Semua Bab The billionaire virgin wife: Bab 81 - Bab 90

By mid-morning, the stack of reports on Isabella’s desk had blurred into one long row of numbers and signatures. Her eyes ached from staring too long at the screen, but her mind wasn’t focused on spreadsheets or deadlines. It kept drifting back, stubbornly, to the smallest of gestures like Damian brushing her hair back with unexpected gentleness, the warmth of his fingertips grazing her temple, the way the world had stilled in that fleeting moment.She told herself she was overthinking, but the memory clung to her like perfume.“Come with me.”His voice cut clean through her thoughts.She blinked, startled, lifting her head to find Damian standing at the edge of her desk. He didn’t look impatient, just… certain. As if whatever he had in mind had already been decided long before she could protest.“Where?” she asked, pen still caught between her fingers.“Coffee,” he said simply, already shrugging into his dark wool coat.Her lips parted. “I have work…”“I’m your boss.” His tone was dr

The next day their back and forth continued.By noon, Isabella was buried in schedules and contracts when Damian’s assistant appeared at her desk.“Mr. Knight wants you upstairs, now.”“Upstairs?” she echoed. She wanted to ask what for but refrained from it.The assistant only nodded before disappearing.The elevator ride up had already unsettled Isabella. She couldn’t remember the last time Damian had summoned her without explanation. Usually, his requests came neatly packaged: draft this, arrange that, attend this meeting. But “upstairs” was vague. And vague, in Damian Knight’s world, was dangerous.Her heels clicked softly against the marble floor as she followed the assistant’s directions, and when the door opened to reveal a private terrace that looked like it belonged in some glossy magazine, her breath caught.The city stretched out endlessly, skyscrapers piercing the clouds, the traffic below reduced to the hum of a distant hive. The terrace itself was a world apart from the s

The morning was brisk and bright, the rain from the night before leaving the streets washed clean. Isabella had barely taken her first sip of coffee when the low murmur of voices around her shifted.Damian Knight was in her department.It was rare enough to see him on this floor that people straightened in their seats, some hastily closing tabs on their screens, others pretending not to stare. The CEO didn’t need to walk through this part of the building unless something monumental was happening. And yet, there he was tall, precise, and purposeful, his shoes making muted clicks against the polished floor as he moved past rows of cubicles.Isabella felt her pulse quicken. She gripped her mug a little too tightly, trying not to look like every other wide-eyed employee tracking his every step.Then his gaze swept the room, deliberate, until it found her.“Miss martinez,” he said, his voice carrying just enough to turn a few more heads.Her throat went dry, but she pushed herself up quic

The boutique attendant slipped away, leaving Isabella alone with the gowns. Each one was more exquisite than the last , silk that looked like it would melt in her hands, beadwork so delicate it could have been sewn by moonlight.The room itself felt like another world, hushed and perfumed, where chandeliers spilled golden light across mirrored walls and plush carpet. Every hanger she touched whispered of luxury, of a life she’d never been meant to live but somehow had stumbled into.She lingered by a midnight-blue gown, fingertips trailing across its cool fabric. She could almost see herself in it , stepping into a ballroom, the skirt swishing with each stride, strangers turning their heads to wonder who she was.But her reality was far simpler. She was Isabella , secretary, survivor, woman who had learned not to dream too big because disappointment always seemed to come faster than blessings.Still, the gown tugged at her. She remembered the last time he took her shopping and blush

The week after the boutique trip passed in a haze, the kind that seemed suspended between reality and dream. Isabella went through her days with a soft hum in her chest, like her life was tuned to a frequency only she could hear. The boutique trip had been nothing more than an errand, a business-related necessity, yet Damian had been there, present in ways that weren’t clear but impossible to ignore.He’d stood too close when she checked fabrics. He’d reached for her hand without a second thought when the crowd grew heavy, his palm warm and grounding, as if the idea of her slipping away was unbearable. He didn’t even look like a man who realized he was doing it, and that was what unsettled her the most.At the event itself, a birthday party of a long-time business partner she barely knew, Damian had kept her at his side. Every conversation, every introduction, every smile that came their way had to pass through him first. Isabella had thought it was some elaborate networking maneuver