All Chapters of The Billionaire's Rebellious Bride: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

(Hailey’s Pov)When I open my eyes, the world feels soft and wrong.The ceiling above me tilts a little, like the house is swaying. My head throbs in waves, heavy and dull. Sweat sticks to my skin, and the sheets feel too hot, too tangled around my legs.I try to sit up but the air presses on me, thick and heavy like a blanket. My throat burns when I swallow. Everything smells faintly of flowers and sleep, that mild lavender scent the maids love to spray before dawn.I glance at the clock on the nightstand. Ten thirty.Santino should be gone. Of course he is.The memory of last night’s kiss flashes through my head like lightning. His lips. His voice. The way he said my name.I push the thought away. My stomach twists painfully, and the room tilts again.Someone knocks on the door. The sound is too loud.“Mrs. Blackwood?”It’s a small voice nervous, polite. A maid’s voice.I manage to croak, “Come in.”The door opens, and a young woman steps inside, holding a tray. Her uniform is cris

Santino’s pov)For a moment, I just stand there, frozen, the soft fabric pressed against my skin. I lower it slowly, staring at Hailey sitting upright on the hospital bed. Her hair is a wild mess around her head, her cheeks flushed from fever, and her sharp eyes look like they could slice through steel.She looks alive. Furious but alive.“What the hell was that for?” I ask, voice low, still half in shock.She crosses her arms over her chest and glares at me. “That’s for dragging me here without my consent, Santino. Who told you I wanted to be in a hospital?”Her tone is sharp enough to cut through the calm silence of the room. My brows shoot up in disbelief. “Without your consent?” I repeat slowly, as if she’s just said the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. “You literally passed out in my arms, Hailey! Your mouth was wide open, you were drooling on my shirt, and your body was burning like fire! What the hell was I supposed to do, ask your unconscious body for permission?”Her ey

(Santino’s Pov)The morning light spills through the window like melted gold, touching the edge of the white hospital sheets. I blink against it and stretch my neck. My back screams in protest after spending the night in that damned chair. Hailey’s still asleep, curled up under the blanket, her face half-hidden. For a moment, I just look at her.She looks peaceful. The soft rhythm of her breathing, the way her hair spills across the pillow, the faint frown that never seems to leave her face even when she’s asleep, it’s strange how used I’m getting to watching her.A nurse knocks softly and tells me she’s cleared to be discharged. I nod, murmuring a quiet “thank you,” before glancing at Hailey again. The moment the nurse leaves, Hailey stirs and blinks her eyes open. Her lashes flutter, her eyes heavy with sleep.“Morning,” I say quietly.She groans and rolls over, dragging the blanket over her head. “I hate mornings.”I smile before I can stop myself. “No one likes mornings.”Her hea

(SANTINO’S POV)For the past few days, my life has been falling apart piece by piece.The message that Marcus forwarded to my phone was the beginning. Then the strange texts followed. They were short, harmless messages that carried a tone too personal to be random. Then came the videos. None of them were threatening. They didn’t demand money, didn’t issue warnings, didn’t say why they were being sent. But they had something else. knowledge. Knowledge of me.The sender seemed to know everything. Things that even my family didn’t know. Things from my childhood that I’d buried under years of silence and work.The first message called me piccolo Santos.That name hit me harder than any bullet ever could. It was what my uncle used to call me when I was a boy before he died. No one has used that name since then. Not even my parents.The messages came with videos too, videos of me in places that should have been private. My office, my home garage, my car. Footage that wasn’t supposed to e

I don’t wait for Santino to say another hateful thing. I don’t wait for Marcus to give me that pitying look again. I turn sharply on my heels, my chin lifting the way it always does when my pride holds the pieces of me together, and I storm up the stairs. My pulse is pounding so loudly in my ears that everything else fades into a dull buzzing. My zeal to taste Emma’s cake dies instantly, flickering out like a candle under a storm.The moment I reach my room, I slam the door behind me. The sound rattles the frame, and it’s satisfying in a small, useless way. I stand there for a breath, my fingers trembling, my chest tight with the weight of everything, his hands around my neck, his accusations, his voice spitting my father’s sins at me as if they were my own.My throat burns.My hands move before my brain fully catches up. I stalk toward my drawer, yank it open, and rummage until I find my car key buried under a pile of silk scarves. My jaw clenches. I toss the scarves aside and grip t