All Chapters of THE PROXY BRIDE: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

The front doors of Cassian’s cliffside estate swung open with a silence that felt like betrayal.Amara stood frozen in the Provence mural hallway, the scent of lemon polish sharp in her throat. Cassian strode in first—storm-gray eyes fixed ahead, shoulders rigid with purpose. But it was the woman beside him that stopped Amara’s breath.She was all sharp angles and quiet fire. Midnight-black hair pulled into a severe bun, tailored charcoal suit hugging a frame that moved with the precision of a blade. Her gaze swept the onyx floor, the Koi tank, the Provence mural—not with awe, but with the cool appraisal of someone who’d seen palaces burn. She didn’t speak. Didn’t smile. Just stood beside Cassian like a shadow he’d summoned from the dark.Amara’s hands clenched at her ivory silk dress. Who is she? The question screamed in her skull, but Selene’s vacant smile was already glued in place—polite, empty, perfect.Cassian didn’t introduce her. Didn’t acknowledge Amara. Just murmured to the w

The memory of the morning’s collision with Julien lingered—brief, electric, unforgettable. And now, the invitation rested in her mind like a secret seed: lunch with him.She had said yes, almost instinctively, the words leaving her lips before hesitation could intervene. And now, as she walked alongside Julien through the hallways, the world seemed to slow, every detail sharpening: the faint brush of his sleeve against hers, the subtle cadence of his steps, the warmth that radiated in quiet pulses whenever their proximity drew close.Julien’s voice cut softly through the hush of the lobby. “Shall we?”“Yes,” she murmured, and it sounded like a whisper too delicate to carry across the marble expanse.The elevator ride was a measured silence punctuated only by the soft hum of machinery and the faint rustle of schedules tucked into her folder. Every second stretched, elongated, a suspended moment where anticipation and curiosity danced like shadows across her chest.The restaurant awaited

Julien stopped pretending.Where once his glances had been fleeting—a flicker of storm-amber eyes across the trading floor—he now met Amara’s gaze like a man claiming territory. When she corrected the Arctic Shipping Consortium reports, his hand would brush hers as he took the documents. When she "calibrated the security monitors" near his office, he’d lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her with a smile that promised ruin. "The spoons won’t bite," he’d murmur, "but I will."Brenda saw it first.From her desk in Legal, she watched Julien slide a coffee cup toward Amara—Earl Grey, one sugar, no honey. Selene’s order."He’s never done that before," Brenda hissed to her colleague, knuckles white around her pen. "Not for her."The next day, Julien intercepted Amara by the archives vault. Sunlight caught the silver at his temples as he stepped into her space—close enough to smell the cedar on his collar, close enough to see her pulse jump in her throat."You are beautiful" he

The Drevane estate had always cast a shadow, even on the brightest days. Its façade was elegant, meticulously maintained, yet every window seemed to stare back like dark eyes measuring every passerby. The garden hedges were sculpted with geometric precision, yet in the corners, ivy strangled old stone statues, whispering secrets that only the wind could understand. The fountains shimmered in sunlight but gurgled like murmurs when the moon was high.Family portraits lined the main hallway, capturing generations in rigid poses. The eyes of past Drevanes seemed almost alive, sharp and calculating, as if they were silently evaluating those who dared walk beneath them. It was said that if you lingered too long, you could feel their weight—the unseen pressure of centuries of expectation and control.Amara had noticed it during her rare visits: the way even the air inside the estate seemed rehearsed, measured, and careful. The staff moved like ghosts, polite yet distant, as though each gestur

Cassian started counting glances.It began subtly—a fraction of a second longer when Amara corrected the Arctic Shipping Consortium reports. A heartbeat more when she calibrated the security monitors near his office. Then, yesterday, he’d caught her reflection in the one-way glass for 7.3 seconds while she danced badly with Manon to the jazz quartet’s off-key rendition of La Vie en Rose.Unacceptable, he’d thought, turning back to his floating desk. Metrics don’t lie.But today, as Amara placed the corrected treaties on his desk—ivory robe immaculate, platinum wig gleaming—he watched her hands. The scar on her wrist. The way her fingers trembled when she thought no one was looking."Mr. Drevane?" she prompted, Selene’s vacant smile glued in place. "Page 12, clause 4. Fixed."Cassian didn’t take the documents. Didn’t speak. Just stared at the ink smudge on her thumb—the kind that came from pressing too hard when lying."Is something wrong?" Amara asked, tilting her head. A strand of pla