Todos los capítulos de Protecting the Billionaire’s Daughter: Capítulo 11 - Capítulo 20

He arrived like a bad thought come to life.By the time the guest was announced, the house smelled of cut roses and starch, as if the staff tried to bleach away the truth with floral perfume. I smoothed my palms over my skirt until my fingers went numb. Every mirror on the corridor reflected a pale face I didn’t recognize — the same eyes, the same mouth, only harder now.He arrived in a town car that looked too shiny for the drizzle. They brought him straight into the east wing like a royal guest. I was told to appear in the drawing room, to show gratitude and grace, like a painted animal at a show. Father had that look again—flat, rehearsed—when he introduced me.“Aria, meet Edward Sterling,” he said. “A fine man. A pillar.”If pillars could leer, he was one.Edward was the kind of man whose looks lived in the shadow of his money. He had a face that would have been handsome in another life; instead it looked worn, like a painting left too long in the sun.A thick mouth, small expecta

By the third day after Edward’s death, the house had begun to breathe again — not with peace, but with purpose.Servants polished every surface. New flowers arrived. Father’s voice could be heard in the study, clipped and firm, arranging meetings, silencing gossip.To the outside world, we were a family in mourning.Inside, we were preparing for the next transaction.When the doorbell rang that afternoon, I already knew who it was.Father had been expecting him — Carl Sterling, Edward’s younger brother.The man who would arrive as condolence, but stay as strategy.He stepped through the doorway like he owned it.Tall. Broad-shouldered. Impeccably dressed in charcoal and silk. His features were almost too perfect — sharp jaw, sculpted cheekbones, eyes the color of whiskey poured in candlelight. He smiled, and it felt like the world exhaled for him.Even the maids paused to stare.“Carl,” Father said, rising to shake his hand. “I can’t tell you how sorry we are. Edward’s death was… sudd

The house had never been this loud.Not even at Christmas. Not even when Father used to throw his grand charity balls just to remind the city that the Kingsleys still ruled its air.Every hallway pulsed with footsteps, with florists and decorators and the hollow chatter of people who didn’t know they were helping bury me alive.Tomorrow, I would become Mrs. Carl Sterling.Tonight, I was still me. Barely.Evelyn Sterling arrived again at dusk, her presence swallowing the room before she even spoke. She was beautiful in that untouchable, practiced way—skin too smooth for her age, voice calm enough to make you forget she was dangerous.“My dear,” she said, reaching for my hands as though she’d always known me. “You’ll make a stunning bride. The papers will adore you.”I smiled because that was what good daughters did. Damon stood in the corner, half-shadowed, his expression unreadable. Evelyn’s eyes caught him, lingered—just long enough for me to know she noticed the tension.“You’ve kep

The lace tore before I even realized I’d done it.A jagged line down the bodice — silk, ruined, perfect. Lina gasped behind me, clutching her pearls like a prayer might fix it.“I’ll get the seamstress,” she stammered.“Don’t,” I said. My voice didn’t even sound like mine. “Just leave it.”She hesitated — torn between duty and fear — then scurried out.I stared at my reflection. Pale skin, painted lips, eyes that didn’t belong to the girl inside. My hair was pinned with pearls, my neck bare. I looked like a ghost dressed in luxury.A knock came. Not gentle this time. Sharp. Controlled.Carl didn’t wait for permission — of course he didn’t. He stepped inside, smelling of cedar and money. His smile was the same one that had charmed investors and frightened reporters.“Aria,” he said smoothly, closing the door behind him. “You’re even more beautiful than I imagined.”I didn’t answer.He reached out — bold, claiming — and tilted my chin. “Nervous?”I wanted to say yes. I wanted to scream.

The flight was silent.Carl had fallen asleep with a glass of scotch still balanced on his knee, the soft hum of the jet drowning out the storm inside my chest.His head tilted toward the window, the faintest smile still carved on his lips — the kind of smile that didn’t fade, even in sleep. I watched him for too long, wondering if he ever smiled like that without meaning to.I already knew the answer.Outside, the ocean stretched endless and black. Somewhere beneath those waves lay everything I’d buried — every touch, every whispered promise, every version of me that wasn’t his wife.By the time we landed, dawn had crawled over the horizon. The island was beautiful in that cruel, perfect way — the kind of