All Chapters of The Billionaire Broken Bride—Married To My Enemy.: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

ALESSA’S POV The night felt colder than usual. Or maybe it just felt that way because I was standing next to a man who made ice seem warm by comparison.Michael.My husband.What a cruel joke.The wedding was over, the cheers, the cameras, the performance. All of it had vanished the moment we slipped out of public view. Now, it was just him, me, and the ugly truth we no longer bothered to hide.His parents had beamed with pride, parading me around like some shiny new trophy. So many powerful guests, even the famous Natasha Dunlop’s father had done a double-take, stunned by how much I looked like his daughter.Pictures were taken. Smiles exchanged. I even made silly faces to ease the tension. Michael’s parents were lovely—warm, generous, genuine.Too bad their son was carved from stone.“Take your wife home,” his mother said sharply, folding her arms.Michael scoffed. “She has legs, Mum. She can find her own ride.”“Michael!” Her voice cracked like a whip. “Do you want the press sniff

MICHAEL'S POV The night of the wedding ended like a blur I couldn’t care less about. That fool had sprained her ankle, she was always creating drama.My parents asked me to carry her to a room, so I dropped Alessa off in one of the guest suites, rough, quick, leaving her in the care of one of my favourite maids. That was the least I could do and my way of saying sorry for those years.I headed straight to my wing.My assistant, Mira, was already waiting by the door, like always.“Sir, should I set out your robe? Mira asked quietly. “I have set your bath already” she said with bubbling eyes.I didn’t bother responding. I just walked past her, loosened my tie, and entered the bathroom. Hot water. Strong pressure. Silence.She knew her job and I was definitely not in the mood for those irrelevant questions.I took my time.After the shower, I changed into clean loungewear. She had set out for me.Mira had already placed a small tray on the side table, she knew what to serve me whenever

NATASHA’S POVThe airport was noisy, filled with travelers rushing to and fro, but I barely heard a thing. My ears still rang from the flight, and my body begged for rest. The humid air clung to my skin the moment I stepped outside, wrapping me in a familiar embrace I hadn’t felt in months.I was too lost in my thoughts to notice the black sedan pulling up beside me until tires screeched and a voice yelled, “Get in, now!”I jumped, nearly dropping my bag. My eyes darted toward the car. “Derick?” I blinked in surprise.He leaned out the driver’s side, sunglasses pulled down slightly to reveal those deep brown eyes I remembered too well. “Yes, it’s me. Get in before some paparazzi spot you.”I didn’t hesitate. Something about seeing him, someone so closely tied to the past I’d been trying to escape, was oddly comforting. I slid into the passenger seat, pulling the door shut behind me.“Still dramatic, huh?” I said, buckling my seatbelt.“Always.” He grinned. “Wow, Natasha. You look amaz

ALESSA'S POV I woke up early again and didn’t bother ringing any bells or stressing anyone. Day two in this big, cold house, and everything still felt… foreign. Unfamiliar walls. Unwelcoming silence.Cooking with Chef Hilda and talking to Disha had been my only comfort yesterday, but it was too early to wake Disha now.So, I slipped out of bed, packed my hair letting tendrils fall, and tiptoed through the hallways, the silence broken only by the gentle hum of the fridge and the soft shuffle of someone already awake.Chef Hilda was already in the kitchen, moving like someone who had done this every morning for years.“Morning,” I said softly as I grabbed an apron and slipped it on.She turned, eyes flicking up in mild surprise, then softened into a small smile. “Morning. You’re up early again.”I shrugged, brushing a few strands of hair from my face. “I figured I’d help. Besides… I really enjoyed your company yesterday.”That part was true. She didn’t pry or talk too much. Just presen

MICHAEL'S POV I didn’t slam the door.Not because I didn’t want to, but because slamming it would mean she won.It would mean she got to me.And she did. Damn it, she did.I tore through the hallway like a storm bottled in flesh, my steps fast, furious, fists clenched so tight I could feel the crescent bite of my nails digging into my skin. My pulse was erratic. My breathing shallow. Her voice rang in my skull like a ricochet I couldn’t silence. “You don’t own me.”The audacity.And after I told her, clearly to report to the office tomorrow, she had the nerve to say:“Nope. Monday.”Like I was some desperate man begging for her schedule.I’ve ruled rooms full of billionaires. Presidents pause when I speak. And she, she thinks she can reject my command like I’m one of her staff?But it was her last line that slammed harder than a fist.“And just so we’re clear, you’ll knock next time you come to my door. Preferably after you wake up and remember you’re not God.”I nearly choked on my