All Chapters of The Bride He Bought : Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

𝘼𝙇𝙀𝙍𝘼 Mauve gives me a small, sheepish smile. “I’ll be back,” she says, and turns to leave. I remain immobilized for a moment, as my mind gnaws at the Harrison surname. It can’t be him. There are hundreds of Harrington's in Manhattan alone. Still, the thought lingers. My lungs lock up slightly as I flash back to that gala, the first one with Dante. Julian had been there, and he'd seen me. But due to my nervousness, I bolted off. If I had just acted calmly and let a conversation happen, I probably would have known he was married. I shake my head and close my eyes. It shouldn’t matter whether Julian is married. We ended things years ago. But that thought, that possibility, is like a small weight pressing against the edges of my calm. I take a slow breath. I need clarity. I’ll ask Mauve about her husband. I need to know if I can let this go or if it’s something I’ll have to navigate carefully. Mauve returns. And just as I open my mouth to ask the questions, the chatter dims a

𝘼𝙇𝙀𝙍𝘼 I move forward slowly towards Dante. He doesn’t stir. His head is tilted back against the sofa, with his eyes half lidded, and the glass in his hand tips dangerously. Something is wrong. A chill shoots through me and the first thought that claws into my brain is his mother. Mrs. Elena. Had something happened? Was this why he looked like a hollowed shell, sitting here in silence? I swallow hard and reach for the glass. My fingers curl around it carefully, steadying it before it spills. It’s only water. Relief doesn’t come. If anything, my fear sharpens. I set the glass aside and lean closer. “Dante,” I whisper. No response. My hand trembles as I reach for his face. I tap his cheek gently. His skin is warm under my fingers. And then, suddenly, his eyes snap into focus. They fix on me with startling clarity, as if I’d just torn him from a dream. Before I can react, his hand clamps onto my wrist and pulls. I let out a sharp yelp as my body is dragged forward, landing a

𝘼𝙇𝙀𝙍𝘼 Tumor? He could have a tumor? My heart pounds in my ears as I watch the doctor and Francesca lead him out of his room. I follow right behind. “I want to go with you,” I blurt. Dante’s gaze cuts to me, his eyes are hard and sharp even through his face is pulled down by weariness. His hand braces against the chair, as his body trembles from the effort of standing. Francesca and the doctor hover at his sides, but it’s me he looks at. “You’re not coming.” I flinch at the bluntness. “I just thought… I should be there. So I can know what—” “I don’t need you,” he interrupts. His tone is so hostile, I wonder what I did to him to get him so upset. For a heartbeat, I remain still, calm on the outside but crumbling inside. I swallow hard, and force my voice to stay even. “Alright.” I step back. The doctor takes his arm, Francesca steadies his other side. He leans into them, and I let him pass. The door shuts behind them, and my ribs burn like I’ve been branded. "I don’t

𝘼𝙇𝙀𝙍𝘼 Three months into this marriage, and I no longer feel the usual shock when I see my account balance. Currently, I'm seated, looking down at my laptop screen which faintly glows on the vanity. My account balance was updated overnight and I'm five million dollars richer. It’s not a surprise anymore, only a reminder. That everything is just business as usual. I close the laptop with a sharp click and rest my gaze on the invitation card beside it. The cream envelope has been taunting me for over a week, embossed gold lettering spelling out The Madison Circle Spring Fundraiser Ball. My name’s there, but so is the expectation that Dante Moretti will attend. That’s the part that gnaws at me. The committee expects me to bring him. The women are watching, waiting for me to prove I can convince my husband to appear and stand by my side. If I don’t? If he doesn’t show? They’ll smirk behind champagne glasses, and whisper that Alera Moretti can’t even manage the simplest thing

𝘿𝘼𝙉𝙏𝙀 I had already decided to attend tonight before Alera handed me the invitation card. These gatherings are as much business as charity. It's a chance to tighten handshakes and study enemies. But if I’m honest with myself, that isn’t the only reason I'm going. The truth is simpler and more selfish. I want to see her. I want to watch Alera in her element, in one of those gowns that make everyone else look insignificant, carrying herself without me pulling the strings. I want to see what she does when it’s her choices, not mine. Francesca confirmed the schedule earlier, promising she’d shadow me tonight. It was expected, these events are not only donations but transactions, and my assistant is as much my armor as my aide. I'm before the mirror, adjusting the cufflinks of my tuxedo when my phone rings. The screen flashes Casa Moretti. “Pronto,” I answer. “Signor Dante,” comes the woman’s voice, tight with worry. “Your mother… she’s been asking for you. For you, and