All Chapters of The Billionaire Broken Bride—Married To My Enemy.: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

ALESSA'S POVI had promised. Monday, I said. I’ll start work on Monday.Well… Monday came.Despite the nervous excitement fluttering in my chest, a strange hollowness clung to me. I wasn’t ready.Not really. Not mentally. Not emotionally.The idea of walking into a place like Plin, sleek, professional, full of people who probably knew exactly what they were doing, made my palms sweat.That night, my brain ran marathons.Every choice I ever made, every awkward moment, every fear whispering you’re not enough, it all played on repeat.But Monday didn’t care about nerves.So, like always, I got up.My routine was my sanctuary. I padded into the kitchen where the chef was already setting up.I helped out, nothing fancy she won't let me do much anyways. Just chopping, arranging, laughing when I nearly dropped a pan of eggs. Breakfast always felt better when I had a hand in it. It gave me a sense of control, however small.As we served the food, I kept glancing at Michael.Expecting… somethi

NATASHA'S POV The walls of my bedroom used to glow with life, soft, rose-gold lights spilling over velvet curtains, the sound of slow jazz dancing between my perfume bottles and magazine covers with my face on them. That space used to hum with magic. Now it just mocked me.The silence wasn't gentle anymore. It pressed in like a second skin, tight and suffocating.I was curled in the corner of my bed, knees pulled to my chest, my phone in a death grip. My hand had molded to it, as if letting go would unravel me completely. But no matter how many times I stared, the screen stayed dark. Cold. Empty.No calls. No messages.Not from my team. Not from Nina. Not from the press. Not from my father.And especially not from Michael.The silence wasn’t just absence anymore, it felt deliberate. Sharp. Like punishment. The few people who did reach out, the late-night sympathizers, the half-hearted check-ins, weren’t enough. They weren’t him. They didn’t carry the kind of silence that felt like be

MICHAEL'S POV She slammed the door in my face.And for a moment, I didn’t move.I just stood there, the sound of that final click ringing in my ears like a gunshot. The air in the room was still vibrating with her presence, with her perfume, her defiance, her pain… and mine.God.I hadn’t realized how loud silence could be until now.My hand was still frozen mid-air from where I’d pointed her out the door. Slowly, I let it fall back to my side. Useless. Heavy. Like the rest of me.My eyes drifted to the seat she’d just vacated, like it could explain something to me. But all it gave me was the dent her body left in the cushion, and a cruel echo of the last thing she said.“I never needed you to fix me. I just needed you to fight for me.”I turned away sharply, jaw clenched.Why did it still sting?Why did it still matter?I paced. My legs moved before my brain caught up. Back and forth. Back and forth. Like I could walk out the ache, or stomp out the ghost she left behind. But her voi

NATASHA’S POVI didn’t look back. Not once.Because if I did, I might’ve shattered.The moment the elevator doors slid shut, sealing him away, something inside my chest caved in. Collapsed. Folded in on itself like a dying star. I was still, but inside I was screaming.The steel walls caught my reflection. Red-rimmed eyes, smudged lipstick, my fists clenched so tight, my nails carved angry half-moons into my palms.God.Why did it feel like I had just carved out my own heart and handed it to him?Why did some ridiculous, aching part of me still want him to chase me? Still hope he’d run down those stairs, grab my wrist, and whisper, “Don’t go.”The elevator dinged.But I didn’t move.My legs refused. My body still clung to something that didn’t exist anymore, something that had shattered the moment he pointed to that door like I was nothing but noise.I swallowed hard. My throat burned.Fight for me. That’s all I’d asked.Not fix me. Not cage me. Not make me smaller. Just stand beside

ALESSA'S POV I couldn’t stop crying. Even when I wanted to. Even when Michael’s mother leaned in and whispered tightly, “Alessa, please… stop crying. Everyone is watching.”I wanted to stop. I truly did. But the tears just wouldn’t listen. They had lived in me for far too long, trapped behind forced smiles and quiet nods.I had swallowed too many over the years, buried them under survival, clenched through pain, held my breath through every storm.Now… I was breaking. Not quietly. Not gently. But with every piece of me unraveling.Every breath I took brought another memory I had tried so hard to forget. The first time my mother collapsed, and I had no money to take her to the hospital. Standing in the rain, soaked to the skin, begging a clinic receptionist to let her in even though I couldn’t afford it. My father’s voice calling me his little light, how that light died with him. The smell of earth the day we buried him, that cheap, wet, heavy mud that clung to my shoes and nev