All Chapters of The Billionaire's secret baby bride : Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

(Isabella’s POV)The mansion felt different in the early hours of the morning — quieter, colder, almost sterile in its emptiness. Every corner I glanced at reminded me of the chaos we had endured, of the bloodshed and the shadows that clung to us like a second skin. My muscles ached, my mind was sharp with tension, and yet I couldn’t shake the sense that danger was still out there, watching, waiting.Alexander was already awake, moving silently through the war room, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the monitors. He didn’t need to speak — the intensity radiating from him was palpable, an invisible force pressing down on the room, on me, on the very air around us.I lingered at the doorway, watching him. He was meticulous, calculating, methodical, tracing lines on the map, marking points, connecting dots. His focus was absolute, and I realized then that the war was far from over. The traitor we had caught at the factory was only a fragment of a much larger scheme, a hidden

(Isabella’s POV)The dawn arrived like a reluctant whisper — pale light spilling across the marble floors, painting the remnants of last night’s chaos in muted gold. Blood, dust, and silence. The air still carried the metallic tang of violence. I stood by the window, arms wrapped tightly around myself, watching the horizon bleed into color, but feeling none of its warmth.The house was too quiet. Every sound — the hum of the generator, the faint chirp of a bird outside — seemed to echo in the stillness like a reminder of everything that had almost been lost.Alexander was downstairs, giving orders, calculating our next move. He had hardly slept. His voice had been sharp, commanding, the voice of a man still running on fury and adrenaline. But underneath, I had heard something else — the kind of exhaustion that doesn’t come from lack of sleep, but from carrying too much.When I finally went down to him, he was by the long table in the living room, maps and blueprints spread out like a

The house felt smaller, as if my walls had somehow shrunk to keep the secrets and the blood inside. Every room still remembered the sounds from the warehouse, the crunch of bone, the wet finality of the floor. I could not make the memory disappear. I had expected something else after what I had done, some kind of release, a settling of the score. I got nothing except thicker air and a danger that smelled like rain and steel.Nikolai did not speak on the drive back. He sat beside me like a man who had been given an order he did not want to execute. His silence was a verdict. His silence said more than any man should need to say to the leader he served.When we pulled up, Isabella was there on the balcony, hands folded as if she had been waiting against a cold that was both real and imagined. She looked at me and I could see the question in her face. She wanted to know everything and she wanted to know nothing, all at once. That contradiction bruised me.I stepped into the light with th

(Alexander’s POV)The silence after she walked away felt heavier than any wound I had ever endured.No bullet, no betrayal, no loss had ever felt like this—like a hollow echo expanding inside me, devouring everything in its path. Isabella’s eyes haunted me—the way she looked at me before leaving, not with fear, but with something worse: disbelief. As if she’d finally seen the monster behind the man she tried so hard to love.My fists trembled on the table. The whiskey glass in front of me remained untouched, amber light catching the edges like liquid fire. I wanted to drink it, to burn away everything inside me, but I couldn’t. My throat felt like it was closing, the air too thick to breathe.“Sir?”Luca’s voice broke through the suffocating quiet.He stood near the doorway, uncertain, his usual sharpness softened by caution. He knew not to cross the line when my temper teetered on the edge of something dangerous.“Leave,” I said quietly.He hesitated. “Alexander—”“Leave.”He obeyed.

Isabella’s POVThe sound of footsteps cracking over the wet ground froze me in place. My chest heaved, every breath sharp and cold, the rain drenching my hair and clothes. I could feel the tension in Alexander’s muscles beside me, rigid and ready, his gun raised but his gaze scanning every shadow.“Stay behind me,” he muttered, voice low, controlled, but laced with something I couldn’t name—fear? Anger? Both?I swallowed hard, my hands shaking despite my efforts to steady them. He was calm, deadly calm, like a panther poised to strike. And me? I was nothing more than prey trapped in the storm, drenched and trembling, too terrified to move yet too awake to shut down.Another set of footsteps. Faster now. Louder. Whoever—or whatever—was approaching wasn’t hesitant. They wanted us.The hair on my arms rose. I wanted to scream, to run, to hide. But my legs refused. My instincts betrayed me, freezing me in place as Alexander’s grip on my arm tightened, grounding me, anchoring me to reality