All Chapters of The Wild Virgin (HER POV) : Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

Ram’s arm slid around my waist with that quiet, unspoken authority he carried everywhere he went, effortless, confident, utterly certain I would melt into him. And I did. His warmth pressed against my side, steadying me as the last threads of exhaustion curled through my muscles.His breath brushed my hair, low and intimate.“How are you feeling?”For a moment, my mind flinched back to the only thing it could think of—his hands on my skin earlier, the way he’d taken his time with me, slow and devastating, as though he wanted to learn every part of me by heart. My body still remembered him too vividly. Every nerve felt alive, sensitized, as if he had rewritten me from the inside out.But that wasn’t the exhaustion weighing down my chest.I exhaled softly. “I’m tired. I just… want to rest for a while.”Ram lowered his head, his lips grazing the shell of my ear, an innocent gesture to anyone else, but from him it felt like a promise he could break me again if he wanted to. My breath caug

I couldn’t keep track of how many times I’d circled my living room. It felt as though the carpet had memorized the rhythm of my steps, as if it had already surrendered to the weight of my worry. Half-finished mugs of coffee cluttered the table and counters, each one a timestamp of another hour I couldn’t sleep, another hour spent imagining the still, terrifying rise and fall of Ram Jordan’s chest in that hospital bed.Three days.Three agonizing, sleepless days of watching my husband, my impossibly stubborn, maddeningly confident husband, lie motionless under fluorescent lights. His body usually radiated heat, strength, dominance… now reduced to stillness so haunting it scraped raw at every corner of my heart.“Lexie,” Claire snapped from the couch, arms folded in that way she used when she was two breaths from losing patience. “I brought you here to rest, not reenact a haunted house scene. Can you please calm down before you wear a hole through the floor?”I turned to her, exhausted

Macy’s POVAddy sat beside me, her shoulder brushing mine, the contact light yet grounding, as if that single point of warmth was the only thing keeping me from completely unraveling. She didn’t crowd me, didn’t press for answers, she just stayed there, steady, breathing beside me. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was gentle and deliberate, the way people talk when they know one careless word could send everything shattering to the ground.“Maybe you should just tell your parents,” she said softly. “We both know how understanding Aunt Lexie is, Macy. I’m sure they’ll understand what happened. They might even help you.”I sucked in a sharp breath, my chest tightening as frustration surged hot and fast through my veins. My fingers dragged roughly through my hair as I turned toward her, my jaw clenched, patience already frayed to nothing.“Addy, it’s fifty-four million dollars,” I snapped, the number slicing through the air between us. “Fifty-four million, gone in three months.” The wo

It was barely past five in the afternoon, yet I had already drained nearly an entire bottle of red wine, despite promising myself I would stop after a glass or tw, just enough to quiet the noise in my head, just enough to blur the sharper edges of the day. The alcohol content wasn’t even that high, which probably explained why the bottle now sat nearly empty on the table while I remained wide awake, restless in a way that felt almost cruel, as if one bottle had never stood a chance against everything weighing on me.The warmth had seeped through my limbs, my body loose and heavy, my head light in that pleasantly dangerous way that made the room tilt just slightly when I moved. Still, sleep refused to come. It lingered somewhere far beyond my reach, stubborn and indifferent, as though my body had forgotten how to surrender to rest. Dark circles had taken up permanent residence beneath my eyes after nights spent staring at the ceiling, replaying the same thoughts over and over until mor

I couldn’t focus on a single word anyone was saying at the dining table. My attention drifted again and again, drawn irresistibly to the man sitting directly across from me. Damien Rivera. Every inch of him radiated control, the kind of quiet, commanding authority that made people sit up straighter, adjust their tone, or swallow their own words. His eyes, sharp and impossibly dark, seemed to dissect me in seconds, reading thoughts I didn’t even know I had. The movement of his hand as he rested it on the polished wood sent a shiver down my spine. Calm. Composed. Dangerous. And undeniably magnetic.I only snapped out of my daze when my mother’s subtle nudge under the table jolted me, a light kick to my ankle that reminded me I hadn’t been listening at all. I’d been staring at Damien, completely oblivious to the fact that it was his father who was actually talking to me.“I- I’m sorry, what?” I stammered, biting my lip, forcing my gaze toward my father, trying desperately to mask the fac