Semua Bab Reborn to be a dangerous billionaire’s wife : Bab 41 - Bab 50

EthanWhat’s the point of dragging myself to work every morning when the company already has people paid to do everything? I will own it soon. I am signing the checks. I hand out orders. At the end of the month, salaries are paid whether I sit behind the desk or not.So why should I waste my energy proving myself like some lowly intern, especially to my father? The old man clings to this ridiculous idea that I must “show capability” before he hands me full control. As if running a company is about grinding paperwork. I can buy the loyalty of any man with a few zeros on a paycheck. That’s the truth he refuses to admit.I leaned back in my leather chair, staring at the ceiling, my jaw tightening at the absurdity of it all. Sometimes I wonder why I even agreed to Kate's lame plan in the first place. Till now, nothing has shifted. No progress. No reward. Just the same condescending glances from her, as though I’m still a boy tugging at his coattails.If I weren't married to Dawn, maybe thi

DawnI hadn’t meant for it to go this far tonight. I planned to give Ethan only a taste, just enough to have him clinging tighter when the real moves unfolded later. That’s how my mother taught me to string them along, enjoy their hunger, but never give them everything until it benefits you.But as his hands dug into my waist and his mouth swallowed my gasps, I realized there was still something in me that wanted to enjoy this man. Not for love. Not even for loyalty. But for the sheer reminder of how good he once was at making me lose myself.When his body pressed me against the sofa, I arched for him. My gown was already forgotten on the floor, its sheer fabric discarded like a prop that had served its purpose. His hands roamed my bare skin, rough palms tracing curves they hadn’t touched in months.“Dawn,” he groaned against my throat, the sound guttural, hungry. His teeth grazed the delicate line of my neck, and my nails dug into his shoulders, pulling him closer and steadying mysel

Liora The spa reception area felt like another world entirely. The air was cooler here, crisp against my skin, carrying that subtle lavender scent Diana had insisted on testing for weeks until she found the perfect balance. Not sharp or cloying. But enough to soothe without announcing itself. A place meant to calm the body before words were even exchanged.The decor carried the same philosophy and clean lines, but softened with muted earth whispers of nature. A tall fiddle leaf fig reached toward the ceiling in one corner, its wide leaves glossy beneath the overhead light. Beside the seating area, orchids bloomed in pristine white, their delicacy almost unreal. It didn’t look like a business meant to take. It looked like a sanctuary meant to give. It is actually, I thought with a flicker of pride, that was exactly what it was.Behind the counter sat two receptionists in their twenties. Their black shirts and trousers mirrored the sample uniforms Diana had sent me weeks ago, blending

DamienThe air at the docks always tasted of steak and salt and the honest kind of danger you couldn’t get anywhere else. It smelled of engines and rope, old wood and diesel, a scent that married trade and lawlessness, where fortunes were counted and fates were sometimes decided with a glance.Grayson Global Freight lived here. This was the axis I built with my hands and money, the place that exhaled the authority I liked to feel under my palm. When I stood on these piers I felt larger than most, like the most powerful man in New York at least for as long as I wanted to be. My name was stamped on the warehouses, the cranes, lines of containers with my logo black and Bold on their sides. The place moved with a slow, muscular confidence because someone fed it a strategy, and that someone was me.Kingsley eased the car to the curb. The back of the vehicle cut the dawn like a ruler, a hard line against the softening sky. My men were already mounted at their posts, silhouettes planted like

Damien Turning, my gaze landed on the wall—a gallery of power. Whips hung in clean order, each speaking a different promise, some soft and teasing, others carved for pain. Steel and suede Collars rested beneath them, and in shadows like trophies. Chains looped with military precision, their gleam catching in the light.I walked slowly, deliberately. My presence filled the room, I reached out. picked up a chain, letting it slide through my fingers. The weight was satisfying, honest. Tools like these didn’t lie. You knew exactly what they were made for.Setting it back, I shifted to the glass shelves. That’s when I allowed my brow to rise slightly, a private gesture of acknowledgment. Nickolai had curated not just weapons, but temptations. Rows of dildos, sleek and unapologetic. Glass, silicone, chrome. Different sizes and colors, each crafted with intent. Every piece is chosen carefully not just for use, but for the effect it left on the mind.A small chuckle escaped me, low and appr