Semua Bab Claimed By The Billionaire At The Altar : Bab 101 - Bab 110

KIMANI That morning, I woke up before Alaric for once. Which almost never happened. The island was quiet, the early sunlight spilling softly through the glass walls of the house. The ocean looked calm today, gentle waves rolling against the shore like they were still half-asleep. I sat on the couch with a cup of tea, scrolling through my phone. And then I saw the picture. Ava had sent it in the group chat the night before, but I had fallen asleep before opening it. Now that I did, I burst out laughing. In the picture, Ava, Alex, Malik, Denise and Zendaya were sprawled all over the living room of Alaric’s mansion back home. Not sitting. Sprawled. One person on the couch, someone else on the floor, Malik lying upside down across the armchair like gravity no longer applied to him. Empty snack bags were everywhere. Blankets. Pillows. Someone had even dragged one of the decorative cushions from the study. It looked less like a luxury mansion and more like a college dorm a

KIMANI The hotel was bigger than I expected. That was the first thing that crossed my mind when the jeep rolled to a stop near the construction site. From the house, I had only seen glimpses of it in the distance—just shapes between palm trees and scaffolding. But standing here now, it was impossible to ignore how massive the place actually was. The structure rose several floors high, built in layers that curved gently toward the ocean. Wide balconies faced the sea, and glass panels reflected the sunlight so brightly it almost looked like water. Workers moved across the site, carrying materials, checking measurements, talking over machinery. Yet despite the activity, everything seemed organized. Controlled. Which made sense. This was Alaric’s project. He stepped out of the jeep first, walking around to open my door before I could even reach the handle. “You didn’t have to do that,” I said as I climbed out. “I know.” I looked up at the building again. “You built all this

ALARIC The island was quieter in the afternoon. Markets had begun to close, boats drifted lazily near the shore, and the bright rush of the morning softened into a calm golden haze. The air smelled faintly of salt and sun-warmed wood as the breeze rolled in from the sea. Kimani and I were walking back toward the house. Or more accurately, I was walking. Kimani was… stopping every five steps. “Wait,” she said again. I stopped behind her. She was staring at a small stall we had already passed earlier. “You already bought something from there,” I reminded her. “I know.” “Then why are we stopping again?” She turned to me with that innocent look she used whenever she was about to do something unnecessary. “I forgot something.” “You bought six things.” “Seven,” she corrected. I rubbed my temple. “Kimani.” “Relax,” she said, stepping toward the stall again. “This is the last one.” “That’s what you said twenty minutes ago.” “This time I mean it.” I

THIRD PERSON'S POV The tropical morning didn’t arrive with any noise, but with a hushed, reverent gold that seemed to coat the world in honey. On this final day, the sun itself appeared to linger just below the horizon, hesitant to break the spell that had settled over the private villa. For Kimani and Alaric, the past few days hadn’t just been a vacation or a business scouting trip; they had been a sanctuary—a suspended moment in time where the noise of their complicated lives had been drowned out by the rhythmic pulse of the Indian Ocean. The sky outside their bedroom window was a masterpiece of soft oranges, bruised purples, and shimmering golds. The light reflected off the endless expanse of the sea, turning the water into a sheet of hammered metal. Waves rolled lazily toward the shore, their steady, white-crested sighs echoing through the open balcony doors, mingling with the scent of salt air and blooming jasmine. Kimani was the first to stir. She didn't get up immediately.

THIRD PERSON'S POV Months Later The city glittered beneath them, alive with its usual restless energy—but inside the penthouse, time felt slower. Softer. It had been months since the island. Months since golden sunsets, salt-kissed air, and quiet mornings where the world felt distant and unimportant. Life had returned to its usual rhythm—meetings, schedules, responsibilities—but something had shifted. Something permanent. Kimani stood in front of the mirror, smoothing down the fabric of her dress for what felt like the hundredth time. It was simple, elegant, and soft against her skin—nothing too dramatic, but enough to make tonight feel special. Because it was. She smiled faintly at her reflection. “Relax,” she whispered to herself. “It’s just dinner.” But it wasn’t just dinner. It was their anniversary. One year since everything had changed. One year since a wedding that wasn’t supposed to happen had turned into the beginning of something neither of them could live wit