Lahat ng Kabanata ng THE BILLIONAIRE LAST LIE : Kabanata 31 - Kabanata 40

"Cassian's Point Of View"Morning came, but warmth didn’t.I woke to silence—thick, cold, and stretched across the bed like a third body between us. Eva was no longer lying beside me. The blankets on her side were already smooth, untouched for hours.She’d gotten up long before me.Typical.I pushed myself up with a sigh and ran a hand through my hair. The memory of last night lingered like smoke—her turning away from me, her voice sharp, tired, done.I’d earned it.Didn’t make it any easier to breathe.I stood and headed toward the bathroom. Not to talk.Just… to see.The door was half-open.Eva sat at her vanity, back straight, sunlight catching on her hair like gold threads. She combed through the strands slowly, gently, almost tenderly.And she was singing.Softly.Light.Unbothered.A voice so sweet it could soften steel—yet she didn’t even know I was standing there.Her reflection never looked up.Not once.No good morning.No acknowledgment.No hint that she even cared whether

"Cassian's Point Of View"The doors of ValeCorp’s private elevator slid open with a quiet hum. I stepped out, heels clicking on polished marble, and the lobby fell into a brief, suspended silence. Chairs scraped against the floor, hushed conversations cut off mid-sentence, and eyes lifted, fixating on me as if I were a storm breaking over the city.“Good morning, Mr. Vale.”“Sir—welcome back.”“Mr. Vale, it’s an honor.”The overlapping voices were respectful, fearful, and slightly incredulous. Rumors had spread faster than wildfire during my absence. They always did. People mourn the power they never understood and fear the man they never controlled.I walked past the startled staff, heels and polished shoes echoing in unison with each calculated step, until I reached the door to my office. The manager’s office was empty—predictably so.“Where is Thomas Reed?” I asked a junior staff member. His lips parted, stammering.“H-he’s in his office, sir… He wasn’t expecting you. Should I—”“N

Eva's Point Of ViewThe hallway was quieter than it had any right to be. Shadows pooled in the corners where the chandeliers failed to reach, and the velvet drapes shivered faintly in a draft I couldn’t place. My steps were careful and deliberate, echoing faintly against the polished floors as I drifted past corridors I’d never explored. It was then that I noticed it—the heavy double doors at the end of the east wing. Brass handles, ornate carvings, and a faint groove along the threshold marked it as off-limits. A small, almost imperceptible draft leaked from the edges, carrying the smell of dust and something older, something secret.I stopped. My heart quickened, and for reasons I couldn’t immediately explain, I felt the pull of curiosity—and suspicion. Cassian had never spoken of this wing. Why? What did he hide behind doors heavier than necessity demanded? I leaned closer, pressing my ear to the polished wood, listening for any sound that might betray his presence. Footsteps. A vo

Eva's Point Of viewThe corridor stretches before me like a shadowed artery of the Vale estate, dim light pooling unevenly across the worn wooden floors. My fingers graze the smooth banister as I move silently, every step measured, conscious of echo. The heavy oak door at the end of the hall calls to me—its tarnished brass handle dulled by age, the metal cold under my palm even before I touch it. This is the forbidden wing, the one Cassian Vale never allows anyone to enter. Something about it hums with a quiet insistence, a draft curling faintly under the door that smells faintly of dust and old varnish.I pause. I listen. Footsteps elsewhere—soft, distant—belong to the night staff or perhaps the house itself settling. Nothing closer. My heart beats steadily, though adrenaline prickles along my spine. Curiosity has taken root and refuses to let go.I kneel slightly to examine the door, inspecting the lock, the frame, and the edges for anything unusual. There’s no sign of forced entry,

Eva Point Of ViewI wake to the faintest creak, a whisper of movement threading through the guest bedroom of the Vale estate. My eyes snap open. The room is dark, shadows pooling in corners like liquid, swallowing the edges of the ornate furniture. I lie still, listening. The sound comes again, deliberate—soft footsteps pressing into old wood, deliberate and slow. Nothing mechanical. Nothing ordinary.I force my breathing to slow, counting each inhale and exhale. The silence that follows is heavier than the noise itself, as though the house holds its breath in anticipation. Something is here. Something is moving. I sit up slowly, letting my bare feet touch the cool floorboards, every nerve taut.The air has changed. It feels denser, colder, and oppressive even. Moonlight filters through the tall windows, creating fractured beams that scatter across the floor. The shadows along the ceiling twist and stretch unnaturally. I think I see movement—a flicker at the edge of vision—but when I