All Chapters of The Billionaire Broken Bride—Married To My Enemy.: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

ALESSA'S POV I didn’t sleep easily that night.No, scratch that, I barely slept at all.Even though I tried to remind myself that I should be grateful, that I should be smiling and dancing and feeling everything except this tight knot of nerves pressing against my chest… I just couldn’t.My mother was coming home. She was coming home. That should’ve been enough to drown every other feeling, but somehow, it wasn’t.I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about how different things would be in the morning. Maybe if I just closed my eyes and stopped thinking, everything would be perfect. Maybe I could let joy take the wheel for once. Let myself pretend I was okay.Eventually, somewhere between overthinking and whispering to myself, “She’s okay now. She’s coming back to me,” I drifted off.The next morning, I jumped out of bed a little earlier than usual, heart racing like a little girl about to be reunited with her favorite person in the world. I was ready to wait in the airport

NATASHA’S POVI visited Nina every single day for three months.Every. Single. Day.Even when my own world was crashing when it felt like my name was dirt and forgiveness was a distant star I could never reach, I still showed up. I’d hold her hand, soft, cold, too still and talk to her about the most random things: about the hospital food, the weather, the memes I used to laugh at with her. I whispered prayers into her ear, clinging to every desperate hope that somewhere inside that coma, she was still listening.Because Nina wasn’t just my best friend. She was my soul-sister. The voice in my head when I lost my way. And I had lost my way badly. God! I regret everything.The world outside kept moving, uncaring, but mine had stopped the moment she collapsed. My reputation, my career, my dignity, it all shattered, a domino effect of one betrayal after another. But I tried to fix it. I truly did.I spent months filming apology videos, refunding event fees, taking accountability even w

ALESSA'S POVI never imagined how exhausting it could be to avoid someone you live with.Three months. That’s how long it’s been since I told Michael I hated him and meant it.Since then, I’ve built a new rhythm for myself. It’s not peace, exactly. More like survival. A numb kind of routine. But it’s working… or at least it pretends to.My days orbit three places: my mother’s house, my husband’s house, and work. That’s it. That’s the cycle. That’s the loop. Over and over like a scratched record no one bothers to change.I spend more time at my mother’s house now than I ever did as a child. Her home is warm, smelling always of fried plantains or lemon-scented floor cleaner. Her love is gentle, quiet. She talks to me without demanding answers. She listens without prying. She knows I’m not okay but she doesn’t say it out loud.That’s her way of loving me. Just being there. No therapy sessions. No dramatic interventions. Just soft presence.Michael’s house, our house feels more like a st

ALESSA’S POVI never imagined I’d be the one standing at the center of Michael’s universe tonight.Not because I meant to. Not because I wanted to. But because Elena had given me a role to play, and I had no energy left to refuse.Two days before December 15th, his birthday, I transformed the luxury venue Elena booked into something out of a billionaire’s dream. A platform rose at the center of the hall like a crown. Black and gold curtains flowed like velvet waterfalls. The chandeliers gleamed like stars. It wasn’t just a celebration, it was an empire built in a night.Every flower, every flicker of light, every inch of space had my signature on it.I didn’t feel proud. I didn’t feel anything.I just... did it.The guest list was tight but extravagant, business associates, family friends, a few celebrities who probably didn’t know Michael personally but came for the camera flashes.Elena made sure her circle was there. I made sure mine blended in. I also ensured his father, Adrian,

ALESSA’S POVDecember 24th arrived like a whisper, soft, cold, and heavy with memory.The house still carried the scent of vanilla and spice, a fading echo of Michael’s birthday ten days ago. Even after the grandeur of the party in the hall, his mother insisted on a smaller, more intimate gathering at home. But that was then. Today, the silence had replaced the music. The heater hummed low, and outside, the faint chimes of distant bells broke the stillness like a ghost of joy.I sat curled beside the frosted window, a mug of lukewarm cocoa resting between my palms. The snow fell in thick layers, covering the ground like a dream I couldn't wake from. And I could smell it, the scent of pine, cinnamon, and something deeper. Grief.I should have felt festive. I should have leaned into the lights and laughter. But instead, my heart weighed heavy, like it had grown roots in sorrow. That ache, the one grief carves deep into your bones was gnawing again.My mind dragged me back to that day.