All Chapters of The Billionaire's Secret Bride: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

The Steele mansion was alive with chatter, the kind of noise that promised celebration but felt almost suffocating to Evelyn. Voices echoed off the high ceilings, glasses clinked, and somewhere in the background, a silver spoon scraped the side of a bowl. She sat at the head of the long dining table, hands folded neatly in her lap, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.“Early April,” Mrs. Steele said, pointing to the calendar with precision. “Perfect. Gives us just enough time to get everything planned without rushing.”Evelyn nodded, pretending to be focused on the page. “Yes… April works,” she said, trying to steady her voice.Liam’s hand found hers under the table, squeezing lightly, grounding her. “I want it soon,” he said quietly, just for her. “Not too long to wait, but enough to get everything ready. Are you sure?”She swallowed hard, eyes flicking to him. He looked so calm, so certain, like the world could wait for nothing else but this moment. “Yes,” she whispered, forc

Sun poured through the high windows of the Steele mansion, catching on glass vases and polished marble, turning everything soft and expensive and… wrong. Evelyn sat at the long dining table with a notebook open in front of her, untouched pen resting across the middle. A huge wedding planning binder lay nearby — velvet cover, gold lettering, thick pages like a promise she hadn’t made with her whole heart.Her mother was flipping through a magazine of wedding cakes, murmuring things like tiered fondant and orchids would be elegant. Tracy, her younger sister, had her elbows on the table, scrolling through her phone with impatient energy.“Look at this,” Tracy said, turning her screen toward them. “Blush and champagne. It’s very you, Eve.”Evelyn blinked at it. Pale roses, gold accents, delicate frosting detail so intricate it looked unreal.“Pretty,” she said automatically.It came out flat. She wondered if they noticed.Mrs. Steele didn’t. She was in planning mode, which was something l

The elevator doors slid open with a soft metallic sigh, and the familiar scent of polished floors and cedar cologne drifted out as Liam stepped inside. Ethan followed a beat later, shoulders tense, jaw braced like the day itself was something he had to fight through.They didn’t speak at first.They rarely did in the mornings—Liam scrolling through emails, and Ethan staring straight ahead like the numbers climbing on the elevator screen were the only thing anchoring him to the earth.But today, the silence felt different. Sharper. Like thin ice underfoot.Liam nudged him lightly. “You okay?”Ethan forced a laugh. Too quick. Too thin. “Fine.”Liam gave him a look—the kind that said You’re lying, but I’m tired and we’re late. He didn’t push. He never pushed. That was the problem. That was why guilt sat heavily in Ethan’s chest, pressing against his bones.The doors opened on the twentieth floor.The office was awake already—phones ringing, keyboards clattering, voices floating through g

Aria sat at the kitchen table, the letter from work open in front of her, edges slightly curled from her grip. The morning light fell across the floor, and for a moment, it felt unreal—like she was reading someone else’s life. London. Two weeks to pack, two weeks to leave. Excitement fluttered somewhere deep in her chest, but it was tangled with a heavy, tight knot of guilt.Mrs. Grace bustled around the kitchen, humming softly, cleaning a few dishes, but Aria could feel her eyes on her.“Well?” Mrs. Grace asked finally, her voice gentle, cautious. “What does it say?”Aria took a breath, trying to steady the tremor in her hands. “London. I’m… I’ve been transferred.”Mrs. Grace paused mid-motion, drying a plate. “London?” Her voice was equal parts excitement and heartbreak. “That’s… wonderful, Aria. Really. But… oh, I’ll miss you. Especially the little ones.”Joe appeared in the doorway, leaning lazily against the frame, coffee in hand. “Two weeks,” he said, tone flat but eyes soft. “Y

The suitcase lay open on the bed like a quiet accusation.Aria stood over it, one hand gripping the edge of the mattress, the other holding a folded sweater she hadn’t placed down yet. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn it. Maybe that was the point. London didn’t need reminders of who she had been here.Behind her, drawers opened and closed softly. The room smelled faintly of baby powder and detergent, the ordinary scent of a life being dismantled one careful piece at a time.Mrs. Grace hummed under her breath near the children’s room, a tune Aria recognized but couldn’t name. Something old. Something steady. The kind of sound meant to keep a heart from splintering.“Aria,” Mrs. Grace called gently, holding up a tiny cardigan. “Do you want this one in the carry-on or the checked bag?”Aria swallowed. “Carry-on,” she said. Then, after a beat, “Just in case.”Mrs. Grace nodded like she understood exactly what that just in case meant. She always did.Joe hovered in the doorwa