All Chapters of The billionaire virgin wife: Chapter 181 - Chapter 190

The city glittered beneath the penthouse windows, but Damian did not see it. The skyscrapers rose like monuments of steel and glass, their crowns glowing in the darkness, but they might as well have been shadows on a wall. He stood there for hours, a silent figure trapped in his own thoughts, staring out at the skyline as if the horizon could offer him answers. It did not. All he saw was his own reflection against the glass, a man with sharp features and haunted eyes, a man who had conquered the world but could not hold the heart of one woman.Every time his eyelids fell heavy, she appeared. Isabella. Not as the world saw her, not as the whispered stories painted her, but as she had been with him. He saw her standing at the altar, radiant in her wedding gown, her face glowing with hope as she whispered those words that should have been his salvation. I do.He saw her trembling in his arms on their wedding night, her innocence laid bare, her body gifted to him with trembling trust. She

The clock ticked past midnight when Marcus arrived, a thick leather folder in his hands. His expression was grim, but his eyes carried something else, triumph.Damian stood from behind his desk, tension coiling through his body like a drawn bow. “Tell me you found it.”Marcus placed the folder down. “Not just found. Buried. Hidden under layers of falsified documents. But it’s here.”Damian snapped it open, his eyes scanning the papers with a predator’s focus. Bank transfers, signed affidavits, hotel receipts were all pointing to the same three names. Helena. Clarissa. Cynthia.The lamp on Damian’s desk cast a circle of golden light, leaving the rest of the room shrouded in heavy shadows. The glow caught the edge of his cheekbones, making the sharp lines of his face even more severe as his eyes devoured every word.Each page was a puzzle piece snapping into place, forming a picture so grotesque and damning that his jaw clenched tighter with every passing second.Marcus watched in silen

The ballroom blazed with chandeliers, crystal light scattering across polished marble and glittering gowns. Reporters swarmed at the velvet ropes, cameras flashing as the city’s most powerful streamed in for Damian Drake’s surprise gala.The scent of roses and white lilies filled the air, drifting from the towering arrangements set on golden pedestals at every corner. The orchestra struck a rich chord, violins singing high, the cello’s depth swelling like a heartbeat beneath the chatter of voices. Waiters in black vests glided with trays of champagne and caviar, weaving through clusters of senators, tycoons, and socialites who buzzed with speculation.Whispers rippled through the crowd.Why now? What was he celebrating? Why the secrecy?The question passed from one painted mouth to another, soft as a secret, sharp as a blade. The city had seen Damian Drake host galas before, but never one with such mystery. No invitations bore explanations. No press release preceded it. Every guest ha

The gala had turned into a battlefield.Reporters swarmed Damian, their voices sharp and insistent, a storm of questions hurled through flashing lights. The air was filled with the electric buzz of cameras, the click of shutters, the glare of recording lights that seemed to bleach the room of all color. “Mr. Knight, how long have you known?” one voice called out. “Mr. Knight, will charges be filed?” another shouted above the chaos. “Mr. Knight, what happens now?”Damian did not flinch. His jaw was carved from stone, his eyes dark, steady, and unyielding. He stood like a fortress, refusing to be moved by the swarm. But the cameras, greedy and alive, had already shifted focus. They turned like predators toward Helena.She stood in the center of the ballroom in her crimson gown, a color that once commanded awe, now staining her like a mark of guilt. Her posture was rigid, every muscle straining to hold onto dignity. She attempted her trademark smile, the carefully curated curve of lips t

The ballroom had not yet recovered from Helena’s humiliating exit when Damian lifted his hand again. A flicker of command passed through the room like an electric current. The technicians, already on edge after the first scandal, obeyed immediately.The towering screens above the stage lit once more, their glow casting long shadows across the glittering chandeliers. The crowd, still buzzing from Helena’s downfall, turned as one to see what would follow. Conversations dropped into hushed anticipation. The orchestra’s instruments, abandoned after Helena’s outburst, remained in silence, their polished brass and wood catching the light in eerie stillness.“This,” Damian said, his voice sharp and unyielding, “is only the beginning.”The words did not thunder. They cut. The quiet authority in them was enough to hush even those who dared whisper. The audience leaned forward in collective suspense, as though the entire ballroom had become a single beating heart waiting for its next breath.Th