Semua Bab The Billionaire's Proxy Bride : Bab 11 - Bab 20

She had stopped counting the days since Damon left for Madrid. Days bled into each other inside the glass mansion as she performed the same rituals like some robot to the dismay of the staff. Curse, grumble, sketch, look out the window, pace around the room, go to the greenhouse and back again. Clara had left countless mails for him but he simply couldn't be bothered to treat it as priority. After all what more was she other than a stand in bride. To keep her from losing her mind, she claimed one of the unused guest rooms on the east wing and turned it to what she called her studio.She’d found an old easel in the storage room and dragged it up herself, ignoring the thin layer of dust that clung to her clothes. Now, as she stood before the easel, a streak of ochre on her wrist, she could almost forget where she was.The curtains were drawn back, letting in ribbons of sunlight, the floor was speckled with bits of dried paint, and on the windowsill sat her water jar, brushes and the

The door banged shut behind him so hard the picture frames on the wall rattled.He stood there for a second, breathing hard, his fingers still curled around the doorknob.“She takes me for a fool,” he muttered under his breath. “Lenient–that’s what I’ve been. Too damn lenient.”He crossed the room in quick, angry strides, muttering as he went. “Let her stay. Let her breathe. Let her have space. And she goes sneaking out like a petty thief through a fucking window”He slammed his palm on the desk, hard enough to make a stack of papers slide off.“Brilliant, Damon. Absolutely brilliant.”He yanked his phone off the table and jabbed at the screen until the line clicked.“Security.”“It’s Hale,” he said, jaw tight. “Cancel that little investigation into the anonymous message. False alarm.”There was a long pause. Long enough that he frowned.“Did you not hear me?”“Yes, sir we did.” The voice said, hesitating“But.. There's been a small irregularity.”Damon stopped pacing. “Irregularity?”

Lena blinked. “Excuse me?” The word came out on instinct.She knew it was part of the contract, buried somewhere in the middle of all the clauses and fine print—but this? This was too soon.“So quickly…” The words slipped out before she could stop them.He turned his head slightly, a sharp, knowing look tugging at his mouth. “Don’t tell me—”“Of course not” she cut in with a grimace. “I meant, why so suddenly? Earlier this morning, I was being scolded, and now we’re getting engaged?” Her voice dropped lower near the end, almost a whisper. She didn’t want to give anyone nearby more gossip to run with.Damon sighed, rubbing his jaw in irritation. “This was the last card in the book I could pull to save this from your incompetence.”Lena’s brow furrowed. “What did I do this time?”“You’re all over the news again, if you must know,” he said flatly. “This time, they think an intruder was trying to invade the premises.”“When it was just me,” she muttered, completing his thought.“Exactly,”

The ballroom doors loomed ahead like something out of a royal coronation—tall, gold-rimmed, and impossibly heavy-looking, guarded by men in tuxedos with earpieces tucked discreetly behind their ears. Lena adjusted the clutch in her hand and tried not to trip on her heels while her arm linked with Damon’s. From the moment they stepped onto the red carpet, she smiled until her jaw ached. Cameras had exploded in their faces, flashes ricocheting off the marble walls. Damon had greeted them all with that perfect, calculated half-smile of his while she stood beside him, pretending she wasn’t seconds away from suffocating under her dress. Occasionally, they would shout; “Smile for the camera Amara!” And she would. Now, as they waited by the entrance to the ballroom, Damon leaned slightly toward her, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “Before we go in, a few things you need to know.” Lena blinked, still adjusting to the sensory overload—the glint of diamonds, the faint perfume of

The display in front of her was a surreal cityscape, folded in on itself like something of a dream. The buildings bent toward one another, catching lighting in impossible angles as she tilted both sides wondering if it could change shape. When it did not, she glanced down to read the digital plaque glowing beneath the frame:Lot 34.Urban Reverie–R. Danes. Current Bid: $120,000.A man’s voice came from just across her.“Fun fact. The artist drew that by hand. No software nor ruler grids. Just three years of soft torture and sheer lunacy.”She turned to her side to see Gideon standing a few feet away, hands tucked in his pockets,the faintest grin tugging at his mouth.“Three years?” she said with a raised brow.He nodded. “Yeah. He was obsessed with memory. Said he wanted the city to look the way it does in our heads — how it starts to change every time you picture it again. That’s why the lines don’t line up. Every redraw, he changed someth