All Chapters of His Wife On Paper : Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

Kian's POV I didn’t wait for the elevator. I hit the stairs, the fire of adrenaline burning through the exhaustion that had plagued me for weeks. Detective Miller’s text was a beacon in the dark, and I followed it like a predator that had finally caught the scent of blood.The city outside was a blur of neon and rain, but I didn't head for the penthouse or the polished streets of the Upper East Side. The GPS led me deep into the industrial district, a grimy, forgotten corner of New York where the shadows were thick and the air tasted of salt and rusted iron. It was a sharp, jarring contrast to the glass and steel of the Donovan towers. Here, there were no cameras to protect you—only the silence of the docks.I pulled the car to a halt in front of a dilapidated warehouse, the engine idling with a low, menacing growl. I stepped out, the cold rain soaking through my suit jacket instantly, but I didn't feel it. I was focused on the flickering light coming from a small office window at th

Eliora's POV The silence in the penthouse had shifted. It was no longer the heavy, suffocating silence of a cage, but a hollow, ringing quiet that followed Elijah’s sudden retreat. He pulled back from the hug, his hands dropping to his sides as if the very touch of me had become painful.He looked at me, and for the first time in two weeks, I saw something other than calculation in his eyes. He looked devastated. His shoulders slumped, and the sharp, untouchable edge of the billionaire mogul seemed to crumble."I'm becoming the very thing I'm trying to protect you from, aren't I?" he asked. The words were barely a whisper, laced with a self-loathing that hit me harder than his grip on my wrist ever could.I was caught off guard, my heart still racing from the fear of moments ago. "Elijah, I—""No, don't," he interrupted, holding up a hand. He turned away, walking toward the window to stare out at the city he had tried to keep me from. "I see it in your eyes. You’re afraid of me. The

Eliora's POV The mirror in my studio felt like an interrogator. I stared at my reflection, adjusting the collar of my trench coat, trying to recognize the woman looking back. My skin was still pale, the faint yellowing of bruises on my neck a map of a night I wanted to forget, but my eyes... they were the most foreign part of me. They looked tired of the secrets.It had been three days since Elijah brought me home, three days of him being the perfect, attentive fiancé. He had stayed just long enough to ensure the house was "secure," his presence a soft, silken weight that felt more like a web than a blanket. He had left eventually, citing business that couldn't wait, but the security guards at the gate remained.I needed to get out. Not to run, not to hide, but to simply exist in a space that didn't belong to a Donovan or a Hayes."I'm just going for a walk, Jude," I said as I reached the gate. My voice was firmer than I felt.Jude, whose eyes were constantly scanning the street, loo

Kian’s POVThe ice cube in my glass was a dying star. I watched it melt into the amber depths of the Macallan, a slow, inevitable dissolution that felt uncomfortably like my own.The lounge was one of those places where the rich go to disappear. The lighting was low enough to hide the bloodshot rim of a man’s eyes, and the jazz playing in the background was a soft, mournful drone that didn't demand anything but silence. I had been sitting in the same velvet armchair for three hours. Or maybe it was four. Time had become as fluid as the poison in my glass.I pulled my phone from my breast pocket. The screen flared to life, a jagged burst of white light that made my head throb. I went to my gallery. I didn't need to scroll. The photo was right there—the last one I’d taken of her before the world came apart. She was laughing, her hair a wild halo of mahogany, her eyes bright with a spark that I had extinguished.Friends.The word tasted like ash in my mouth. Every time I closed my eyes,

Eliora's POV "Are you okay, Eliora?"The question cut through the fog in my mind like a blade. I blinked, the world snapping back into a sharp, painful focus. I was sitting at my small breakfast table, a half-eaten croissant in front of me and a cup of coffee that had long since gone cold."Uhh? What?" I looked up, my voice sounding thin and distant even to my own ears.Elijah was watching me from across the table, his head tilted slightly to the side. He looked immaculate, as always—a charcoal suit that fit him with architectural precision, his hair swept back with practiced ease. He didn't look like a threat; he looked like a sanctuary. He looked like the man who had pulled me from the wreckage, both literal and emotional, and offered me a place to hide."You've been quiet all morning," he said, his eyes filled with a soft, genuine concern that made my stomach twist. He set his linen napkin aside, leaning forward and resting his chin on his hand. "You’ve barely touched your breakfas