All Chapters of Billionaire’s Pretend Wife To Be: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

I didn't wait for Marcus to close the Rolls-Royce door behind us before I ripped Alessandro’s arm from my waist. The moment we were out of the camera's sight and back in the cold, silent metal cocoon of the car, the entire night’s charade collapsed.“Don’t touch me again,” I whispered, my voice rough. My lips still felt swollen, still burned from his mouth, but my heart was hammering with fury.Alessandro merely adjusted his tuxedo cuff, utterly unaffected. “You are overreacting, Elara. It was a three-second display designed for the long lenses. It was protocol.”“Protocol doesn’t feel like that,” I hissed, turning to face him, the diamond necklace rising and falling rapidly with my furious breathing. “Protocol is a polite peck, not a declaration of ownership. You did that to assert dominance and to punish me for being nervous.”He looked at me, a flicker of something dangerously close to amusement in his eyes. “I did it to satisfy Arthur and silence Cynthia. The secondary benefit of

The morning after my visit with Leo, I sought sanctuary. The Manor was designed with so many wings and rooms that one could easily disappear. I chose the Morning Room, a sunny, seldom-used alcove on the second floor, lined with shelves of ancient, leather-bound books. I was sipping tea, wearing a simple pair of cashmere leggings and a loose silk blouse from my new wardrobe, trying to reconnect with the pre-Conti Elara who loved reading.My routine has become a ridiculous paradox: I spend the mornings in the North Wing, where Leo’s health is the only reality, and the afternoons avoiding the West Penthouse, where the lie is manufactured. I need to be ready for the inevitable, the social vultures who view Alessandro’s marriage as a sudden, suspicious feast. They’ll all be watching for the weakest bird.A sound interrupted the silence, not the quiet, hurried steps of the staff, but the distinct, confident click-clack of expensive heels on marble. The scent of a strong, expensive floral pe

The clock in the Grand Gallery chimed three times, the sound echoing hollowly across the marble floor. I was waiting, mandated to sit in the South Drawing Room while Alessandro finished a call with Tokyo. The room was a museum exhibit of pale silks and irreplaceable antiques. My spine was already aching from the effort of not touching anything.Days bleed into a blur of perfect appearances. Every meal, every glance, every silence is a performance. I hate that my body anticipates his presence now. I’m waiting for the cold command, the dismissive nod, the familiar weight of his hand on my back. I need a distraction, or this perfect stillness is going to drive me to madness.The door swung open, and Alessandro walked in. He didn't carry a phone or a document. He simply carried his own impenetrable authority. He stopped exactly five feet from the Italian chaise lounge where I was sitting, his shadow stretching across the intricate geometric pattern of the Persian rug. The rug was the cent

The morning after my accidental incursion into Alessandro’s private office had established a new, bizarre equilibrium in the Manor. Alessandro was not angry; he was rigidly, aggressively formal. Every interaction was governed by an invisible protocol that suggested I was now a highly radioactive substance he was required to handle with extra-thick lead gloves. He avoided my eyes with every chane that he got, dismissing me as quickly as he can.He is terrified. Not of me, but of the disruption. My presence in his sanctuary, seeing him stripped of his corporate shell, broke the necessary distance. He looked like raw power then, and now he’s back to being a flawless statue. But I know what he looks like when he’s not selling the illusion. And that knowledge is both my only weapon and my greatest vulnerability.I was sipping my third cup of tea in the East Wing sunroom, a place where the light was bright and cold, much like the house’s inhabitants, when Marcus materialized with an embosse

Alessandro had returned from Geneva exactly on schedule, Thursday evening, precise to the minute and had immediately reinforced the ice barrier between us. He hadn’t mentioned my intrusion into his gym, but his every glance spoke of strained control. Tonight, we were hosting a small, necessary gathering for key investors and associates at the Manor’s Grand Salon. This was Elara Conti’s integration into the inner circle.He is furious that I saw him sweat. He’s wearing his custom-made suit like actual body armor, moving through this room like a marble statue come to life. The physical relief I felt seeing him in Geneva is gone, replaced by the acute, paralyzing awareness of his power. He hasn’t touched me all night, not even for the public pretense, and the lack of touch somehow feels more judgmental than the contract kiss.I stood beside Alessandro near the vast, mahogany bar, holding a champagne flute I hadn’t touched. He was currently discussing logistics with his chief security off