บททั้งหมดของ Bound to the Billionaire’s Baby: บทที่ 41 - บทที่ 49

The silence between Amara and Liam had changed. It wasn’t heavy with dread anymore—it was taut with possibility. Like walking barefoot on cracked glass. Each word, each glance, a test of how much weight their fragile truth could hold.The morning sun streamed through the sheer curtains, casting slow-moving shadows on the bedroom floor. Amara sat cross-legged on the bed, sketching absentmindedly in the corner of a worn notebook. She hadn’t picked it up in weeks. The lines were hesitant but alive.Liam entered with two mugs of tea, one hand steady, the other wrapped around the chipped ceramic like it anchored him.“I made the mint one for you,” he said softly, offering it to her.She took it with a quiet nod. “Thanks.”He didn’t sit right away. Instead, he hovered, unsure, then slowly lowered himself to the floor, his back to the bed.They sipped in silence for a moment. Amara watched the steam curl upward and disappear.“

Liam had never visited his father unannounced before.But then again, nothing about their relationship had ever followed normal rules. It was always a slow collision—one giving, the other withdrawing. When he rang the bell to Elliot Blackwood’s estate just outside the city, the silence before the door opened felt like standing on the edge of a cliff.Elliot answered in a robe, half-asleep, holding a mug of black coffee and a tablet in the other hand.“Liam,” he said, clearly surprised. “To what do I owe the Sunday apocalypse?”“I need a name.”Elliot’s brow furrowed. “You’re not here for a visit?”“No.”A long pause. Elliot opened the door wider.“Then come in.”---Inside, the house smelled of cigar smoke and cedar. The kind of place that aged in mahogany and secrets.Liam paced while Elliot sat and watched.“You worked with Sebastian Vale, didn’t you?” Liam asked.E

The server room smelled like ozone and risk.Liam wiped sweat from his brow as Elliot disconnected a black drive from the back of the rack-mounted unit. The low whir of cooling fans filled the room like white noise over a battlefield.“You sure this is it?” Liam asked, watching the security feed flicker on Elliot’s laptop.“Julian March doesn’t leave fingerprints,” Elliot replied. “But he leaves footprints. This system pings one of his offshore data mirrors. We just pulled a direct line.”Liam glanced at the red blinking lights and the unauthorized entry timestamp in the top corner of the monitor. “We have four minutes, tops.”Elliot tucked the drive into a false-bottom case. “Then we go dark. I’ve got a scrambler upstairs to fry the logs. Once this place resets, it’ll look like nothing happened.”They bolted from the room.---Amara stepped into the women’s health clinic under a bright, impersonal sky. It was the clinic her OB had referred her to for a routine prenatal follow-up—but

Tessa hadn’t stepped outside in two days.Her ankle monitor was a leash, but it wasn’t the reason. Something felt wrong. Off. Like the air in her apartment had changed. Like it belonged to someone else now, and she was merely borrowing it.She kept the blinds half-shut and sat on the rug, surrounded by papers. Police reports. Court documents. Hospital scans. A scribbled timeline. Red string wouldn’t have made it clearer: the man she hit was no random pedestrian.He was placed.And somehow, everything pointed back to Amara.She picked up the photo again. The morgue release form had a blurry attachment of the man’s face. Mid-thirties. Scar above his brow. She could swear she’d seen him somewhere—not in life, but in Sebastian’s background. An old picture on a shelf? A reflection in a mirror? It buzzed in the back of her brain like a half-remembered dream.A knock on her door made her jolt.One knock. Pause. Then two more.Her heart dropped. That wasn’t the rhythm of a stranger.She rose

The silence was unnatural.Not peaceful. Not healing.It was the kind of silence that settles after a scream—thick, expectant, listening for echoes.Amara sat on the edge of the bed, one hand pressed to her lower belly. Thirteen weeks. The second trimester had ushered in a strange clarity—her nausea had ebbed, her appetite returned. But something in her body still buzzed like an unresolved chord. A sense of almost. Like the world around her was holding its breath.The note still sat on the nightstand, unfolded. Liam had wanted to burn it. But she told him no. Sometimes, the enemy leaves a breadcrumb without meaning to. A word, a tone. The way the S was signed—it wasn’t Sebastian’s handwriting. It wasn’t his style either.But it still screamed of him.She gently rubbed the underside of her bump. The tiny life forming within was steady, calm. Like it trusted her. That made her feel both courageous and crushed. Because she wasn’t sure she trusted herself.Not yet.The door creaked, and L