All Chapters of FALLING FOR THE COLD BILLIONAIRE NEXT DOOR: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

VivianWhen I opened my eyes again, I was in my own bed. My head pounded, my throat felt like sandpaper, and my body was heavy with exhaustion. Somehow, I had made it home.I dragged myself into the kitchen, fumbling for a glass of water. The cool stream filled it halfway before I lifted it to my lips. Relief brushed over me for a moment—until the memories started to bleed back.The club. The man. Vincent’s hand steadying me. The cold night air.And then the kiss. My kiss.It slammed into me like a spotlight snapping on in a dark room. My lips pressed against his, the taste of alcohol, the heat of desperation. His stillness. My recklessness.The glass slipped from my hands and crashed against the tiles, shattering into bright, merciless pieces. Water spread across the floor like spilled secrets.I stared down at it, my chest tightening, horror sinking deeper with every breath.I kissed Vincent.Heat climbed my neck as if shame itself had taken root beneath my skin. He must have carrie

Vivian The auction ended with applause, but the dinner that followed carried a different kind of energy. The chandeliers no longer glowed for art—they glowed for spectacle. Laughter rose too loud, wine glasses clinked too often, and the scent of power and perfume mixed into something cloying. I sat at the round table with Vincent, Aurora, and Yvonne. Aurora was bubbling over, her words tumbling faster than the waiters could refill her glass. Yvonne leaned toward me, whispering now and then, her sharp humor pulling me back from drifting too far into my thoughts. I couldn’t stop thinking about the paintings. Vincent had bought three—two Aurora had practically claimed before the bidding began, and one I’d lingered on longer than I should have. The seascape. Quiet, bleak, but beautiful in its honesty. Aurora had laughed when the hammer fell, declaring, “He bought all my favorites.” I had convinced myself it was hers too, because what other explanation could there be? I was stil

Vivian The dinner had collapsed into chaos. Not in broken dishes or raised voices, but in something far worse—whispers.They slithered through the room like smoke, curling into every corner, creeping under every glittering chandelier. Forks moved. Glasses lifted. Smiles stretched thin. But no one was really eating anymore. The feast was me.“She’s the girlfriend?”“Vivian Kim… wait, isn’t that the name—?”“Yes. Google her. Now.”“I’ve already seen it. My God, it’s true.”“A washed up model like that… and Vincent Evans of all people?”“She doesn’t belong here. What is he thinking?”“A homewrecker. Tragic, really. Beautiful face, but broken inside.”Every word was a knife, every glance a scalpel. The glow of phone screens dotted the table, discreetly angled, as if the light itself didn’t betray their cruelty.They were searching me. They were dragging my past back into the light, tearing through the ashes of a life I had barely survived, and holding the bones up to laugh.I gripped my

Vincent The conference room smelled faintly of polished wood and tension. Around the oval table, executives and board members sat stiffly in tailored suits, their faces tight as they scrolled through headlines on glowing screens. Every whisper carried the same words. Vivian. Sarah. Girlfriend. Homewrecker. I sat at the head of the table, unmoving. Calm. That alone seemed to unnerve them more than if I’d raised my voice. “The timing of this scandal is unfortunate,” Mr. Han, the CFO, said, pushing his glasses higher on his nose. His tone carried a thread of panic he tried to disguise. “Our stock saw a dip this morning. Nothing dramatic yet, but investors are cautious. The narrative forming around… her… is the problem. If the media keeps painting her as an unstable distraction—” “Kim Seoyeon’s daughter,” another director cut in sharply. “That’s what the press is focusing on now. Her mother’s legacy was scandal enough, and now the daughter is being dragged as a reckless socialite. Do

Vivian The room felt suspended for a heartbeat — no clocks, no sound, just the unspoken weight of what Vincent hadn’t yet said.He moved first. With a deliberate slide, he pushed the folder aside and fixed me with a gaze that stripped away every defense I thought I’d built.“You want a solution?” His voice was quiet but edged like steel. “Then you need to become untouchable.”I frowned. “Untouchable? The headlines are already written. I’m in the middle of the fire. How exactly am I supposed to—”“Not alone.” He cut across me smoothly, as though my protests had already been anticipated, catalogued, dismissed. “You will not do this alone.”A chill ran down my arms. “So what—? You’re offering me your lawyers, your PR team? A bodyguard to shadow me through the day?”Vincent didn’t blink. “I’m offering myself.”The words snapped the air between us taut. For a second I thought I’d misheard him. His expression didn’t waver.“What does that even mean?” I demanded, my voice sharper now, to ma