All Chapters of The Bride He Bought : Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

𝘿𝘼𝙉𝙏𝙀 I spend the next three days setting the stage. Kingsley thinks his company is stable, but I’ve worked with many men like him before, men who build empires on paper and lies. They balance on webs so thin it only takes the right weight to collapse everything. First, I send in auditors through a subsidiary no one can trace back to me. Within forty eight hours, they deliver a feast of evidence, which include, falsified vendor contracts, inflated invoices and shell companies siphoning cash offshore. Classic fraud. Just I've been suspecting. The timing is just perfect. Kingsley has been bragging about a pending partnership with a French logistics group. He believes this alliance will restore investor confidence. I decide it will be the perfect stage for his downfall. During those days, I barely exchange a handful of words with Alera. We move through the penthouse like strangers, as if I hadn't had my tounge plunged in her warmness nights ago. We just pass each other, but

𝘿𝘼𝙉𝙏𝙀 The elevator doors slide shut, sealing her away from me. “Cazzo.” My fist slams against the panel, the metallic clang echs down the hall. I jab the button over and over, willing it to open again. My pulse hammers as I calculate, if I take the stairs, I’ll miss her. If I wait, there's a better chance. The numbers crawl maddeningly slow on the display. Then finally, the doors part, I lunge inside and hit the button for the ground floor with too much force. I press my palms to the cool metal and wrestle with the urge to rip the damn doors open with my bare hands. The second the elevator lands, I bolt out. For a moment I halt, as my eyes sweep the lobby it's empty. I push through the glass doors and out into the night air, then scan the parking lot. There's not a single trace of her. “Dio santo.” My panic raises. Then I catch sight of her across the street as she slips between headlights, in an angry stride. Relief punches into me so violently my knees nearly giv

𝘼𝙇𝙀𝙍𝘼 Getting out of the elevator as I search for my phone to call Marisol, I never envisioned Dante standing right infornt of our apartment door like some immovable wall, a possibility. But that's exactly what I'm faced with right now, or not. My eyes could be playing tricks on me. I blink just to be sure. My heart squeezes as my steps falter. What is he doing here? Did he even get permission to come up? Or did he just like always force his way through? I take a step toward him. My lips parting, ready to demand some answers. But he doesn’t stop moving. He walks right past me, his shoulders brushing close enough that I feel the heat off his body, and just keeps going. No glance, or word. Just nothing. My stomach knots and confusion grips me, choking me harder than his silence. What the hell was he doing here? *** Marisol is the one who opens the door for me when I finally push myself inside. She looks bright, almost giddy, her voice pitching higher than usual. “

𝘼𝙇𝙀𝙍𝘼 Staying out of Dante’s way has been near impossible. I told myself keeping things professional by staying distant would be easy. But that’s laughable when we live under the same roof. I see him in the mornings, in the evenings, sometimes passing me in the hall. Always calm and collected. Very much the same man who infuriates me. Except now, there’s no more shouting matches or sharp words thrown like knives. It’s weird. That’s the only way I can explain it. Weird to not feel anger burning in my chest. Weird to not hold grudges. Weird to realize I don’t even want to fight him anymore. And I hate that part of me wishes I could. Because anger, at least, gave me a reason to want to stay away from him. But now, stripped of it, I’m left with awareness. I've become painfully aware of him. The way he moves, the sound of his voice, the sharp line of his jaw when he concentrates... I never got the chance to know Dante at all. So all this is just so foreign to me. I'm realizing

𝘼𝙇𝙀𝙍𝘼 I went to see Dad today. Didn't get the chance to really talk to him, because he slept all through, but Marisol assured me that he's doing very well. He's gradually walking independent of his walker. I should be happy with that news, and I am, but not as much as I should be. Maybe it's because of the impending doom awaiting me from a decision I shouldn't have taken at all. The driver eases the car to a stop and his voice pulls me out of my spiral. “Mrs. Moretti? We’re here.” I look up. We're at Sant Ambroeus. Madison Avenue. There are white umbrellas lined up on the sidewalk outside, with polished glass windows gleaming and a cluster of chic women already gathered in a corner booth behind them. I sigh. There’s still a chance for me to back off right now. But just like every stupid decision I’ve made lately, I know this one won’t be an exception. When I called that woman earlier this morning, her voice was warm and welcoming. A far cry from the condenseding one fro