Dylan at the coffee shop, probably with some twisted, poisonous narrative attached. And now, Alexander was… processing. Or doubting. Or maybe just waiting for me to crack and confess to something I hadn’t even done.It was torture. Every polite "good morning," every impersonal business update he shared, felt like a tiny, sharp icicle piercing my heart. The warmth we’d found, that fragile, beautiful thing we’d whispered into

The ice age in the penthouse continued, day after agonizing day. Alexander was a remote, formidable presence, a storm cloud permanently hovering on the periphery of my existence. His politeness was a weapon, each curt nod and impersonal word a fresh twist of the knife in my already shredded heart. The man who had whispered "I love you" in the dead of night, the one whose touch had felt like coming home, was gone, replaced by this cold, impenetrable stranger.But beneath that icy control, I could sense something else. A simmering, tightly leashed fury. It wasn’t directed at me, not openly. But it was there, in the way he’d snap at Amelia Thorne over some minor detail in a report, the way his knuckles would go white as he gripped his phone during a particularly tense business call, the way he’d sometimes just stare out the penthouse window, his jaw clenched so tight I was afraid his teeth would crack.This wasn’t just disappointment in me. This was Alexander Sterling at war. With Marcus