All Chapters of Married To My Arrogant Billionaire Enemy : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

DOMINIC Morning slipped into my room in slants of muted gray light, not the golden glow most people expected in a house like mine. I had barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, the image of Brooklyn collapsing replayed behind my eyelids—her body going slack, her skin gone pale, the panic that surged through me sharper than anything I’d felt in years. She had frightened me. More than I wanted to admit. More than I even knew I could be frightened. By the time the clock ticked past seven, I was already out of bed, fully dressed, pacing as if the steady rhythm of my shoes against the hardwood might burn off the restlessness coiled in my chest. I told myself I would check on her once more—just to be certain, just to reassure myself she was still breathing, still recovering. I stepped into the hallway, the silence almost oppressive, until a smaller figure suddenly appeared at the far end. Elliot. Already dressed in his uniform The boy froze when he saw me, his hazel eyes—so m

DOMINIC I had built a reputation on never hesitating. Never doubting. In the boardroom, in negotiations, in every war of power I’d ever fought, I was the man people feared because I never blinked. But later later in the afternoon, I found myself standing in the doorway to Brooklyn’s room longer than I should have, rooted to the spot like a man with no direction. She was half-asleep again, her skin pale against the ivory sheets, Elliot curled carefully beside her. His small head rested against her arm, his breathing shallow but steady. Brooklyn’s fingers were tangled loosely in his hair, protective even in unconsciousness. The sight shouldn’t have done anything to me. I had no interest in domestic illusions. Marriage was a weapon in my family, not a comfort. But something in that fragile picture pulled at me, hard and unexpected, like a hook in the chest. She had almost been taken from me last night. Not by choice. Not by fight. But by something as cowardly as a drug slipped into

BROOKLYN The world turned to ice. The shock of the water punched every last breath from my chest. My body convulsed, instinct clawing for air where there was none. My eyes flew open to a blur of turquoise light and twisting bubbles. I couldn’t tell up from down. Panic roared through me, brutal and unrelenting. My arms thrashed, useless against the weight dragging me deeper. My clothes clung heavy to my skin, every frantic kick pulling me further off balance. I can’t swim. The truth hammered in my skull, louder than the blood rushing in my ears. I never learned. I never thought I’d need to. And now the water was closing in, pressing against my throat like a fist. I opened my mouth on a silent scream and choked as icy liquid surged in. My lungs burned, fire and ice tearing me apart from the inside. My body convulsed harder, fighting, clawing, desperate for air that didn’t exist. I flailed upward—at least I thought it was upward—but my arms felt like lead, my chest caving in. My

BROOKLYNI changed fast, more from stubborn pride than actual energy. Every movement scraped against my raw nerves, the sweatshirt clinging to damp patches of my skin, leggings sticking as I forced them on. My hands shook so badly I nearly tripped trying to tug them over my hips. By the time I pulled the towel from my hair, I was lightheaded, dizzy. My chest burned with every breath. I sat back down, clutching the edge of the mattress. My damp curls stuck to my neck, the room swimming faintly in the warm air. The door creaked, and I didn’t even need to look. He was there. Dominic Blackwell, in my room again when he’d said he’d wait outside. I didn’t have the energy to snarl at him for breaking his own rule. And the truth? Some tiny, treacherous part of me was glad he hadn’t listened. He crossed to me without hesitation, his coat already stripped away, his shirtsleeves rolled to his forearms. Power clung to him even in silence, but not the same kind that barked orders through an

DOMINICThe house should have felt secure again, but it didn’t.As I stalked into my study, the silence was wrong—too fragile, too exposed. My study had always been my refuge, the one place where the chaos of business and family politics could not touch me. But today the walls felt thinner. The glass windows overlooking the lawn seemed too wide, too vulnerable.Brooklyn had almost drowned in my pool. My wife.I slammed the study doors shut behind me, the sound echoing like a gunshot. My pulse was still thunder in my ears, and I could feel the phantom weight of her in my arms—the slippery cling of her dress, the shock of her skin cold and pale, her lashes heavy with water.I’d felt her body go slack against me. Too close. Too damn close.I pressed my palms flat against the desk, grounding myself, breathing hard. Control. I needed control. This house, my staff, my reputation—they all depended on me being sharper than every enemy, colder than every threat. Yet for one terrifying moment,