Lahat ng Kabanata ng Claimed By The Billionaire At The Altar : Kabanata 61 - Kabanata 70

KIMANI When Rachel and I returned to our workstation, the air felt thicker than before. Heavier. Like the entire floor had collectively decided to stop breathing. Every single eye followed me. I was no longer Daisy, with the wig and glasses. I’d taken everything off in the restroom like I was shedding a skin that had grown too tight. My natural hair fell freely around my shoulders, my glasses were tucked into my bag, and my wedding ring caught the light every time I moved my hand. There was no hiding anymore. I walked to my seat and sat down without a word. My fingers hovered over my keyboard, but I didn’t type anything. I didn’t smile either. If someone wanted answers, they could ask me directly. Until then, I refused to perform explanations for a room full of staring faces. The stares didn’t fade. If anything, they multiplied. People from nearby desks slowed their steps. Someone from another department pretended to be passing by, only to stop and whisper to a colleague. I c

KIMANI Arriving at work in the same car as Alaric felt… unreal. Not because we’d never done it before—we had, technically—but because this time, there was no hiding. No back entrances. No pretending we weren’t together. No Daisy wig tucked into my bag like a guilty secret. We drove in through the main gate, his car gliding past security like it always did. Heads turned immediately. Some out of curiosity, some out of habit, some because people were still adjusting to the new reality. I was no longer the invisible junior staff member. I was Kimani Walker. Alaric parked in his usual spot and turned to me before getting out. “Breakfast first,” he said. I smiled. “You’re really taking advantage of this no-secret thing, huh?” “As I should,” he replied easily. “I’ve been married to you in silence long enough.” We had breakfast together in the private dining area upstairs—simple food, quiet atmosphere. The sunlight streamed in through the tall windows, warming the table between us. A

KIMANI It was Monday—a new week, another day at work, and my first full week walking into the office without the safety net of Daisy. No wig. No oversized glasses. No borrowed anonymity. Just me—Kimani Walker. Alaric and I left the house together, stepping into the backseat of his car as the driver pulled away from the curb. The city was already awake, traffic humming, people rushing into their routines. Mine felt different now. Exposed, but strangely lighter. I leaned back against the leather seat, my fingers clasped together in my lap as memories of last night’s conversation replayed in my head. “You know you don’t have to drop me off at work every day,” I’d told him over dinner, trying to sound casual as I twirled my fork through pasta. Alaric had looked up slowly, his gaze steady. “Why not?” “Nothing,” I’d shrugged. “I mean… you got me a car. I can still use it.” He’d set his cutlery aside then, eyes sharpening—not angry, just firm. “The reason I got you that car w

KIMANIThe woman who stood before me—elegant, confident, glowing with an energy that filled the room—smiled like we’d known each other for years.“You must be Kimani,” she said warmly, stepping forward before I could even form a proper greeting.“Yes,” I replied, mirroring her smile. “And you must be—”“Ava,” she cut in lightly, taking my hands in hers as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “It’s so good to finally meet you.”Finally.The word lingered in my mind, but before I could dwell on it, Alaric cleared his throat beside us.“Ava,” he said warningly.She ignored him completely.Instead, she leaned closer to me and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “He’s talked about you. Not much—because he’s him—but enough.”I blinked, surprised. “He has?”“Oh yes,” she said cheerfully. “Which means you’re special. He doesn’t talk about anyone.”I felt my cheeks warm at that.From the corner of my eye, I caught Alaric watching us, his expression unreadable—but there was something

KIMANI Late in the afternoon, I was curled up on the lounge chair with a book resting open on my lap. I’d started reading with good intentions, really. The kind where you tell yourself just one chapter and actually mean it. But somewhere between the second page and the third paragraph, my attention drifted. Ava. She was pacing the living room barefoot, phone pressed to her ear, moving back and forth like a woman negotiating world peace. She switched between French and English so fluidly it almost made my head spin. One second she was calmly explaining something in accented English, the next she was rattling off rapid French that sounded sharp, elegant, and slightly terrifying. Fabric swatches were spread across the coffee table again—silk, satin, velvet—each one richer than the last. Her sketches peeked out from beneath her tablet, corners curling from being handled too much. Everything she had neatly packed away earlier? Yeah. That organization lasted all of thirty minutes.