Semua Bab The Billionaire’s Broken Contract: Bab 61 - Bab 70

Riley's POV "Yes." The word startles Brett's as his face transforms, relief and joy replacing the nervous tension that had been etched there moments before. "Really?" His voice is barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter this fragile moment. "Really." I'm surprised by how certain I sound, how right this feels. He kisses me then, soft and tender as our Ferris wheel car sways gently in the evening breeze. He tastes like funnel cake and possibilities. When we break apart, breathless and smiling, I can see the carnival spread out below us like scattered stars against the darkening sky. "I have conditions," I say, my practical side kicking in even as my heart races. Brett's eyes never leave my face. "Name them." "I keep my apartment. I'm not moving in with you until I'm ready." I watch his reaction carefully. "Agreed." He doesn't hesitate. "I want to take things slow. No pressure, no timeline." My voice is stronger now, more confident. "Whatever you need." H

Marcus's POV The emergency board meeting is scheduled for eight AM sharp. I've been in the office since six, preparing damage control reports and fielding calls from angry investors. "Sir," I say as Brett strides into his office, looking surprisingly calm for a man whose business empire might be crumbling. I set down my tablet and stand up from his desk chair. "The board members are already assembled." "Good." Brett straightens his tie with practiced movements, checking his reflection in the window. "Any word from the Ashford Group?" I consult my notes, dreading this part. "They're pulling their investment. Effective immediately." Brett doesn't even flinch. He moves to the coffee machine like it's any other morning. "Their loss. What about the others?" "Stuart Industries is 'reconsidering their partnership.'" I flip through my tablet, reading the messages that came in overnight. "The Vanderbilt Foundation wants to 'discuss concerns.' And Victoria's father called personally to exp

Brett's POV The press conference is scheduled for ten AM. By nine-thirty, every major news outlet in the city has cameras trained on Graham Tower's main entrance. "Last chance to reconsider," Marcus says, adjusting his tie nervously. "We could still negotiate with the board." "No." I button my suit jacket. "I'm done negotiating with people who think love is a liability." "The financial implications alone" "Will work themselves out. Marcus, how many times do I have to tell you? I didn't build this company for the money." "Then why did you build it?" I pause, considering. "To prove I mattered. To show the world that a foster kid from nowhere could become somebody.Now I know I matter to the people who count. Riley, Lily, you, the hospital staff, the single mothers at the community center." I straighten my tie. "That's enough." "Sir, there's something else." Marcus hands me a tablet. "The board leaked their ultimatum to the press. It's already trending on social media." I scan the

James Morrison's POV I pour myself three fingers of bourbon and smile at the television screen. Brett Graham looks like a broken man defending his relationship with that worthless little nobody. "Perfect timing," I mutter, reaching for my phone. The press conference is a gift. Graham Industries' stock is already dropping, and the board members are circling like vultures. I've been waiting two years for this moment—two years since that pathetic little slut Riley Plia destroyed my life. My firm dropped me. My wife left me. My reputation was in ruins. Twenty five years of marriage, gone. Kate packed her bags the day the story broke. "I don't know who you are anymore," she said, like I was the villain in all this. My children won't speak to me. My son changed his phone number. My daughter crosses the street when she sees me coming. Twenty-five years of providing for them, and this is how they repay me. The golf club revoked my membership. The charity boards asked me to step down.

Riley's POV I'm feeding Lily breakfast when my phone starts ringing as Brett's name flashes on the screen. "Good morning," I answered, smiling despite my exhaustion. “Riley, don’t go to the hospital today.” Brett’s voice is low, tense. My stomach drops. "What? Why? Lily also has her follow-up appointment" "I know. Marcus is arranging for Dr. Vasquez to see her at the penthouse instead." "Brett, what's going on?" I asked although dreading the answer. “There are reporters at Mercy General. A lot of them.” He pauses, swallowing hard. “Someone leaked information about Lily’s treatments.” My blood turns to ice. "What kind of information?" I can already imagine the headlines. The photos they'll use—probably the ones of me and Lily sleeping in our car. The way they'll paint me as a woman who sold herself and used her sick child to get money. My chest tightens. I remember those nights in the hospital waiting room, watching other families get help while I filled out financial aid form