Semua Bab His Wife On Paper : Bab 91 - Bab 100

Eliora's POV The vibration of my phone against the marble kitchen island sounded like a rattle-snake. I looked at the screen to know who it was and a long sigh escaped my lips. I swiped the glass with a trembling finger. "Lydia.""Fifty thousand, Eliora," the voice on the other end purred, devoid of any warmth. It was the sound of a woman who had spent her life measuring people in currency. "The first installment. Consider it a down payment on my continued silence. I want it moved by noon.""I told you I’d get it to you," I snapped, my hand tightening on the edge of the counter. "But I need time to move things around without Elijah seeing the transaction.""You have three hours. Don't be late, darling. It makes me forgetful."The line went dead. I stared at the phone, a cold sweat breaking out across my collarbone. I pulled up my private banking app, my thumbs flying across the screen. ACCESS DENIED.I blinked and frowned. I re-entered the password.ACCOUNT FLAGGED. PLEASE CONTACT

Eliora's POV "It’s a fascinating read, Eliora. Though I’ve always found that fiction is so much more palatable when the author doesn’t have a personal... *investment* in the tragedy."Mia’s voice was like honey poured over a blade—sweet, smooth, and designed to draw blood. She stood beside Kian, her hand draped with casual, devastating familiarity over his forearm. The cream lace of her sleeve contrasted sharply against his dark suit, a visual reminder of how easily she fitted back into his world.I forced a smile, one I felt in the tight muscles of my jaw. "It’s a biography, Mia. Facts tend to be investment enough. But I suppose for some, the truth is harder to digest than others.""Oh, I’m sure," she chirped, her blue eyes wide and vacant of any real warmth. She leaned closer to Kian, her shoulder brushing his. "Kian was just telling me how efficient you’ve become. It’s such a strong word for a woman, don’t you think? Like a well-oiled machine."Kian didn't look at me. He didn't mo

Kian's POV This was the fifth time in two minutes that I’d caught myself staring at Eliora like a lost puppy.I hated it. I hated the way my eyes magnetically pulled toward her every time she laughed or tucked a stray hair behind her ear. I was supposed to be the one in control. I was the one who had built an empire from the wreckage of my father’s mistakes, yet here I was, unraveling because of the way the bookstore light hit the curve of her neck.Beside me, Mia was a constant, irritating presence. She was talking, chattering about some gala in Paris or a designer I was supposed to care about, and her hand was a heavy, unwelcome weight on my bicep. Three years ago, I would have burned the world down for that touch. Now, it just made my skin crawl.Mia was my first love, but that love had died the moment she traded my ring for another man’s bed and a one-way ticket out of the country. She was back now, acting as if she hadn't shattered my world, and I knew exactly why. My mother. To

Eliora's POV The world was a blur of heat and the scent of cedar. We didn't just walk into the back office; we collided into it. The door slammed shut behind us, the sound swallowed by the frantic thrumming of my heart. Kian’s hands were everywhere—on my waist, tangled in my hair, pulling me flush against the hard, unyielding line of his body.We stumbled toward the heavy mahogany desk in the center of the room. I didn't care about the books outside, the fans, or the reputation I had spent years meticulously crafting. All I cared about was the fire. He lifted me effortlessly, my silk dress riding up as he settled me onto the edge of the table. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, needing to erase every inch of air between us.My fingers were clumsy, fueled by a desperate kind of hunger. I tugged at his silk tie, loosening it until it hung limp around his neck. I shoved the charcoal suit jacket off his shoulders, hearing it hit the floor with a soft thud. My breath

Eliora's POV "He’s a fighter, Eliora," she whispered. "You know he is.”Margaret sat beside me, her hand resting on my shoulder. She was a pillar of quiet strength, but even she couldn't mask the worry etched into the lines around her eyes.I couldn't even nod. The guilt was a physical weight, a leaden stone sitting in the pit of my stomach. I looked down at my hands—the same hands that, less than an hour ago, had been fumbling with Kian’s shirt buttons. The same hands that had slapped him in a fit of rage. While I was playing passion and old ghosts, my son was collapsing. I had been so wrapped up in my feelings, in the fake engagement, in the intoxicating chaos of Kian, that I had missed the signs. The paleness of his skin this morning. The way he’d been more lethargic than usual.I am a failure.The thought looped in my mind, cruel and relentless. Am I even fit to be a mother? A real mother would have seen it coming. A real mother wouldn't have been distracted by an ex-husband's sce