Semua Bab Engaged To The Ruthless Billionaire : Bab 81 - Bab 90

Eliana's POV The boardroom of the Sterling Institute smelled of lemon polish and old money. It was a scent I knew well—the smell of men who believed the world belonged to them simply because they had been born in the right zip code.I sat at the head of the mahogany table. I wasn’t slouching. I wasn’t fidgeting. I was perfectly still, my hands resting lightly on the leather folio in front of me.Across from me sat Silas Sterling, the Chairman of the Board. He was sixty, grey-haired, and currently looking at me with the indulgent smile one might give a child who had set up a lemonade stand.“Mrs. Grayson,” Silas said, leaning back in his chair. “We truly appreciate your… enthusiasm. The Grayson Foundation’s offer to acquire the Institute is generous. However, we feel that retaining the current Board’s voting rights is essential for preserving our legacy.”He chuckled, glancing at the three other men on his side of the table.“You’re a wonderful patron of the arts, my dear. But operati

Alexander's POV The Hamptons estate was silent.It was a sprawling, modern glass structure perched on the edge of the dunes, overlooking the Atlantic. Usually, it was staffed by a team of five—chef, housekeeper, groundskeepers.Today, it was empty.I had given everyone the weekend off. I didn’t want anyone hearing us. I didn’t want anyone interrupting us.I walked into the kitchen, the marble floors cool beneath my bare feet. It was 10:00 AM. The sun was pouring in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air.Eliana was standing at the island.She was wearing one of my dress shirts—just the shirt. The buttons were undone halfway down her chest, exposing the slope of her breasts, and the hem barely skimmed the top of her thighs.She was humming, flipping a pancake on the skillet. The smell of bacon and coffee filled the air.“Hungry?” she asked without turning around, sensing my presence the way she always did now.“Starving,” I growled.I walk

Eliana's POV The room was too bright.I squinted, throwing a hand over my eyes to block out the stream of sunlight hitting the duvet. My internal alarm clock was screaming that something was wrong. The quality of the light was late-morning, not early-morning.I sat up, the sheet pooling at my waist."Easy."Alexander was there instantly. He wasn't looming; he was sitting on the edge of the bed, a Stark Industries tablet balanced on one knee, a mug of steaming tea in his hand. He looked tired—dark circles under his eyes suggested he hadn't slept a wink—but he was freshly showered and dressed in a soft grey cashmere sweater I’d bought him for Christmas."What time is it?" I croaked. My throat felt raw from last night."Eleven.""Eleven?" I scrambled to get my legs over the side of the bed. "Alex, are you joking? The merger meeting was at nine! The Japanese investors—""Are currently enjoying a very expensive brunch at Per Se on my dime," he interrupted calmly, setting the mug down on t

Eliana’s POV Five months.Twenty weeks of silence. Twenty weeks of hiding the most obvious thing in the world behind oversized coats, strategically placed handbags, and a PR strategy that would rival the Secret Service.The world thought I was working on a confidential acquisition in Zurich. In reality, I was in the penthouse, watching my body change in ways that were both terrifying and miraculous.My stomach, once flat enough to cut glass, was now a distinct, firm curve. I wasn't just showing; I was undeniable."You're staring again," Alexander’s voice broke through my thoughts.I was standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror in the dressing room, wearing nothing but black yoga leggings and a sports bra. My hand was resting on the bump.Alexander was leaning against the doorframe, dressed for the office—charcoal suit, crisp white shirt, no tie yet. He looked immaculate. Lethal. And completely obsessed.He walked over, standing behind me. He didn't look at my face in the refl

Eliana’s POV The Metropolitan Museum of Art was not designed for silence.It was designed for echoes. For the hushed reverence of history, or the roaring din of the city’s elite clinking champagne glasses. Tonight, it was the latter. The Obsidian Gala was the kind of event where the net worth of the room could buy a small continent, and the noise reflected it—a cacophony of laughter, gossip, and the dull roar of a thousand hidden agendas.But as the heavy bronze doors swung open for us, the noise didn't just fade. It died.I had expected a reaction. I had expected whispers. I hadn’t expected a vacuum."Steady," Alexander murmured against my ear. His hand was a heated weight on the small of my back, his fingers spread wide as if to physically hold me together. "Don't look down. Look at them. Make them look at you."I didn't look down. I lifted my chin, feeling the weight of the diamond necklace settle against my collarbones.We stepped onto the landing of the Great Hall stairs.Below