Lahat ng Kabanata ng Bound to the Billionaire’s Baby: Kabanata 21 - Kabanata 30

NarrationThe morning after Isabelle’s cryptic post, the rumor mill churned like a beast fed by fire. Blogs, gossip sites, and fringe tabloids latched onto the idea like bloodhounds. The words “Blackwood,” “baby,” and “betrayal” appeared together far too often for Liam’s liking.And Amara?Still silent.Still gone.Still watching… maybe.Liam wasn’t sure if she was even reading the news. He both hoped and feared she was.---Amara’s POVAmara stood in a small art supply store tucked away near Rue Montorgueil. She wasn’t there for inspiration. She was there for control.New pencils. Smooth sketch paper. A brush pen.Something new to start over.The shopkeeper didn’t recognize her—thank God. For once, she could just be a woman in a coat, hair pulled into a messy bun, trying to remember how to breathe.But as she approached the register, her phone buzzed.Tessa.

Liam knew where Isabelle would be before she even posted. The rooftop bar on Madison, same place she used to drag him for photo ops and paparazzi traps. He walked in with a coat thrown over his arm and war behind his eyes.She was already there—sunglasses on indoors, drink in hand, phone tilted just enough to catch the skyline behind her. Always a performance.“You came,” she said without looking up.“You lied,” he replied, pulling out the chair opposite hers.Isabelle shrugged. “I never said I was pregnant.”“You implied it.”“I said I still had the test. I never said it was positive.”Liam clenched his jaw. “This isn’t a game. Amara’s not some tabloid rivalry you can use for press.”Her lips curled. “I didn’t post anything about Amara. That’s you projecting. Or maybe you’re just afraid people will assume the worst because it’s partially true.”He leaned in. “You showed up to my room uninvited, kissed

By morning, the internet was on fire.A leaked headline from a tabloid site hit Twitter before breakfast:"EXCLUSIVE: Isabelle Vale Claims She Miscarried Liam Blackwood’s Baby Amid Emotional Breakdown."The article was vague, sourced to "anonymous friends," laced with sympathy and suspicion. It didn’t say Amara’s name, but the timing, the implications, the smirking undertones—it was clear.Tessa sent the link to Amara without commentary.Amara stared at it, then out the window. The sky was gray, as if Paris itself had dropped into mourning with her.She didn’t cry.She didn’t scream.She just felt cold all over.---Liam hadn’t even unpacked. His bag sat on the hotel floor like a truth he didn’t want to deal with.He saw the headline while brushing his teeth.His phone lit up again. His mother. His manager. Nathaniel. All buzzing like a fire alarm. But he couldn’t hear them over th

Liam had barely buttoned his shirt when his phone buzzed—again. He ignored it. Amara lay curled beneath the sheets, eyes half-closed, her hand resting lightly over her belly. Peaceful. For the first time in days, there was calm. The buzz came again. He sighed, grabbed the phone. Unknown Number. He answered. “Hello?” A pause. Then a voice Liam hadn’t heard in more than a decade. “Still sound like your mother,” the man said, dry, biting. Liam froze. “What the hell do you want?” “I’m in Paris,” the man replied, casually. “Thought maybe we could talk.” “Talk?” Liam laughed once—sharp, bitter. “You walked out when I was thirteen. You’ve got a hell of a sense of timing.” “I didn’t call to fight.” Liam almost ended the call. Almost. But something held his thumb still. “Meet me at Pont Alexandre III. One hour,” hi

Amara didn’t leave that night—but she packed. Quietly. Methodically. A pair of flats, two maternity dresses, her prenatal vitamins, and the charcoal sketch of her brother that had sat on the nightstand since Paris started feeling like home. She folded it into a hardcover notebook and zipped her suitcase.The act was mechanical. Like if she stayed in motion, her heart wouldn’t catch up to what she was doing.Liam hadn’t come by.She hadn’t told him she was going.She wasn’t running—at least, that’s what she told herself. She was giving them both space. Clarity. Whatever they’d built had begun on uneven ground. And now? Now she needed to breathe without wondering if she was in love, or just in too deep.The text she left was short.Liam. I’m okay. Please don’t come after me. I’ll return when it’s time. I just need to remember who I was before this. —A.She hit send and turned off her phone. No second-guessing. No drafting. Just silence. She owed that much to herself.---Liam stood in h