All Chapters of The billionaire virgin wife: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

The next day one would have thought that Helena would take a break after rejection, but she struck again.The morning began like any other, with the sun spilling pale light through the high glass panes of Black Enterprises’ headquarters. Phones rang, keyboards clicked, voices murmured over client calls. The routine hum of work created a steady rhythm that gave the illusion of order.But the illusion shattered in an instant.“Delivery for Mr. Damian knight,” a man’s voice boomed near the reception.Heads lifted. Chairs swiveled. Whispers rippled like a breeze through the open-plan office as a delivery man in a neat uniform wheeled in a tall, imposing stack of boxes.The sight was enough to stop conversations mid-sentence. The boxes were sleek, glossy, black as midnight, stacked one atop the other like steps to some dangerous altar. Each was tied with a crimson ribbon that gleamed under the office lights like blood made pretty.“Whoa,” someone muttered under their breath. “Looks like Ch

Helena’s heels struck the marble floor like a metronome of fury, each sharp click echoing down the pristine corridor. Staff scattered subtly out of her path, the way people instinctively make space for a storm when they hear thunder rolling in. Her earlier failed attempt with Damian burned inside her chest like acid. She had timed everything perfectly, her entrance, her words, her expression and still, he had slipped through her fingers. Still, he had dismissed her.The humiliation coiled in her gut, feeding her rage. Each step she took fed it further. Damian wasn’t supposed to be a man who slipped away. Damian Knight belonged to her world, her circle, her league. Not to… her.Not to Isabella.Helena’s lips tightened as she reached the glass doors of the main office. They parted with a whisper, spilling her into the buzz of activity. Phones rang, keyboards clattered, muted conversations overlapped, but the moment Helena walked in, the air shifted.It always did.Her presence commanded

The dining room glowed in soft golden light, the chandeliers above scattering tiny fragments of brilliance across polished marble floors. Expensive silverware clinked against crystal and loud indulgent laughter, spilled into the night like champagne foaming over the lip of a glass.Clarissa lifted her own glass high, her manicured fingers gleaming with pale polish. The ring on her hand caught a candle’s flame, throwing sparks of gold across the room.“To freedom,” she declared, her voice rich with triumph.The servants lining the walls stood stiff and silent, their eyes averted. They had heard this toast before, word for word, and knew better than to betray what they thought of it.Cynthia, seated at the other end of the long mahogany table, smirked and raised her own wine. Her glass touched Clarissa’s with a sharp, ringing chime.“To freedom,” she echoed, the corner of her mouth tilting up. Then, with deliberate relish, she added, “And to the girl who made it possible.”Her daughter’

The visitor’s words lingered like smoke long after she left. Even after the door had clicked shut, the air in the lavish parlor seemed to hum with the poison she’d brought inside.Cynthia’s hand trembled around the stem of her wineglass. The crystal caught the glow of the chandelier, scattering fragments of gold and red across the table. For a moment, her jaw clenched as if she might restrain herself. Then..Crack.She slammed the glass down so hard the rim split, a jagged edge glinting like a blade.“How dare she!” Cynthia voice pitched high, tremulous with fury. “How dare that… that girl crawl her way back into the world we burned her out of?”Her chest rose and fell in ragged heaves. In her mind, the name, Isabella, was acid on her tongue.Clarissa was already pacing. She moved like a caged animal across the Persian rug, her heels cutting into the pattern with sharp clicks. Her arms folded, then unfolded, her nails biting into her own palms.“She was supposed to be nothing,” Claris

The night air in the villa was heavy with perfume and bitterness, clinging to the velvet drapes and polished marble floors. Clarissa sat before her vanity, brushing her glossy chestnut hair in long, deliberate strokes, each pull harsher than the last. The silver-backed brush caught in her curls, but she yanked it through with more force, as if each tug was a punishment for the reflection staring back at her.Her reflection shimmered in the mirror, beautiful, flawless, but burning with controlled rage.“She thinks she’s clever,” Clarissa muttered under her breath, snapping the brush down onto the table so hard that the crystal perfume bottles trembled. “Running off, hiding, and then resurfacing in New York of all places, beside a billionaire. It’s laughable. Absolutely laughable.”Behind her, the faint sound of liquid pouring broke the silence. Cynthia, poised like royalty on the chaise lounge, swirled red wine in a crystal glass, her manicured nails gleaming in the lamplight. She lift