Lahat ng Kabanata ng ONE NIGHT STAND WITH MR.BILLIONAIRE : Kabanata 121 - Kabanata 130

Eliza – POVShe didn’t knock.Didn’t ring the bell.Just stood at the edge of the iron gate, hoodie pulled tight, eyes scanning the windows like they were holding secrets.She had a small duffel bag. Scuffed shoes. A journal peeking from the side pocket.I only saw her because I was coming back from the post office.At first, I thought she was just passing through.But then she looked at the sign:Rachel’s Place.And something in her shoulders loosened.Not relaxed.Just… less ready to run.Calla – POV“She’s been out there ten minutes,” Eliza whispered.We watched from the living room window.Not pressing her. Not calling out.Just waiting.That was how it worked.They came when they were ready.If she turned and left, we’d let her.If she stayed, the door would be open.River joined us silently.“She looks familiar,” they said.And then it hit me.Not her face.Not her walk.Her eyes.Maris – POVI opened the door first.She didn’t move.Just watched me.I said the line we always sa

Skye – POVWhen I was younger, I used to think stories came in straight lines. Beginning. Middle. End. A neat arc that made sense.But now I know they’re more like margins. Scribbled notes between paragraphs. Words written in secret, half in shadow. Sentences we didn’t mean to say, or couldn’t say until the ache made room for them.Rachel’s Place was full of stories like that. Notes in margins. Scraps of lives pinned to walls. People healing in the quiet between other people’s healing.It wasn’t loud.It wasn’t perfect.But it was sacred.And for the first time since I’d opened River’s letter, I didn’t feel like a misplaced sentence.I felt like a footnote worth reading.River – POVI found Skye sitting at the old typewriter again. The one James had pulled out of the basement last week. No ink, still. No paper. But she pressed the keys anyway, like the sound of the clacking could build rhythm where her courage hadn’t yet landed.I waited until she noticed me in the doorway before spea

Skye – POVThe photo was barely larger than a postcard.Black and white.Edges curled with time.She stood under a jacaranda tree in full bloom, one hand resting on her belly, the other shading her eyes from the sun. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes, but her posture told a different story—defiant and gentle all at once.I found it tucked inside a copy of To the Lighthouse, as if someone had slipped it between the pages and forgotten it was there. But no one forgets a face like that. Not when it lives inside you.I knew it was her.Calla.My mother.Before she was a mother.Before me.Before she vanished into silence.She couldn’t have been more than nineteen in the picture. Young and scared and carrying the weight of me beneath her ribcage. I stared at the photo for hours, studying every line, every shade, every half-smile.There was a note on the back, written in slanted, nervous ink.“For Rachel. Keep this in case I don’t come back.”I didn’t realize I was crying until the ink blurre

Skye – POVI woke to the sound of birdsong, soft and tentative, as if the morning itself was still deciding whether to begin. The attic window was open slightly, letting in the cool breath of dawn. Somewhere downstairs, someone—probably River—was already making coffee, and the scent crept up like a memory I couldn’t place.The notebook lay beside me. The one where I’d tucked the letters. Rachel’s. Mine. A thousand unsent truths folded between the pages.For a long time, I didn’t move. Just lay there staring at the ceiling, wondering what it meant to feel anchored to a place. I’d never stayed in one place long enough to call it home. But Rachel’s Place wasn’t asking for declarations. It just… existed. Warm. Constant. Waiting for me to catch up.I finally got up, pulled on my denim jacket, and padded downstairs barefoot. The old floorboards creaked beneath me like they were whispering secrets with every step.In the kitchen, River was pouring two mugs of coffee.They slid one toward me

Skye – POVThe bookstore across the street seemed to exhale warmth. Ivy curled around the windows like an embrace, and inside, the woman behind the counter moved with a gentleness that tugged at something deep in my chest.She wasn’t remarkable to anyone else. She didn’t stand out. But to me, she was a phantom finally made real.Ava.Or… Marie now.My mother.“I need a minute,” I whispered to River.They nodded, stepping back, eyes steady on mine. “Take all the time you need.”The air felt heavy as I crossed the street. Each step made my heart thump louder, like a drumbeat echoing the years I’d spent wondering who she was.I pushed open the door.A bell jingled softly above me. The scent of old paper and cedar hit me all at once.Marie looked up from behind the register. Her eyes locked onto mine for a second — polite, curious — but not recognizing. Her smile was automatic. Friendly. Practiced.“Hi there,” she said. “Welcome to Wind & Page. Let me know if you’re looking for anything i