All Chapters of Pregnant for the Heartless Billionaire: Chapter 161 - Chapter 170

Damien’s POVThe conference room felt colder than I remembered. Even with the morning light spilling through the tall glass windows, the atmosphere was taut, charged with the nervous energy that always came when power shifted hands.Half the seats at the long mahogany table were empty. Four members had resigned the week before, dumped their shares, cut their losses, vanished. The ones who remained looked weary but relieved to see me walk in.They expected me to take charge. To reclaim my seat and restore order.But I had a different plan.Elena walked beside me, composed, graceful. She wore a navy suit that matched the calm in her eyes. I could tell she was uneasy; she wasn’t used to standing before these people as an equal yet. But she had done it for my sake.When we entered, everyone stood.“Mr Rothschild,” one of the directors greeted, voice tight with respect. “It’s good to see you back.”“Thank you,” I said, scanning the room. “Please, sit.”I walked slowly toward the head of

Elena’s POVDamien’s broad frame was crowding mine, trapping me in place. His hands planted on either side of my head, caging me completely, his body heat enveloping me like a brand.'You've been naughty, Elena,' he growled, voice low and rough, vibrating through my chest. His free hand slid up my thigh, shoving the fabric of my pencil skirt higher, calloused fingers tracing the edge of my stockings before dipping under the lace of my panties. He teased the damp heat there, stroking lightly, making my knees weaken.A soft moan escaped me, my body betraying how desperately I wanted this. 'Damien...' I breathed, but words failed as his touch ignited sparks along my nerves.He leaned in close, lips brushing the tender skin of my neck, teeth nipping sharply enough to draw a gasp. 'Nothing turns me on more than a ruthless, fearless boss lady,' he murmured, hot breath fanning my ear. 'You took charge, defended what's ours. Now, I'm going to remind you who you belong to.'His words were a co

Elena’s POVAdrian looked different. Lean, tired, eyes shadowed, but alive, and that meant he’d found something. When he stepped into Damien’s office, he paused long enough to take in the sight before him.“You look good, Damien,” he said, voice carrying a warmth that almost masked his exhaustion. “Better than the last time I saw you.”Damien smiled faintly. “I’m told I make a habit of surviving things I shouldn’t.”Adrian exhaled through his nose, the ghost of a grin tugging at his mouth. “Glad you didn’t make a liar out of me.”He dropped the thick folder he carried onto the desk. The sound was heavy, final. I sat near Damien, legs crossed, my palms resting flat on my thighs, bracing for whatever storm Adrian had brought back with him.“You’ve been gone for a week,” Damien said. “I assume it wasn’t a vacation.”Adrian shook his head. “No. Not even close.”He dragged a hand down his face, as though he needed a second to find the right place to start. When he finally spoke, the word

Elena’s POVFor the first time in what felt like a lifetime, the house smelled of spice, warmth, and laughter. It didn’t smell like hospitals or disinfectant, or fear. It smelled like home.Lunch spread across the long oak table like a painting, saffron rice glimmering in the sunlight, bowls of curried lentils, a rich, golden Murgh Musallam that shimmered with butter glaze, freshly baked naan still steaming, and sweet kheer in small glass cups.I stood at the head of the table for a moment, watching everyone find their seats. It struck me how fragile peace was, how fleeting. A few days ago, I’d been crying beside Damien’s hospital bed, begging him to live. Now he was sitting upright, alive, smiling, laughing softly at Arya’s antics as she tried to balance a naan on her head like a hat.My heart swelled painfully.Alia and Elijah had outdone themselves. They moved in and out of the kitchen, faces glowing with pride and exhaustion. Mrs Longman fluttered around them like a mother hen, as

Damien’s POVJames’s voice rasped against the static of the mic, low and broken from hours of interrogation. The fluorescent lights flickered above him, casting his shadow long across the cracked floor. His head hung heavy, blood streaking down his neck, but his tone, his damned tone, still carried arrogance.“It was a simple goal,” he began, coughing through the words. “Get Elena out of your life so Isabelle could get in.”My jaw clenched. The bastard sounded almost amused. He knew I was here.When the interrogator asked him why, James chuckled hoarsely. “I have told you already. To get the company, of course.”His laugh turned bitter. “My mother was cheated. Fifteen percent. That’s all she got. Fifteen, when she was as much a Rothschild as Thomas. She married the wrong, I guess. They called my father a gold-digging good for nothing. My father! The fact that I had to scrap and fight just to add another five per cent myself? That was wrong. Everything was wrong.”He lifted his swollen