All Chapters of The billionaire virgin wife: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

The next day.The villa was alive with low murmurs and the soft clinking of glasses. Servants moved gracefully through the expansive parlor, placing trays of hors d’oeuvres on polished mahogany tables and refilling crystal decanters with amber liquid. The late afternoon sun poured in through the tall French windows, casting a golden hue across the marble floors.It was not an official gathering, merely a carefully orchestrated “casual” afternoon, but Cynthia never did casual. Every little detail, every flower arrangement, every flute of champagne was intentional. Today, the intention was simple: information.She leaned back elegantly on the tufted cream sofa, a delicate glass of rosé in her hand. Her expression was one of practiced warmth, though her eyes remained sharp, calculating. Clarissa sat opposite her, equally poised, though her patience was thinner, her lips pressed in a line that revealed her simmering frustration.Their guest, the same woman who visited yesterday, thrive

Isabella sat by the window in the office staring at the glowing city below. Her fingers traced the rim of her teacup absently, her thoughts heavy. The lights outside blurred in her vision, smearing into gold and white streaks as if her eyes couldn’t quite hold focus.“You’re quiet tonight.”She turned, finding Damian watching her. He was leaning against the doorway, jacket undone, his sharp gaze softer than usual. The faint shadow of weariness traced his jaw, but even in that tiredness he exuded control, power — the kind that both reassured her and terrified her in equal measure.“I’m fine,” she said quickly, but even she heard the hollowness in her voice.He walked closer, his presence filling the room. There was something about Damian — the way he moved, the way his energy seemed to consume the air. When he was near, she felt both safer and more exposed, as if he could peel back the armor she wore and see everything she tried to keep hidden.“No, you’re not.” His tone was firm, but

The confession still lingered in the air, heavy and trembling between them. Isabella’s breath caught in her throat, her chest rising and falling as though she had been running, though her feet hadn’t moved an inch. The silence stretched, every second weighed down by the enormity of what had just been said.Her eyes darted over his face, desperately searching for something, doubt, hesitation, regret, yet all she found was a storm of raw, unguarded longing. Damian’s gaze wasn’t careful or calculated, the way it often was when he spoke to her in boardrooms or at his mansion. No. Now, his eyes were stripped bare, revealing the man beneath the power, the steel, the walls he always wore like armor.He wanted her. Not in passing, not as an impulse. He wanted her as though the need had been carved into him long ago, and every breath since had only deepened it.Her lips parted slightly, as if to respond, but no words formed. What could she say? That she had been waiting, aching, praying for th

Returning to the office the next day, Isabella immediately sensed a shift in the air. People stared at her, whispers floated between desks, and tension hung thickly in the hallways. The usual hum of the office, the soft tapping of keyboards, the low murmur of phone calls, the distant whir of the printer felt muted, almost strained, as if the entire building had paused to watch her. Even the fluorescent lights above seemed harsher than usual, reflecting off polished floors and glass partitions in sharp, accusing lines.As she walked past the cubicles, Isabella felt the weight of eyes on her back. Every glance, every quiet whisper, pressed in on her, making her feel exposed, like she had stepped into a spotlight she had never asked for. The air smelled faintly of coffee and paper, but even that was tinged with the metallic bite of tension. She could feel the subtle shift in posture of her colleagues, someone stopping mid-conversation, a hand frozen over a keyboard, a head turning too qu

The city lights glittered beneath them like scattered diamonds, painting the night in a thousand shifting colors. Isabella stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows of Damian’s penthouse, her reflection staring back at her, fragile and uncertain. The suitcase at her side looked absurdly small in such a vast, immaculate space.She pressed her palm lightly against the glass, her chest rising and falling as if she were standing on the edge of something both exhilarating and terrifying. This wasn’t a dream. Not another fantasy spun in the quiet of her lonely nights. Damian had asked her to move in. And she—heart pounding, hands trembling—had said yes.Yet standing here now, surrounded by sleek marble, polished wood, and gleaming metal that screamed of wealth and dominance, Isabella suddenly felt like a trespasser. Everything about this penthouse was Damian—the boldness, the precision, the untouchable elegance. And she? She was still the secretary who once took the subway in heels that pinched