Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Billionaire's Proxy Bride : Kabanata 71 - Kabanata 80

“How do you feel about lying to him right now?”The words landed heavier than Lena expected. She froze on the seat opposite Eli's bed, her phone still warm in her hand from the call shed just ended. Eli was propped up against his pillows, thinner than she remembered, color still not fully returned to his face but alert enough—too alert. His eyes were sharp, fixed on her with that familiar mix of accusation and concern he’d perfected long before he ever got sick. Across the room, Cassie sat perched on the edge of the couch, legs crossed, hands folded neatly in her lap. She watched the exchange quietly, like someone observing a play she hadn’t paid for but couldn’t look away from.“Believe me,” Lena said finally, pinching the bridge of her nose and squeezing her eyes shut for a second, “I hated it more than you did.”Eli snorted softly. “Is he paying you now to lie to his own brother?”Her hand dropped from her face. She looked at him then and something hot flared behind her ribs.“Mind

Why her?You might be wondering.Yes, perhaps they had strikingly uncanny similarities—hell, maybe they shared the same face—but that wasn’t the reason. Not really. Not the thing that stayed with him long after logic should have intervened.Damon had tried to place the word for her ever since the first time he’d seen her through his wound-up glass seven months ago, to their first proper meeting at the hospital. He had turned the image over and over in his mind, searching for something sharper than coincidence, something sturdier than resemblance.All he’d found was intriguing.That she was intriguing.Anyone who knew the truth—anyone who knew about his real history with Amara, who cared enough to ask why he had made Lena stay in this for four months—he would tell them the same thing, delivered flatly, almost defensively: because she was intriguing. As if the word itself were enough explanation. As if it didn’t conceal a thousand quieter questions he refused to ask himself.Intriguing

Soon after, Richard rallied his men, sharp commands snapping through the estate as they filed out with military efficiency. He lingered at the threshold just long enough to look back, eyes cutting through the room like blades.“One week,” he repeated, voice calm, almost bored. “That’s all I give you.”Then he was gone.The sound of engines faded into the distance, leaving behind a silence that felt bruised.Damon didn’t wait. The moment he was sure the gates had closed, he pulled his phone from his pocket, thumb already moving as if muscle memory alone could carry him through the aftermath.“Yes, Barnes,” he said when the line connected, pacing now, adrenaline still buzzing under his skin. “I need all the men at your disposal at my premises.”He stopped by the window, peering out as if expecting Richard to materialize again.“Yeah. No, I don’t think so either,” he continued, jaw tightening. “I believe the estate may have been infiltrated once again.”A pause.“Thanks.”He ended the ca

They had been driven to The St. Regis New York, the kind of hotel that existed in quiet opulence—discreet doormen, polished brass, marble floors that swallowed sound. The kind of place where money didn’t announce itself; it simply was. Damon hadn’t said much when he gave the address, only nodded once to the driver, as though this were just another errand and not the aftermath of a siege.Before that, there had been shopping—brief, efficient, almost surreal. Lena barely remembered the boutique’s name, only the feel of silk sliding over her fingers and Damon’s distracted presence beside her as he paid without looking, his attention drifting elsewhere, his jaw still swollen, his hand absently brushing it every few minutes as if testing whether the pain had dulled.In the car to the hotel, a female police officer sat opposite them, posture straight, eyes alert but kind. She kept glancing at Lena through the glass partition, concern etched into her features.“Are you okay?” she asked gentl

One week laterLena sat in the garden of the Hale family estate, sunlight spilling through the trees in soft, dappled patterns as she painted. The world felt quieter out here—like it had agreed to lower its voice for her. There was a particular kind of peace she found in painting, one that felt almost sacred. The ability to take the mess of her emotions and translate them into color and form felt like an intimacy she didn’t have to explain to anyone. It was hers. It always had been.It had come from her mother.Don’t lose this gift, Lena. It’s a great thing, what you can do with your hands.The memory came unbidden, warm and sharp all at once. Her mother had said that when she’d handed her the easels and brushes she’d used as a teenager—an inheritance of sorts. The calm before the storm, Lena had thought back then.She hadn’t painted in months. The last time had been shortly after she moved into the house, when everything still felt too large and unfamiliar. Yet now, standing before t