Todos los capítulos de TAMING THE BILLIONAIRE; My Brother's Best Friend : Capítulo 151 - Capítulo 160

Aaron’s POVPain was the first thing that greeted me as I opened my eyes.It wasn't sharp. It wasn't sudden. It was deep, heavy, everywhere-like my body had been dropped from a great height and forgotten at the bottom. My head throbbed with a dull, relentless ache, each heartbeat sending a pulse of agony straight through my skull. I groaned-the sound barely leaving my throat before it dissolved into a rasp.My right eye refused to open.The first thing that came to my mind was that I had gone blind.The panic fluttered weakly in my chest as I tried again, trying harder to force my eyelid upward. A blur of color swam into view-dark bruised hues bleeding into one another. Purple. Blue. Black. The world on that side looked like it had been dunked in ink.Black eye. Whatever they medically call it, it felt like hell.The ceiling above me was starkly white, too bright; the fluorescent lights drilled straight into my already pounding skull. I stared at it, unmoving, because moving hurt. Br

Aaron's POV The words slipped from my lips before I could hold them back. They were silent, ugly, and definite.“I killed him.”Connor remained perfectly motionless for a second.He just looked at me.I studied the look on his face—the way his eyebrows came together, the way his mouth opened slightly as if he'd misunderstood. As if his mind was literally slamming the door shut on the sentence. This was a look I'd seen on him before, back when we were kids, and something just hadn’t clicked.“You—” he began, then halted. “What do you mean you killed him?”It wasn’t loud yet. It was a confused tone. A tentative tone. As if he was getting near a wild beast that might bite him.“My stepfather,” I began, my voice thick with emotion. “Paul. I"You killed him?" Connor cut in, his tone sharper now. "Saying it like it's—like it's a phrase you'd practiced. What do you mean you killed your step-dad?"I swallowed. My chest was far too small for my lungs. “It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t—God, Con

Mandy's POVHis presence seemed to be everywhere.It was in the way the air seemed warmer when he moved, in the quiet gravity that pulled my attention back to him no matter where I looked. My heart kept tripping over itself, skipping beats like it had forgotten how to function properly. Every nerve felt alive, buzzing, embarrassingly aware, a pool already forming in-between my thighs.He finished hanging the rest of the paintings with precise care, stepped back to inspect them like it really mattered that they were straight, then returned to the couch and went back to his toast: calm, composed, almost innocent.As if he hadn't just unravelled me completely.I stood there a second longer than was necessary, forcing myself to breathe like a normal person before walking back over and sitting beside him.“Thank you,” I said softly. “For helping with the paintings.”He nodded, swallowing the last bite, wiping his hands on a napkin. Casual. Grounded. The exact opposite of how I felt.“So,”

Aaron’s POVThere had been weeks of complete silence. Weeks that had reduced the world to a small, crushing box that I was trapped inside. I had been discharged from the hospital a few days ago, but I had found that leaving that antiseptic room had not set me free—it had merely made life even more cumbersome. My home, that once had been a refuge for me, now seemed empty, resonating with every beat of my heart like a morbid reminder that life was going on, even though I was stuck in suspended animation.Every fiber of me hurt. My cuts and bruises were only the physical manifestation of the pain, but the ache within me, the hollow feeling, the flux of guilt that roiled through me like an insatiable monster, that was mine. Cheryl and Mandy had become my lifelines, coming by periodically to make sure I was holding together somewhat, but those relationships had frayed too. I can see it—the tension marking Cheryl's face, the tired slump of Mandy's shoulders as she smiled, but they still f

Gil’s POVI was tired. Not tired enough that a night’s rest would cure me of my fatigue but tired to my very bones; tired enough that taking a breath was an effortMy own arms were aching from holding Amelia, her small form weighed down by her sleepiness, her head resting snug in the crook of my neck, as if it were her rightful place. This was what she always did when she was frightened or undone, and she certainly had cause to be both tonight.Aaron's fingers relaxed around my shoulders, slow and gentle, as if he could sense my fatigue through my skin. The instant he relaxed his grip, something in my chest gave way.I locked eyes with him, really saw him, and my heart ripped in two.One side of me wanted me to drag him back into my arms and hold him like I used to when he was young and crying about skinned knees or smashed toys.That part wanted to erase the past six years. It wanted to forget that anything bad had occurred. It wanted my son to be my son again.The other half of me w