Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Billionaire's secret baby bride : Kabanata 61 - Kabanata 70

Isabella’s POVThe night had settled into a tense, suffocating quiet, but I couldn’t relax. Every creak of the mansion, every whisper of wind through the broken windowpanes, felt like a predator moving closer. My body ached from the previous confrontation—arms bruised, fingers raw, muscles trembling from adrenaline—but I couldn’t rest. Not yet. Not until Alexander was awake, not until I was certain that Viktor had truly retreated.I sat on the edge of the bed, leaning against the headboard, my fingers entwined with his. He was pale, his chest rising and falling in uneven rhythms, but he was alive. That was enough for now. I pressed my lips to his temple, closing my eyes, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath mine.“I can’t lose you,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I won’t. I can’t.”Hours seemed to stretch into eternity. Every time I thought I might drift into a restless sleep, a noise would snap me awake—a shadow flitting across the hallway, a whisper too soft to be real, a draft

The night air was sharper than broken glass against my skin. The wind carried the scent of damp earth and smoke, rolling in from the hills, as if the entire world was holding its breath for what lay ahead. The cliffs loomed in the distance, jagged like teeth tearing through the horizon, and every step we took toward them felt like a descent into a mouth ready to swallow us whole.I walked at Alexander’s side, though his pace was steady and his posture commanding, mine faltered with the weight of dread pressing into my chest. His men moved around us like shadows—silent, cold, focused. No laughter. No whispers. Not even the sound of idle boots dragging in the dirt. Only the synchronized rhythm of trained killers marching toward whatever awaited us.Every so often, I’d glance up at him. His jaw was locked, his eyes burning with that same fire I’d come to know—the one that meant he was already halfway gone into the darker part of himself. The part that knew no mercy. The part that didn’t

(Alexander’s POV)The silence after Isabella’s voice cut off was the kind that gnawed into my bones, the kind that left echoes of her trembling words wrapped around my chest like a vice. She had begged me not to leave her. She had pleaded in her broken, quivering tone, “Don’t become like him.”Him. My father.The name I had spent my entire life trying to crawl out from under, now staining the way she saw me.I sat in the darkened corner of the room, the moonlight slicing through the broken blinds, painting harsh silver lines across the floor. My knuckles were still raw, still bruised from the fight, the confrontation that left blood soaking into my skin—blood that refused to wash off, no matter how many times I scrubbed. It wasn’t just the blood of enemies anymore. It was the blood of betrayal, of power, of a man I swore I’d never become.I could still hear Isabella’s breathing in the next room, shallow but steady. She had finally fallen into a restless sleep, her body fragile, her sp

(Alexander’s POV)The blood wouldn’t leave my hands.No matter how many times I wiped them against the fabric of my ruined shirt, the crimson clung to my skin, sticky and warm, like the weight of every sin I had ever committed had seeped beneath the surface. It smelled of iron, of finality. And yet I couldn’t look away.The man on the floor coughed wetly, blood frothing at the corners of his mouth. His eyes rolled back for a moment before snapping forward again, wild, desperate, clinging to the last shred of life he had left. He was terrified—and with good reason.I’d made him that way.Behind me, I could feel Isabella’s eyes burning into me, her fear mixing with something else—something sharper. She’d seen me at my worst tonight, seen the beast I fought so hard to cage, and though she came to me, touched me, whispered that I wasn’t my father, I could still feel the fracture between us widening.She thinks she sees me. But the truth is, even I don’t recognize the reflection staring ba

(Isabella’s POV)The storm outside was merciless. Wind howled through the broken window, carrying the scent of rain and iron—the scent of blood. My blood.I was still alive. Barely.My wrists burned against the ropes that cut into my skin. My vision was blurred, the edges of the world flickering in and out, but I could feel everything—the cold floor beneath me, the pulse of terror racing through my chest, the steady drip of rain from the ceiling above.I remembered the sound first. The gunfire. The heavy boots. The sharp hiss of one of Alexander’s men before the lights were torn from the ceiling. And then the chaos—hands, rough and unrelenting, dragging me from the bed. I had screamed his name, once, twice, over and over until my throat was raw.He didn’t hear me.He couldn’t.And now I was here. Somewhere I didn’t recognize. The walls were old concrete, cracked and damp, lit by a single flickering bulb that swung overhead. The air reeked of mildew and fear.My hands trembled as I tug