All Chapters of FALLING FOR THE COLD BILLIONAIRE NEXT DOOR: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

VincentThe kitchen still felt heavy, like the air hadn’t cleared since she walked out.I stood there longer than I should have, my hands braced against the counter, replaying the moment in an endless loop. The closeness. The way her breath hitched. The look in her eyes when I leaned in—like she was waiting.Like she would have let me.And then her own rule, the damn one she’d set between us, thundered in my head. No real feelings. A barrier I’d agreed to, thinking it would keep things clean. Simple. Temporary.But it was anything but simple now.I’d almost kissed her. I still wasn’t sure why I’d stopped—self-control, fear, or some twisted sense of honor. Whatever it was, it left me restless, pacing through the day like someone had switched the rhythm of my pulse.A slow, torturous disaster.⸻The next morning, I buried myself in work. My laptop glowed on the desk, papers scattered around me, but focus was slippery. Every time I tried to read a contract, I caught myself thinking about

Vivian The café was nearly empty when I slid into the booth across from Yvonne. A soft jazz playlist hummed in the background, competing with the hiss of the espresso machine. It smelled like roasted beans and vanilla syrup, a cozy bubble far away from fabric scraps and the constant hum of my thoughts. Yvonne was already there, nursing an iced Americano despite the morning chill. Her laptop was open beside her plate of untouched croissants, and I could tell by the way her fingers tapped restlessly against the glass that she’d been staring at a blinking cursor far too long. “Writer’s block?” I asked, pulling off my coat and draping it over the chair. She groaned, dramatically dropping her forehead to the table. “Try scriptwriter’s block. It’s like regular writer’s block but meaner. My brain feels like soggy toast.” I smiled, sliding her croissant closer. “Eat first. Maybe inspiration comes with carbs.” She peeked up at me, mock-offended. “Fallon said the same thing last nigh

VincentThe Avron Museum smelled like money and old wine. Not literally, of course, but the combination of polished marble, expensive perfume, and the smug laughter of men who thought their portfolios made them interesting always carried that weight.I hated events like this.Still, I came.One of my longest-standing business partners had secured a wing sponsorship for the evening, and showing face was part of the unspoken contract. Shake hands, make small talk, smile just enough to reassure the investors I wasn’t some machine. Then disappear before the boredom killed me.I was halfway through a conversation about foreign property taxes when it happened.My eyes drifted, scanning the crowd, and landed on her.Vivian.I almost missed what the man in front of me said. The glass of wine in my hand went suddenly heavy, fingers tightening around the stem.She looked… different. Not the woman who stormed into my office with defiance in her eyes. Not the one who argued over contracts or scow

Vivian The corridor felt colder after Daniel Han walked away. No—Appa. My chest still ached from the quiet hug, the faint warmth of his hand brushing my shoulder before he left without another word. It had been stiff, awkward, nothing like the father-daughter reunions I once daydreamed about. Yet something inside me rattled loose, like an old door unlatched after years of silence. I slipped back into the exhibition hall, but the walls felt too white, the chatter too sharp. Everything blurred around me, too bright and too loud. I didn’t tell Yvonne. I couldn’t—not yet. She’d push, ask, demand. And I was still trying to breathe. “Vivian!” Cameron’s voice grounded me. He wove through the crowd with that easy smile of his, tall and warm, exuding a steadiness that was almost irritating in its effortlessness. “You’re hard to catch in a place like this,” he teased when he reached me. “Crowds aren’t really my thing.” “Funny,” he said, tilting his head. “You stand out more in

Vivian I should’ve gone straight home. That was the plan—grab a late coffee, collapse on the couch, maybe sketch a little before bed. But the message from Daniel Han still burned in my pocket. Ha-eun… It’s been too long. I know I don’t have the right to ask anything of you, but if you’d like to meet, I’ll be at Blanc, Hotel Avron. Dinner. If you need more time, I’ll understand. If you never want to come, I’ll accept that too. Blanc wasn’t far. In fact, the cab I’d flagged outside Madam Bello’s shop was already heading in that direction before I forced myself to admit where I was going. “Change of stop,” I told the driver, my voice tight. “Hotel Avron.” By the time we pulled up outside Blanc, my palms were damp. I almost asked the driver to keep going. Almost. Inside, the restaurant was all glass and soft lighting, the kind of place that whispered wealth instead of shouting it. A hostess smiled and guided me toward the back corner. And there he was. Daniel Han. My fath