Semua Bab The billionaire virgin wife: Bab 61 - Bab 70

The next morning, Isabella stood in front of Jaxon Corp’s towering glass building, her thin coat doing little against the early New York chill. Frost clung faintly to the edges of the pavement, shimmering in the pale light. The street smelled of roasted chestnuts from a cart a block away, mingling with the sharp tang of exhaust from passing taxis.She was fifteen minutes early. The city was still stretching awake, but she was already here. She was not going to risk being “late once” and “gone.” Not after yesterday.Her breath curled in the cold air as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Above her, the building’s steel-and-glass facade mirrored the restless clouds drifting across the sky. Somewhere inside, behind all that gleaming order, was Damian Knight.Her gloved hands tightened around the strap of the small leather bag slung over her shoulder. It held almost everything she considered essential: a single pen with fading ink, a worn notebook whose spine was barely hol

Isabella froze at the sound of his words.She has no idea.Her pulse thudded in her ears, so loud she almost wondered if he could hear it too. The air in Damian’s office felt different now, denser, charged. The walls seemed to press inward, carrying the quiet weight of something unspoken.Her hand instinctively tightened on the strap of her bag, the leather digging into her palm, though she forced her face to remain neutral. Damian’s eyes were still on her, steady, unwavering, unreadable. The kind of gaze that made you feel stripped down to something raw, as if he could see every secret you had ever tried to bury.He was silent for a moment, listening to the voice on the other end of the line.“Yes,” he said finally, his voice clipped and low, but with an undercurrent that suggested this conversation was not one meant for casual ears. “Send it to my private line. And do not call here again.”There was no goodbye, no pause, just the flat click of the call ending.He set the phone back

The quiet after Damian left felt louder than the night itself.Isabella stood behind the door for several seconds after it shut, her hand still curled loosely around the handle, her ears straining for the sound of his footsteps on the hallway’s marble floor. She heard them, fading into nothing, then the distant, low purr of his car’s engine when he reached the street. It was almost a comfort, until the taillights vanished from her imagination, leaving her in silence.She turned the lock with a soft click and leaned her forehead against the cool wood, exhaling slowly. Her body was tired, but her mind… her mind was still back there, in the near-kiss that had left her dizzy.It was ridiculous, how one almost-moment could take up so much space in her chest. The way his gaze had lingered on her mouth, the subtle pull of his body toward hers, it had been deliberate. Damian didn’t almost do anything. Which meant he had stopped himself for a reason.That should have been a relief.It wasn’t.

Isabella’s steps echoed hollowly against the cold concrete as she made her way to the elevator. The city’s skyline glittered beyond the entrance like distant stars, unreachable and indifferent. She told herself again she was fine , but the weight of that note lingered like a shadow clinging to her skin, cold and insistent. If her dreams were coming to pass how far would it go.Her fingers curled around the strap of her bag, knuckles white. The memory of the dark, slanted handwriting burned behind her eyelids: You don’t belong here. Leave before you’re erased.She swallowed hard, the taste of bile rising in her throat. Was the threat real? Or just a cruel echo of the ghosts she’d tried so desperately to outrun? The past had a way of clawing back when she least expected it , when she thought she was safe. When she thought they were just dreams.She reached the underground garage ready to book her ride , when suddenly a voice broke through the silence, low and calm, close enough to make

The glass walls of Damian’s office gave him a clear view of the entire floor, a throne overseeing his kingdom. From up here, he didn’t just manage a business; he ruled it. Every movement, every conversation, every hesitation from his employees was laid bare to him, visible through the seamless expanse of glass like fish in an aquarium.The hum of activity drifted faintly from the open workspace: keyboards tapping in uneven rhythms, muffled conversations blending into a constant low murmur, the occasional ring of a phone that cut through the quiet like a sharp bell. But the noise never distracted him. Not today.Today, his attention was elsewhere. Singular. Fixed.Isabella sat at her desk, her profile lit in the pale glow of her computer screen. Around her lay the telltale signs of a day half-finished with paper files arranged in neat stacks, a pen abandoned atop an open notepad, a half-empty coffee cup cooling beside her mouse. The organization of her workspace contrasted sharply with