Semua Bab Terms and Temptations: The CEO spoils me silly: Bab 81 - Bab 90

Emma's POVThe feature had gone live at midnight. By morning, it was everywhere.When I opened my eyes, the penthouse was flooded with sunlight, but it was the pinging of my phone that finally stirred me from sleep. Dozens of notifications—Twitter, LinkedIn, Instagram, even WhatsApp. The title blinked at me from every screen:"Emma Davis: The Phoenix Behind Sinclair Rising."Xander wasn’t beside me.Instead, he’d left a note on the pillow, scrawled in black ink on thick paper:> "Let the world watch you burn brighter today. Proud of you. Always. — X.”I pressed the note to my lips.Then I rose.---The walk into Sinclair HQ felt... cinematic.People turned. Paused. Whispered. Some stared, others smiled. But no one looked through me.I walked with my head high, heels steady, my new ID card clipped to the lapel of my fitted blazer.It felt earned.Camille greeted me at the top floor, her arms open and a rare smile softening her features."They're all watching now," she said, sipping fro

Emma’s POV There’s a kind of silence that follows chaos. Not the heavy kind that feels like dread. The other kind. The soft kind. The kind that hums in your bones like a lullaby and tells you—you survived. Again. That’s what our penthouse felt like the night after the family dinner. The chandelier lights were dimmed low, the curtains drawn back just enough for the Manhattan skyline to peek in. And for the first time in what felt like weeks, we weren’t planning. We weren’t fixing. We weren’t fighting off shadows. We were just… here. I padded into the living room barefoot, wrapped in one of Xander’s oversized shirts and my favorite silk shorts. He was standing by the window, two wine glasses in his hands. He turned when he heard me. “I was hoping you’d come out.” “I thought you’d be in your office, pretending not to be annoyed about your mother’s baby hints.” He smirked, holding a glass out to me. “That would require pretending.” I took the glass. “She’s obsessed.” “She’s imp

Emma’s POV I woke up to the weight of my body fighting me. The sheets felt too heavy. The air too thick. My stomach twisted with nausea, and when I tried to sit up, the room spun like I was trapped on a carousel I never asked to ride. I dropped back onto the bed with a groan, pressing the heel of my palm to my forehead. I wasn’t just tired—I was drained. My skin felt warm. My throat was dry. My limbs… useless. I didn’t know what was wrong, but I knew something was. “Emma?” Xander’s voice broke through the haze. His hand touched my shoulder gently. “Babe, are you awake?” I nodded faintly, unable to open my eyes. “You’re burning up,” he said, worry clear in his voice. The mattress shifted as he moved beside me. I felt the back of his fingers on my neck, then my forehead again. “Why didn’t you wake me?” “Didn’t… want to worry you,” I whispered, but my voice was barely a whisper. My lips felt cracked, my breath too shallow. He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then I felt him le

Emma’s POV I didn’t sleep that night. Not because of the nausea or the dull ache in my lower back — those were easy enough to ignore. It was the silence. The heavy, humming kind of silence that creeps beneath your skin and keeps whispering you’re not ready, even when everything outside tells you otherwise. Pregnant. I was pregnant. And the world hadn’t exploded. The skies hadn’t fallen. The city outside our window was still glowing in the dark like nothing had changed. Except everything had. Xander had fallen asleep with one arm wrapped around me, his face relaxed, peaceful. He’d taken the news like someone who knew how to carry joy and responsibility all in the same breath. Like a man already willing to be a father before the word had even formed properly between us. But me? I was still playing catch-up. Still sitting in a pool of disbelief while everyone else had already jumped ahead to the next page. --- Morning light filtered in slowly. I watched the ceiling turn fro

Emma’s POV I was growing to love my unborn child. Not the way people in books always did — instantly and without question. Not the way society expected me to. Not because it was perfect timing or because my life was perfectly in order. But because something inside me had begun to shift, slowly, quietly, like sunlight creeping in through heavy drapes. It wasn’t some big magical transformation. It was a series of small, unexpected moments. The way my hand now naturally found its way to my stomach when I was deep in thought. The way I’d started humming to myself more often. The way I found myself scrolling through baby names at 2 a.m. with a silly smile on my face. I was still scared. But I wasn’t running anymore. That morning, I sat by the window of our bedroom, wrapped in one of Xander’s hoodies, holding a warm cup of ginger tea and watching the rain tap softly against the glass. My other hand rested lightly on my belly. There was no real bump yet — just the smallest curve, lik